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“Cotter Pyke thinks the dead are planning to cross the expanding ice at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and Lord Brandon confirms it,” Jon said to the war council, gathered in his solar at Castle Black. His brother Bran and Sister Sansa were both safe at Winterfell, but Bran regularly sent Jon ravens with his queer knowledge of the Others’ movements.

“I suggest we move the bulk of our army to Eastwatch, Your Grace,” Jon continued, speaking directly to the queen. “Along with you and your dragons.” He had maps of the Wall strewn over the tables in his solar, which had become the command center for the queen’s war council. The queen sat at the head of the table. The rest of her war council was present, including Lord Tyrion, Lord Royce, Lord Hardyng, the Blackfish, Lord Hightower, Lord Thenn, Tormund Giant’s Bane, and Maester Sam.

“It’ll be a joy to see those dead fuckers go up in flames, Yur Grace,” Tormund said with a fond wink at the queen. He did his best to follow Westerosi customs, but hadn’t quite grasped that he was not supposed to be so familiar with the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Will you lead this force, lord commander?” Lord Tyrion asked.

“Aye,” Jon said.

“Is it wise to have you and the queen in the same position?” Lord Royce asked. “Perhaps you should remain here, in case they are trying to draw you to Eastwatch, only to attack Castle Black.”

Jon considered his maps, feeling the eyes of the room on him. Lord Royce had some wisdom. It could make sense to split their strength. They didn’t know how the Others thought. They weren’t human, after all. But the only sightings of them were in the east. They needed to amass their strength where they knew them to be, as the force could so easily overpower them. Besides if he remained at Castle Black while Daenerys fought at Eastwatch, he couldn’t protect her.

“We know a force is going to try to cross,” Jon said. “We need our strength in the east. We will leave battalions at the Shadow Tower and Castle Black, while the queen and I move to Eastwatch. If the queen agrees, of course,” he deferred to Daenerys.

She studied the maps carefully, her eyes heavy with concentration.

“I wish I had another rider,” she said. “Our defenses would be stronger if we could leave a dragon at Castle Black and one at the Shadow Tower.”

“We do have wild fire, Your Grace,” Tyrion said, one of his great contributions to their fight. “And our red priests. Our teams are ready. They’ve been training for this.”

“Very well,” Daenerys said. “I’ll leave for Eastwatch tomorrow. The Lord Commander as well, leading the army. We will feast tonight in the Great Hall.”

The group noted their dismissal. They filed out, and Jon expected Daenerys to leave as well, but she lingered, coming to stand beside him.

“I hope you’re right,” she said. Her voice was low. She was standing too close. She could never be close enough. “Part of me wonders if you should stay here. But another part of me remembers the last time we went to Eastwatch.” She shuddered, and they looked at each other for a moment—both remembering the brutal fight at Hardhome, the freezing cold, the army of the dead—and the passionate nights they had shared after the battle.

Jon glanced at the doorway to make sure nobody was listening. He was careful to leave it open, in case any rumors spread about the queen and the lord commander being sequestered in his solar.

“I don’t want you going without me either,” Jon admitted, rubbing his jaw. “Not that I can do much to protect you. You’re the one who rescued me last time, remember?”

“I wish I could forget it,” Daenerys admitted.

“It’s the right thing,” Jon said. “We know their army is amassing there. We’ll face them together. We’ve survived it before.”

“We have,” Daenerys took a step closer to him, but Jon stepped back. “I feel like if we’re together we can defeat them, but perhaps that’s a foolish hope.”

“We have to believe we can beat them,” Jon said softly. “Or they’ve already won.”

“I fear our army still doesn’t understand what we face,” Daenerys said.

“They’ll all know soon enough.” Jon rolled up his maps. “Unless the Wall holds. Come, we should go down to the Great Hall. Make an appearance. Our troops will need to see us tonight.”

Daenerys nodded, and they left Jon’s solar, walking side by side, but carefully not touching.

Jon had kept to his promises and his vows for months. He kept himself out of the queen’s bed. There was little time for it anyway. He worked tirelessly, using Castle Black as his base but traveling between The Shadow Tower, The Night Fort, Eastwatch, and all the forts in between to ensure that every fort was property manned, the soldiers armed with dragon glass and wildfire. The tunnels below the Wall needed to be filled in, the people trained, the armies fed.

The queen was often at his side—in council meetings, reviewing the forts, strategizing the best way to position her dragons on the Wall. It was an agony he had grown used to, like a wound that would never quite heal properly. He felt both better and worse when he was in her presence—the recipient of a smile or a tender look. The looks were dangerous, and he knew it, but it was all they could cling to this frozen place, that grew colder every day.

Jon and Daenerys took their places at the head table for dinner. How Castle Black had changed since he was a young recruit. It was still a hard, cold place, but now he dined next to a queen. He knew how some of the men whispered that the lord commander and the queen were always seated together—that Jon was starting to act more like a king than a lord commander. They were dangerous whispers, treasonous whispers. Jon had executed two of his men for their talk—but he knew he couldn’t execute them all. Still, he was the lord of this fort. He was hosting the queen. Manners required them to dine together at the high table.

Jon did his best not to give her too much attention. He ate his thin rabbit soup, trying to enjoy the fact that they still had meat left. He spoke to Harry Hardyng and the Blackfish about their orders to hold Castle Black while he and the queen moved east. He discussed the wild fire teams with Tyrion. There was a nervous energy in the hall. The bulk of the army had been stationed at Castle Black for weeks, and now they were going to move. There was a jittery sort of fear that felt almost quaint to Jon. The hall was full of highborn men who had yet to face the army of the dead. Their fear reminded him of when he was a boy, playing at battle with Robb and Theon in the training yard of Winterfell. It wasn’t the fear of those who had tasted the cold, smelled death on the air, seen the corpses of their friends rise to kill them.

After their meal, Jon and Daenerys both toured the camps outside the hall, mingling with their army. They were both better loved by the wildlings, the common soldiers, and the Dothraki than they were by the highborn anyway. They separated to cover more ground. Jon walked through the snow with Ghost at his side. He pulled his cloak around him and hoped Daenerys had enough furs on this night. How she hated the cold.

He tried to turn his thoughts from her, picturing how adorably pink her nose would be in the freezing air. He tried to focus on the men and women who had joined the fight. He crouched over campfires, listened to tales from the south—stories of tourneys in the spring, summer festivals, and the taste of honey cakes. Daenerys had insisted on integrating the troupes. The factions and rival armies of the past few years were over. Daenerys couldn’t sleep well at night if she thought one of her battalions would rise up against her. It hadn’t all been smooth. There was constant fighting and more than a few deaths as men from the north and the Riverlands tried to live beside men from the Westerlands and the Reach.

But tonight, as Jon’s battalion faced a march to meet death, they set aside their old grievances and shared stories and watery ale.

“I’ll never grow used to seeing all these old enemies gathered together,” Arya said, coming to walk by Jon’s side as he headed back towards Castle Black. “I’m surprised there aren’t more deaths.”

“We have plenty of death ahead of us,” Jon said. “Soon enough, they’ll understand who the real enemy is.”

“You’ve almost convinced me,” Arya said. “Although I think the world could do with a few less Lannisters.”

“Arya, how many times do I have to tell you, Tyrion’s an asset and a friend. Stop threatening him.”

“I haven’t killed him, have I?” Arya asked, defensively, her hand on needle at her hip. “I just need to make sure what will happen to him if we find his intentions are not as pure as they seem.”

“Oh, he knows,” Jon rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to convince him. Are you returning to Winterfell tomorrow?” It was a useless question. He already knew the answer.

“I’m coming with you to Eastwatch,” Arya said. “You’ve become more controlling of me than Sansa. You think I can’t fight.”

“I know you can fight. You’re a fierce she-wolf. Too brave for my taste. But, Arya, you’ve never fought the dead.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Arya shrugged. “The north is my home, Jon. I’m going to defend it. I’ll be by your side to protect you.”

Jon sighed. His authority over his sister was spotty. As lord commander of the army, he could probably order her home. But the Starks had allowed her to come to the Wall. Bran thought she could have a role to play in the wars ahead. Her presence made Jon feel constantly torn. He respected her as fighter, but she was still so young, and he couldn’t bear to see anything happen to her.

“Get some sleep then,” Jon said. “We have some long cold days ahead.”

Arya left him. Jon himself planned to turn in, but on his trip back to the doors of Castle Black, Tormund hailed him. The large wildling was holding court with a group of Jon’s closest companions—Pypar, Dolorous Edd, Val, and the Queen. He felt his stance relax slightly, but warned himself not to get too comfortable. He always had to be the lord commander these days, even among friends.

“Have some ale with us before returning to that cold bed of yours,” Tormund said, handing him a drink with a wink.

“Not many beds will be cold tonight,” Val said. “There’s something in the air, isn’t it?”

“The men are in good spirits,” Pyp said.

Jon shook his head. “It’s fear. Or a version of it. They’ll discover true fear soon enough if the dead cross the ice. People need some life to cling onto.”

“Will you let them?” Dolorous Edd asked, looking around the camp. “Our men are mixed in the with the rest of the army. They’ll want to feel like they can have a regular soldier’s perks.”

“Aye, as long as the camp followers and spear wives are willing. I’ll have no rape, but I’ve never punished a man for a trip to Mole’s Town. We can’t control everything.” He felt Daenerys’s eyes upon him, but kept his eyes on the fire and his ale.

“I hope your men find some enjoyment,” Daenerys said. “There are dark days ahead. Everyone deserves a taste of summer in this biting cold.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Tormund said. “If ya ever need a bed warmer, yur grace, I would be happy to accommodate. I’m awfully warm ya see, and stronger than a bear. You’re sweet enough to steal. I would do it, except that I know the lord commander would have my head for it.”

“I’m flattered,” Daenerys giggled. “But I’ll have Drogon to warm me on my flight tomorrow.”

There was whooping and cheering a few fires over as a man who had the look of a Southron from the Westerlands, carried off a woman in wildling furs.

Jon groaned. “I hope they have enough sense not to spill their seed inside the women. We have enough to worry about without having a crop of bastards to feed in a few months.”

Daenerys laughed again rather seductively to Jon’s ears. “Should we send that order around the camp, my lord?”

Tormund laughed at that. “That would be rich. The lord commander giving his men commands on what to do in bed, even as he vows to keep his empty.”

“You’ll let your men have their fun, and yet you deny yourself, lord crow,” Val said, her eyes bright. “Ya know any woman in this camp would be honored to have ya.”

Was Val volunteering herself? Jon was no green boy anymore. Sharing the queen’s bed had increased his confidence in his own desirability. He felt the eyes of the spear wives and the camp followers on him as he made his rounds. He knew no one would fault him if he had a discreet dalliance with a lowborn woman. Part of him was tempted. He was wound horribly tight, and the Wall was desperately cold. But as he caught Val’s eye with a raised brow, he felt Daenerys stiffen beside him. He knew it would be no use. Bedding another woman would only take the edge off for a few moments, but then his desire for Daenerys would return. Better not make his life any messier than it already was by adding more entanglements to it.

“I might look the other way while my men take their comfort, but I hold myself to a different standard,” Jon said. “Besides, there’s no time for that while the dead march.”

“Ya spend so much time thinking about death, Jon,” Tormund said. “Don’t ya think ya should taste the land of the living while ya still can?”

“I taste the land of living,” Jon said, desperately wanting to steer the conversation away from the topic of his empty bed. “I relish Hobb’s rabbit stew, laugh with my sister, and enjoy a good song. Besides, I don’t sleep alone. My wolf gives me warmth.” He drowned his ale and set the horn down by the fire. “Ghost to me!” He called his wolf. “I should sleep. Enjoy yourselves. Tomorrow, we march.”

He nodded his head to Daenerys and moved to leave the campfire.

“Wait,” Daenerys said. “I’ll turn in too.”

Jon nodded, although he was irritated. It would be rude to tell her not to walk with him, but he didn’t like the sight of the two of them walking back to Castle Black together. Particularly not after being interrogated about his empty bed.

“The camp’s watching us,” Jon warned her when they were out of earshot of their friends.

“Let them look,” Daenerys said. “We’re both going back to our empty beds. We have nothing to hide.”

Jon had nothing to say to that. He didn’t want to continue discussing beds with the queen. This was a dangerous thread of conversation.

“Although, I hadn’t considered that you don’t truly sleep alone.” Daenerys was apparently not finished talking about the lord commander’s sleeping arrangements. “I find it unfair that you get to sleep with a furry friend, while all I have is a freezing cold bed. Perhaps I should order Ghost to sleep with me.”

“He would like that,” Jon admitted. He considered it for a moment. Ghost wrapped around the queen, keeping her warm. Jon could slip into his wolf’s mind, and smell the queen’s scent, feel her hair against Ghost’s fur.

“Would he?” The queen’s tone was outright seductive now.

“Aye, and so would the army. How they would talk about the lord commander’s wolf sleeping in the queen’s bed. The story would make its way back to your betrothed.”

“Hmmm, I’ve been called the dragon whore and the horse lord’s whore. What could be the harm in them whispering that I’m a wolf’s whore too?”

“No one should call you a whore,” Jon said stiffly.

“Perhaps not, but they do. Besides it would be worth it to have Ghost’s warmth in my bed.”

Jon glanced at her. Her nose was bright pink. She did look cold. He wished he could draw her into his cloak, give her his warmth.

“You could take a man into your bed,” Jon said, his voice low. “Others take him, I wish he bathed more, but I am sure Tormund is plenty warm.”

Daenerys laughed at that. “You want me to fuck Tormund?” she asked.

“No.” He certainly did not. He wanted her to fuck Jon and no one else. He wanted to take her back to his bed, more than he wanted just about anything at the moment. But he had to set his wants aside for his cause.

“But I’m surprised you haven’t taken a lover,” Jon whispered, his voice husky. “It is cold here. The dead walk. They’re not wrong that we should grab onto life while we have it.”

They stopped in the training yard of Castle Black. They stood in a patch of darkness between the tents of the army and the burning torches of the castle. It was a little shadow of privacy, but they would be fools to trust it. He peered around the courtyard. A group of young recruits were walking back to the barracks. He saw a man wearing a black cloak, and recognized Pyp’s familiar gait. People were watching, waiting for the two young heroes to make a mistake.

“Are you inviting me to your bed, my lord?” Daenerys took a step towards him. Her smell invaded his nose. He wanted more of it. But he had promised himself he wouldn’t ruin his command.

“I am not.” His voice was gruff.

“Didn’t think so,” Daenerys sighed. “Guess I’ll be sleeping alone then.”

Months ago, when Jon had broken off their affair in King’s Landing, he had tried to convince himself that he was just a distraction for her. If he stayed firm and true to his vows, she would move on to someone new. But she hadn’t. She worked by his side all day, and then returned to a cold empty bed at night.

“Just because I sleep alone doesn’t mean you should have to,” Jon said.

“I don’t have to, my lord, I choose to.” Daenerys took a step closer to him. “Why do you not believe me when I tell you that if I can’t have you, I would rather have no one at all?”

Jon suddenly found it difficult to breath. She was standing close enough that her hair tickled his cheek. He wanted to brush it back from her face. He wanted to touch her so badly that it hurt. He had expected to have to watch her move on to someone else. That would have been hell, but this was its own torture—the queen offering him her loyalty and denying herself pleasure because of him.

“We’re in this together, Jon Snow.” Daenerys’s breath landed hot on his cheek. “If you’re sleeping alone, then I’m sleeping alone.”

“I didn’t ask you to deny yourself, Your Grace.” Jon felt a familiar guilt settle over him that the queen had fallen for a man she absolutely could not have.

“You did when you denied me of you. I don’t want anyone else.”He lifted a gloved hand wanting to touch the hair that escaped from her fur cap, but he restrained himself and buried his hand in his wolf’s fur instead.

He licked his lips before he spoke. “You promised you wouldn’t seduce me.” For he knew she would succeed. He ached for her, like he had never ached for a woman before. If she came to his bed this night, he would not have the will to send her away. He would pull her under his covers. He would slip his hand under her furs until he found her tight heat. She would be wet and ready for him like she always was when they gave into their mutual desire.

“So, I did.” The queen took a step back from him, with a wicked grin. “And I am a woman of my word.”

He should feel relieved that she had stepped away. Instead, he clutched Ghost’s fur even tighter to stop himself from pulling her back towards him.

“I used to sleep with my handmaidens, you know,” she said casually and conversationally. “At least I could share the warmth of other girls. But I’ve had to dismiss them.”

“Why?” Jon asked.

“I’m embarrassed to touch myself with them next to me, my lord. And I touch myself every night, while I think of you. It’s the only comfort and pleasure I have these days.”

She continued to walk back to the keep, while Jon stared after her. All his thoughts had fled as all his blood rushed to his cock. He was painfully hard as he surrendered to images of Daenerys writhing under her furs, touching herself while she imagined him. He could have stood in that cold yard for an eternity watching her, if Ghost had not left him to walk by the queen’s side. His wolf had the audacity to touch her. Ghost sniffed her fingers and nuzzled his head into her chest, while the queen laughed and petted him like he was her lap dog and not a fearsome dire wolf.  The image of the queen cuddling with his wolf was intoxicating to him and would no doubt be just as intoxicating to his enemies, eager to catch the young lord commander in a mistake and topple him from his post. The threat spurred him into action, catching up with the queen.

“Ghost to me,” He croaked. His wolf reluctantly moved from the queen’s side to his. They walked into the castle together, the lustful current that always ran between them rushing like a river in the spring rains, threatening the banks that contained it. When they reached the hallway that led to the queen’s rooms, she turned to him with a face that was playfully innocent.

“Sleep well, my lord.” She flashed a wicked grin that suggested she knew exactly how poorly he would be sleeping that night.

“Safe flight tomorrow, Your Grace,” Jon said brusquely, before turning to the stairs that led to his cold tower.

“Would you like some ale before you sleep, m’lord?” Satin was waiting for him in his corridors.

“I require nothing,” Jon barked, overly harsh to his poor steward. “Leave me.”

He shut the door and collapsed on the bed. Ghost lay down innocently by the fire Satin had stoked, as if he had not just been shamelessly flirting with queen. Jon undressed and resigned himself to touching his straining cock. There was no hope for it tonight. He gave in to his own gruff pawing, wishing that Daenerys was touching him and knowing that at this very moment she was caressing herself and wishing her hand was his.

*

When Jon arrived at Eastwatch, the cold met him first. It filled him with a familiar icy dread. Mist enveloped the land, a biting damp that hurt like little daggers on his cheeks. It was the cold that smelled of death. He felt his army stiffen collectively. Some were Free Folk who had their own memories of this mist and the death that it brought. But many had never experienced the Others before. Some had dismissed their queen and their lord commanders’ stories as wild tales. They would not doubt them after this day. But this was little comfort to Jon. The Others were crossing into the land of the living.

Cotter Pyke rode out to greet him, giving Jon a hurried accounting of the past week. The Others and their army of the dead had started to cross the ice that now extended east of the fort. They had taken the ships that went out to meet them, and turned the men into wights. The Watch had installed a ring of Tyrion’s wild fire fighters where the icy coast met the land. But their best defense was Daenerys Targaryen who had been flying tirelessly since the dead were spotted, using her dragons to torch the weights. But she was one person, and she couldn’t fight day and night.

Jon swallowed his fears for her, and sprang into action, ordering his men to fall into line behind the wildfire perimeter. The army was to keep the dead from occupying the Gift. Jon took stock of the land they would need to defend. He ordered Tormund to lead the rear guard and Satin to begin plans for a camp so the men could rest when the fighting was done. But once his orders were given, he spurred his horse to the front, where Daenerys flew above the front line on Drogon. He needed to be as close to her as possible, and defend her and her children from any attacks on the ground.

The mist that met him and his army where the ice met the shore was its own weapon. It made them feel cold at their very bones. Worse, it was a cold that sunk into the mind—into the very soul. It created a fear so great that it transformed into hopelessness. Bodies came at them through the mist. The horses began to whinny and shriek. Ghost stood next to Jon, his hackles raised, determined not to panic and give ground.

“Hold ground!” Jon turned to look to his men, who were looking at the approaching wights with naked fear. “We are the shield that guards the realms of men.” Jon shouted. “We will hold our ground. For life! For the land of the living!”

As if on cue, Drogon arrived. Jon could only see the undersides of the dragon’s great scales and then the flames. The wights caught fire. The air filled with smoke and steam. Jon struggled to breath. It was chaos behind him. A few of the horses bolted. They might have to resort to fighting on foot. But still the flames gave them a fighting chance. They had to hold the ground and fend off anything that came through the flames. And to protect the dragons.

Daenerys was careful to stay on the perimeter and not fly out too directly over the army of the dead. She had been practicing. They had discussed it at length. Their biggest weapon was also their biggest threat. If the Others took down Daenerys and turned her children into wights, all would be lost. The flames were the greatest weapon against the wights, but the wights weren’t the true enemy.

Jon’s eyes watered as he peered through the flames. There was something moving towards them. Something that was not afraid of fire. Jon spurred his horse forward, but the beast reared, refusing to move towards the creature that moved through the fire towards them. Jon saw icy blue eyes through the fire. Then he saw something that made his heart leap into his throat. The Other held a spear, and he was aiming it at the sky.

Any fear that Jon felt for himself fled. All his fear, all his feelings, all his attention was drawn to Daenerys and Drogon. If the Other took her down, all was lost. And Jon would be alone. Alone to lead his men to their deaths before they were all turned into soldiers for the Others’ army. He could not let that happen. He would not.

Jon leapt from his horse and moved from the land onto the ice. Fire blazed around him, but where the Other stood the flames turned into steam. His horse fled, but Ghost remained by his side. Master and wolf would fight together. The Other aimed his spear towards the sky. Ghost moved first. He lunged at the monster, knocking it off its balance. The Other lunged towards Ghost, but the wolf was too quick, back at Jon’s side.

The general now turned its attention to Jon. Glowing blue eyes met Jon’s grey. They had the color and the glow of wight’s eyes, but there the similarity ended. These eyes gleamed with intelligence. It saw Jon, but raised its spear again, aiming towards the sky.

To Jon’s horror, he realized that Daenerys was not fleeing, but hovering in the sky above him.

“Dany, go!” He screamed, and then ran at the Other, using all his strength to knock aside the spear. The Other dropped the spear and then turned to Jon, unsheathing a sword made of steel with a hilt and scabbard made of bone. They crossed swords. All Jon’s thoughts fled, as he became completely present in his body, in his sword, in the feeling of Ghost beside him. He could not think of the men behind him, or Daenerys flying above him. All that mattered was that he defeated this monster so Daenerys and her dragons could live. They parried thrust for thrust. Jon fought to keep his feet steady on the ice.

His limbs ached. He grew tired and wondered if this enemy did as well. But he matched the monster, blow for blow. It was stronger than Jon, but Jon was quicker. If it was a man, he would feel confident he could tire him out and beat him, but would this creature tire? But then Drogon flew above them, and the Other turned back to his spear, determined to get his true target. Jon used the moment of distraction to his advantage. In movement together, Ghost lunged for the Other’s side, while Jon kicked out at the creatures feet. The Other lost its balance, slipping on the ice and Jon was upon him. He stabbed the creature through the heart and then lopped off its head.

Jon had killed an Other, but now he was surrounded by fire and wights. He fought his way back onto the land, coughing, choking, and swinging his sword wildly. For hours they fought the wights who managed to escape the flames. Jon didn’t see any more of the Others, and he indulged in a moment of arrogance, thinking that his small victory had scared them off.

But then word reached him through the lines that the Others true target had been the fort. They had raised the dead in the Eastwatch graveyard to take the fort. The few men who had remained in the fort were all gone—all part of the Other’s army. The army of the dead now had a foothold south of the Wall.

As Jon ordered the army to retreat, he struggled to keep his mind engaged. He was exhausted and terrified. He had prepared for this for years, and it hadn’t been enough. The dead were in Westeros. They had successfully traversed south of the Wall. He was living in his own nightmares.

Once the fort was taken, the wights stopped trying to move forward through the line of fire. The fighting subsided. Jon had no idea how long that would last, but his entire body ached, and he was sure his army felt the same. There was only so far one could push the living.

Daenerys landed on the edge of the camp, and then walked towards Jon to strategize. At the sight of her, Jon used all his remaining strength to restrain himself. He longed to take her in his arms and feel her alive and warm. He wanted to smell her familiar scent and kiss away her fears. But he stood tall and stiff, although he was too weak to stop Ghost from bounding toward her and giving her an affectionate lick.

“Jon,” Daenerys was breathless. There were circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted. He wondered when was the last time she had slept. “You took down that Other with a spear, didn’t you? You saved me."

“You should not have come so close,” Jon’s words were clipped. He shouldn’t speak so harshly to the queen was she was trying to save them all. But she seemed to read the message he was sending her through his eyes. Thank the gods you’re safe. I feared I would lose you.

“I cannot torch wights from afar, now can I?” Her words were equally cold, but her violet eyes were full of warmth and relief as she looked at him.

“Focus on the wights,” Jon croaked. “Let me take care of the Others.”  Please let me keep you as safe as I can, or all is lost.

“Don’t keep me from my job,” Daenerys said. “I know you’ll protect me from the ground.” She reached her hand towards his, and clutched it for a brief moment before snatching it away. It was both too much and not enough. Jon felt the reassurance she tried to send him through her touch. We’re still here. We’ll protect each other.

“What do we do now?” Daenerys surveyed the madness around her. Their men were busy burning corpses and pitching tents. “Do we retreat to another caste? Another fort?”

Jon considered. The nearest forts were in ruins and smaller than Eastwatch besides. The closest castle was Last Hearth, miles away from the Wall.

“I don’t think we can give up that much ground,” Jon shook his head. His instincts said to take his men and run as far away from these unnatural enemies as they could. But if they fled, the dead would overtake the Gift. “We still have wildfire and dragons. If we hold them to Eastwatch and keep them from gaining too much ground along the ice, we can buy more time until reinforcements arrive. I say we stay.” It was an abysmal option. Many would die in the cold—more corpses to feed to the flames. But retreating seemed unthinkable.

Daenerys agreed. “Get some sleep, Jon,” she said softly. “You look like you could fall asleep on your feet.”

“I was going to say the same to you.”

Ghost refused to rest with Jon. Instead, he paced the camp, ready for more fight. But Jon would need sleep if he were to continue to function, so after his men set up his command tent, he fell on his cot and draped all the furs around him that he could find. It didn’t do much. He shivered on his cot, overwhelmed with the cold.

He was so tired that he did sleep for a bit, but his dreams disturbed him. It was the same dream that he had for months. Drogon lay dead in the snow, Daenerys injured beside him. An Other approached the dragon rider, and with one fell swoop, cut her down with his sword. Daenerys lay dead in the snow, but then the Other moved towards her, and she began to rise, her movements jerky and unnatural. She turned to Jon, her eyes turned from violet to a bright burning blue. She moved towards him and Jon clutched his sword, prepared to cut her down.

Jon woke, crying out in his sleep and shivering uncontrollably. His face was wet with tears. His arms reached out to hold onto something, but he was all alone on his freezing cot. He reassured himself that it was just a dream, but the fear was so real, he could taste it. The thought of losing Daenerys to them was too much to bear—let alone the thought of her turning on them as one of their thralls, ordered to kill him too. He paced his tent shivering all the while. The smoldering coals in his fire gave off little heat. He feared he would never be warm again.

The camp was quiet, there were no horns or messengers warning him of an attack. He looked around his dark and empty tent. He felt utterly alone. He donned his furs and his black cloak. It was as if his body had made this decision without consulting his mind. He wove through the sea of tents until he reached the queen’s. Slipping into her tent shouldn’t be easy. She should be fiercely protected. But when Jon crept to the back entrance that had an Unsullied guard stationed there, the soldier nodded him through, as though he had instructions to discreetly let the lord commander into the queen’s tent.

This was all a terrible idea. But when Jon saw the queen, huddled under her furs shivering and sobbing with her head against her knees, he couldn’t regret his poor decision.

He was in her bed in a moment, gathering her into his arms, kissing away her tears and rocking her to him to keep her safe.

“Jon!” She choked through her sobs.

“I’m here sweetling,” he muttered into her hair. “I’ll protect you.” His words sounded strong and manly, and he fought the urge to laugh at the absurdity. He had been crying only moments before, and he couldn’t protect Daenerys. Only her children could. But there was something so right, so human, so alive about holding her in his arms.

“I thought you shouldn’t be here,” she said once her sobs had calmed.

“Fuck it all,” Jon said gruffly. “It’s the end of the world. I can’t stay in my cold tent when you’re here and you’re still alive and—and—”

“And I might be dead tomorrow?” Daenerys asked.

“Don’t even say it.” Jon quieted her with his mouth on hers. Their bodies took over then. For the first time in months, Jon finally felt warm. She burned like that dragon of hers, and their two bodies together produced even more heat. He laid her down beneath her furs, kissing her everywhere, touching her everywhere, smelling her, and breathing her in. In that moment nothing else mattered to him, but the feeling of her body against his, the sound of her breathy moans in his ear. He couldn’t keep denying them this. He had to have something to fight for, or he couldn’t go back out to face them again.

After, she lay in his arms. “I’m so frightened, Jon,” she whispered in his ear. “I can’t see in this damn mist. But I feel them everywhere. They want my children. They want them for themselves. If I go—what hope do you have?”

He clutched her to him, unable to find words of comfort.

“And I can’t show the men how frightened I am,” she continued. “When I’m on the ground, I have to pretend that I have everything in hand and that I know we will triumph. But I don’t know that we will—I fear our cause might be lost.”

“It’s not yet,” he said, finally finding his words. “We’re here. We’re still alive. Our losses were not so great.”

“But aren’t you scared?” Daenerys asked. She sounded so young. She was so young. They both were barely past their childhoods.

“Shitless,” Jon admitted crudely. “I feel the same. I command my men with confidence, like I think we will win, but I was just crying in my tent myself. We can’t show them how scared we are. They have to think we have a chance.”

“Please,” she pulled him to her again, and somehow he was already hard and ready for her. “Please, I need you. I can’t go on like this. I can’t do this without you, without us here together.”

“I know. I know. I’m here.” That night for the first time since their forbidden affair had started years ago, Jon took Daenerys without guilt or shame. He moved as deeply inside her as he could. If he could fuse the two lovers together then they would be safe, then they would be the heroes they needed to be. He held onto the queen as she trembled in his arms and accepted the burning life and love that she offered him while death waited for them outside the walls of the tent.

*

Tyrion was freezing his balls off, huddled under a cloak outside the queen’s tent. He gritted his teeth, wishing he was in his own tent with Ingryd, the buxom spear wife who was warm and accommodating and endlessly entertained by her “little man.” Instead, he was huddled in the snow, waiting to confirm his suspicions about the lord commander and the queen.

They were suspicions Tyrion had held for years, ever since the queen returned to Meereen from the Wall with a fresh purpose and a fire in her eyes every time she spoke of the lord commander who was trying to save humanity from an unspeakable evil. His suspicion had grown when the lord commander came to court. The trust and admiration between the two attractive young leaders was readily apparent, although they were never caught doing anything improper. Here at the Wall, it was impossible to ignore the closeness between the queen and her lord commander.

Daenerys still met with a full council. But there was one man who spoke for the majority of the council meetings. One man whose opinion seemed to count above all others. Tyrion supposed there were advantages to the queen and her lord commander being so in step. Better that she trust the man who was leading the greatest army the world had ever seen than to second guess him. But what troubled him most was what was not discussed during council meetings. The queen and the lord commander seemed to make the majority of their decisions before they ever sat down with their advisors. The two were increasingly capable of communicating with their eyes alone—eyes that seemed to only be interested in each other these days.

His spies had never discovered anything at Castle Black. All reports said the queen and the lord commander both slept alone every night. But here at Eastwatch, as the army of the living faced off against the army of the dead, the rumors intensified. The army had been camped outside the fort, holding ground against the Others invasion into Westeros for the past few weeks. It was grueling work, and no one worked harder than the queen and Lord Snow, leading the fight on the frontlines. But even their fearless heroes had to sleep and the camp whispered that they did not sleep alone. To some, the sleeping arrangements of the queen and the head of their army might seem trivial against the threat that they faced. But Tyrion knew better. The politics and intrigues of the Seven Kingdoms hadn’t disappeared in the face of their impending doom. His queen and her lord commander ignored them at their own peril. Tyrion had to know if there was truth behind the rumors and the queen’s Unsullied guards were impossible to bribe, so Tyrion camped out in the cold bundled in a cloak in the dark, sitting on a barrel out in the snow, and wishing the Others would just come and get it over with, because he was freezing his balls off trying to discover if they were all well and truly fucked anyway.

This was his third night of vigil, and he was about to give it all up and return to his cold tent, when he was greeted with a sight he dreaded. Two red eyes, gleaming in the torchlight that reflected off the snow. He didn’t see the wolf coming. It was silent and blended in with the snow, but now it stood before him, its hackles raised, its teeth barred. Tyrion wished the wolf had warmed to him in the years they had known each other, but he had only become bigger, more fierce, and more deadly.

“There, there,” Tyrion said, praying he didn’t piss his pants and embarrass himself. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

But his words had no effect. The wolf clearly wanted him to move and move he did, but as he backed away from his guard post and towards his own tent, he saw a tall, hooded figure slip into the queen’s tent from the back. The rumors were true. The lord commander was sleeping with the queen. In the middle of the army camp. But what was Tyrion to do about it?

He could start with speaking to the queen, but he knew his concerns would fall on deaf ears. His queen was headstrong, passionate, and had always been unapologetic in her own desires. It was something that Tyrion admired about her—but the admiration couldn’t extend to the danger and stupidity of her fucking her lord commander. Besides, the two were not as close as they had once been. Tyrion had planned Daenerys’s whole conquest of the Seven Kingdoms, and she had rewarded him by taking away his position as Hand and giving it to Willas Tyrell. Oh, he understood the politics behind it—he knew his reputation was a liability to her—but it still stung. The change in his position had created a wedge in their once close friendship.

No, his best chance was speaking to the lord commander. Tyrion spent a lot of time with Jon. He wished they still had easy friendship from when Jon was a young, green boy, but any openness the bastard once had was gone, buried under duty and his lord commander façade. But Jon still clung to his honor as he had when he was a boy. Plus, he was an intelligent man. He had to understand that fucking the queen so openly was a terrible idea. Perhaps he simply needed the reminder.

The next day, Tyrion and Jon met to review their food storage and note what needed to be transported from Castle Black to Eastwatch, where the bulk of their army now stood. The Lord Commander was the same as always, serious and focused on the task at hand. When they were done with their accounting, Tyrion broached the topic at hand with a certain delicacy.

“Would you like to come to visit the camp followers with me tonight?” Tyrion asked. “There is a lively group of northern lasses and wildling girls on the south end of the camp. They’re willing to do anything for extra rations.”

Jon stiffened at his invitation. “I am Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” he said stiffly. “I don’t whore around.”

“Your men do,” Tyrion said. “And you don’t seem to mind.”

“Aye,” Jon said. “We turn a blind eye when we have to. Our vows technically say that our men are to take no wives and father no children. As long as my men are careful, I let them have their release.”

“Ah,” Tyrion said. “But what about yourself, lord commander? Are you allowed to fuck around as long as you don’t marry the girl?”

Jon stiffened. “I told you. I don’t sleep with whores. Everyone knows that.”

“It’s well known,” Tyrion agreed. “But I’m starting to wonder if it would be safer for us all if you did. The lovely thing about whores is that they’re uncomplicated. An easy, simple solution to the problem that you took your vows, but are still very much a young man with needs.”

Jon turned red, his stoic veneer faltering. “You forget who you’re speaking to,” he said, his voice clipped.

“I am not forgetting,” Tyrion stepped closer to him. “You are the lord commander of her grace’s armies. And last night I was accosted by your wolf, while I watched you slip into her tent.”

Jon’s face was still, but Tyrion saw panic in his eyes.

“What are you doing, Jon?” Tyrion whispered. “If I can discover this, others can too. I don’t know how to protect you when you seem incapable of protecting yourself.”

“I protect myself just fine,” Jon said. “I have a wolf, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“So did your brother,” Tyrion said. “And he still lost his war in the wrong bed.”

“I know how my brother died,” Jon said.

“Yet that knowledge doesn’t bring you wisdom?”

“Tyrion, I suggest you worry about your own bed,” Jon said. “Where I sleep is no concern of yours.”

The lord commander left him for the night, likely to sleep under the queen’s furs with her body at his command. Tyrion cursed, wishing his logical arguments had had more of an effect. But what good were logic and rules next to the love of a beautiful woman? Had logic stopped him from moving Shae into the Red Keep? Had logic stopped him from endangering Tysha? Love made people stupid. The problem was, the lord commander and the queen couldn’t be stupid right now. The fate of the world lay in their hands.

Tyrion’s attempt at addressing the situation did him no favors. He was called into the queen’s tent the next day with strict orders to mind his own business, just as the lord commander had told him to do.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Tyrion insisted, fearful that the queen wouldn’t trust him. “But Daenerys you are putting his life at risk don’t you see that?”

“Who would execute him, my lord?” Daenerys asked. “I promise you it won’t be me.”

“You are playing with fire,” Tyrion said.

“It’s the end of the world, Tyrion. No one has time to worry about who warms my bed.”

He wished that were true, but he knew it wasn’t.

*

Daenerys was finally warm. She had suffered through months of icy cold, shivering alone under her furs, keeping her bed empty at the foolish hope that the man she wanted would come to her bed. After months of dreaming, hoping, and fantasizing, Jon was here beside her, holding her naked body to him, keeping her warm. It was a delicious luxury in these dark times. She nestled against him, feeling his warm breath against her neck while he slept.

While her body was well satisfied, her mind was still far from sleep. She thought of her lover, sleeping beside her. He was a hard man, not used to luxury, and yet she found herself wanting to spoil him. She dreamt of winning the war and leaving this land of ice and cold together. She could take him to Lys where they would dress in silks, swim in the sea, and drink sweet wine. The thought of Jon wearing silks on a beach was so ridiculous, she fought a giggle. But she wanted to give him everything his cold hard life had denied him.

Her dreams of taking Jon to Essos were silly fantasies. But better to indulge in those dreams than her much more dangerous dream of bringing him south with her when the war was done. She could marry him in the re-built Sept of Baelor and crown him to be her king consort. A crown would look good on him. If she had him by her side, she could stomach all the politics and intrigues awaiting her back at court. They could rule together. These were dangerous thoughts, sinful thoughts. They were unfair to Willas Tyrell, her perfectly capable and kind betrothed. But while Willas was capable, Jon was exceptional. If Willas had the wealth and the right name, Jon had earned everything he had through his own strength of will. He was a partner for her in a way that Willas never could be.

Jon stirred beside her. He clutched her to him tightly before releasing her and sitting up in her bed. “I should go,” he whispered.

“Don’t go.” She turned into him, nuzzling into his side.

“Dany,” he protested—he was always protesting, always insisting that they shouldn’t give into their bodies’ needs. But he was here naked in her bed, and when she reached down between them, she felt his hard cock. As she touched him, his protests melted away, as he gave into her caresses. He bent his head to her chest and took her nipple in his mouth. She moaned, and he put his hand over her mouth to silence her. The reminder that they had to be quiet only made her more wet, more eager, which did not go unnoticed by her lover. He removed his face from her breast and moved up her body to whisper in her ear.

“You need to be quiet.” His breath was hot against her cheek. “Can you do that for me?”

Dany nodded, as he moved down her body, kissing her everywhere. She would do anything for him, as long as he would keep touching her like that. Where his lips met her skin, it felt like fire. When his mouth made it to the mound between her legs, she gasped. Jon looked up, his eyes dark and full of command. Quiet. They told her. She covered her mouth with her own hand, stifling her moans and cries. While he touched her, the dead didn’t exist. While he touched her, they weren’t leading the largest army the world had ever seen. While he touched her, there was nothing else in the world to her besides Jon and how he made her feel.

When her peak came, it slammed into her with an overwhelming force. She did cry out then, she couldn’t hold it back anymore. Jon’s hand was on her mouth, quieting her, and anchoring her while she rode out her pleasure. He slipped a finger into her mouth, and she sucked it, tasting herself on his fingers, along with the taste of Jon that she was always starved for.

“I said quiet,” he whispered again.

“I know. It’s just too much.”

“Aye.” Jon’s eyes glinted in the dim light from the brazier. His eyes were dark, and he gave her a wolfish grin. “You’re too much.”

Then he was in her, and she was overwhelmed with sensation again, barely having time to recover from his previous assault. This time, he muffled her cries with his lips on hers, his tongue in her mouth, tasting her while he used her body. Nothing aroused her as much as Jon Snow letting go, and unleashing his wolf. He was always so careful in public. He knew everyone was always watching him, judging him. He held a tight control on his urges. But when he was on the battlefield or in her bed, all his walls, his control fell away to reveal the burning passion at his core.

He rolled her onto her stomach and entered her from behind. She bit her furs to keep quiet. Jon was as quiet as Ghost, which made her feel angry—that he wasn’t as undone by her as she was by him. She moved her hips, goading him on, trying to spark him into a frenzy. The tent was quiet except for the obscene slapping of their thighs. He didn’t cry out, but he held her hair like an anchor, so tight that it hurt. She welcomed the pain, as it was a silent proof of his abandon—of what she did to him. The proof of it, pushed her over the edge again, and she shattered against him.

Jon soon followed her. He pulled out of her and flipped her over on her back, and spilled on her stomach. She wanted to memorize the look on his face, as he succumbed to his pleasure. He tried so hard to deny them this. The honorable Jon Snow who clung to his vows, even though it meant denying the woman who loved him—who was sacrificing everything to save the world with him.  

Jon Snow might have been quiet, but he was not unmoved. He lay next to her panting and nuzzling his face against her neck.

“Gods,” he groaned, his voice hoarse as he caught his breath. “Why did the gods make it feel so good, and then make it wrong?”

Daenerys stiffened at that. “The gods did not make our love wrong.” She had never had much patience for gods. “Men did.”

Jon pulled back at her words. He stroked her cheek affectionately. His eyes were soft, but also wary. It wasn’t a look she liked. It was usually a precursor for all his arguments why they shouldn’t do what they had just done. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything. He kissed her on the forehead with a tenderness that made her ache with a longing deeper than lust. He cleaned her off, gave her one last hearty kiss, and then he was gone.

She hated that he had to leave. She wanted him to stay until morning. She didn’t care what others thought. But she kept hr greedy thoughts to herself and snuggled into his side of the bed, still warm from his body.

But before sleep could claim her, she heard shouting and the ringing sound of steel.

“King Crow indeed!”

“Your command not enough for you? You need a queen and a crown to satisfy your desires?”

Daenerys leapt out of bed and threw on her night dress, her boots, and a fur cloak. She lurched out of her tent to see Jon in the midst of men in black—about a dozen of them. She recognized Cotter Pyke. Jon thankfully had Longclaw, and he had it unsheathed. He was fighting his men as Ghost burst into the fray, sinking his teeth into a man’s throat. Her Unsullied fought through the crowd of black, cutting the men down to get to the lord commander. It was confusion in the torchlight. Red blood and black cloaks on the white snow. Jon was a better swordsman than any of them, but he was outnumbered, overpowered. Still, he held them off, as his wolf and the Unsullied cut down the men, making the numbers more even.

She stood watching, her hand at her throat. There were six men down, now seven. She thought Jon would make it through unscathed, but then Cotter Pyke caught him while he was parrying off one of the brothers and stabbed a knife in his side.

“Jon!” Daenerys screamed.

He kept fighting, even as he sank to his knees. Ghost was on Cotter Pyke, the Unsullied had things at hand.

“Don’t kill anyone else!” Daenerys bellowed at her Unsullied as she dove into the crowd of bodies. “Leave the rest for me!”

She fell on her knees at Jon’s side, as blood seeped out of his wound and into the snow.

“Dany,” he gasped, his eyes were having trouble focusing.

She hushed him and then turned to her Unsullied and the crowd that was quickly gathering around them. “Someone, fetch Maester Sam! Bring the lord commander into my tent. And keep him warm.”

She would not give the crowd what they wanted, a weeping queen crying over her injured lover. She didn’t feel sad. She burned with anger as her men carried Jon away. She wanted to tend to him, but she was no nursemaid. A great injustice had occurred. She had to set it right.

“Jon!” Arya appeared in the mayhem. Her eyes widened at the sight of the Unsullied carrying her brother. “What happened?” She turned to Dany.

Arya’s blazing grey eyes cut through Daenerys’s fury, and she felt a trickle of shame.

“His men stabbed him,” Daenerys said, holding her head high.

“Why was he here in the middle of the night?” Arya asked.

“He’s the lord commander,” Daenerys said with a shrug. “He’s allowed to move freely around the camp.”

“Daenerys—” Arya started her voice low and familiar. The two were friends, but Daenerys didn’t want to hear any concerns that her friend might have about her relationship with her brother.

“Your Grace,” Daenerys corrected, her tone queenly, putting Arya at a distance. Then she softened. “Go to him,” she said. “Stay by his side. I’ll come once I’ve taken care of things.”

Daenerys ordered a great pyre be built on the edge of the camp. She would need room to maneuver. She would not leave this task to anyone but her. Of the twelve men who had attacked Jon, eight were killed in the skirmish. Four remained alive but wounded. She had them piled on top of the dead bodies of their comrades. She was tempted to leave them there and let their brothers come back to life and finish them off, but she couldn’t risk creating more wights simply for revenge. The only survivor that Daenerys knew personally was Cotter Pyke, who blead out with a sword wound in his flank but still lived. Part of her wanted to let the wound fester, but she needed to get this over with, so she could return to Jon.

“You idiot.” Daenerys’s voice quivered with rage. “The enemy is out there,” she pointed to Eastwatch. “In your fort. Jon is trying to save you all. You would have no help to fight the dead if it wasn’t for him. What petty grievance could matter more than saving the living?”

“Petty grievance?” Cotter Pyke spat through his wheezing. “He’s a lord commander who acts like a king. He mocks our order. He’s fucking you.”

Daenerys slapped him.

“Do you think no one would notice, Your Grace?” Cotter Pyke asked through rattling breath. “He’s always been a pretty boy. Did he seduce you? Did your offer him your armies in exchange for his cock? This is what happens when you put a woman in charge.”

“What is what happens?” Daenerys seethed. “The Iron Throne comes to save the Night’s Watch? Your people have actually have a chance of surviving? You’re pathetic. Gag him,” she said to her Unsullied. “I will have no more of his filth spewed where anyone can hear.”

She moved to address the crowd that had formed. The sun was rising over the Shivering Sea, illuminating the hungry, freezing crowds that stood before her. She would not be able to stop the rumors from spreading now. Too many had seen Jon stabbed and bleeding outside her tent. She would not apologize for it. She would force these shortsighted, judgmental people to see what happened when they opposed her and Jon.

“Your lord commander was brutally attacked,” she addressed the crowd in her most commanding voice. “By petty men who couldn’t see past their own noses. Our enemy is the dead. If we turn against each other, we have no hope of surviving this.”

She saw the crowd eying the black brothers, no doubt wondering why so many turned against Jon. Perhaps they wondered if he had done something to deserve it. She could not let that happen.

“Your lord commander survives,” she said. A cheer went up throughout the crowd. It was too weak for her liking, but it was there. “Let me say that again. The White Wolf survived!” The cheer was louder now. “He can’t be killed by the likes of them.” She wished her words were true. “He’s killed Others. He’ll kill more. He and I are the hope for the land of the living. And we will win!”

The cheers were louder now. The crowd chanted for the White Wolf. He was a war hero. He should be treated as such. She mounted Drogon “Dracarys.” Jon said the man who passes the sentence swings the sword. She was not strong enough to behead anyone. But dragon fire would suffice. She breathed in the familiar smell of smoke, while the pyre caught. He dragon’s flames consumed the corpses and the wounded men alike. She thought it would make her feel better to watch these men burn. But her anger only burned more fiercely.

Daenerys held onto her rage as she stalked back to her tent. She saw fear in the eyes of the men she passed. Good. She wanted them to fear her. She wanted them think twice before they plotted against them. She entered her tent, desperate to be alone with Jon, to comfort him, to care for him. He laid in the furs of her bed, pale and wan. Sam was busy creating some sort of potion for him, and Arya knelt by Jon’s side. Ghost was draped protectively over his master, sharing his warmth.

“How is he?” Daenerys asked, her voice shaking.

“He was stabbed by his own men, how do you think he’s doing?” Arya’s voice dripped with derision.

“He’ll survive, Your Grace,” Sam said cutting through the tension between the two women. “I—I’ve given him milk of the poppy for the pain. But he’s lucky. The knife didn’t hit any organs. I’ve dressed it. We’ll keep caring for it. It will heal.”

Daenerys knelt next to Arya. Her mind wandered to memories of Drogo’s knife wound. He had called it a scratch, but he had still died.

“Are the men dead?” Arya asked.

“Yes,” Daenerys nodded her voice hoarse. “I burned them.”

“Good,” Arya said. “The fuckers. It was men from the Night’s Watch?”

Daenerys nodded.

Jon stirred in his sleep. He started to mutter. Dany couldn’t make out his words at first. Ghost started twitching in his sleep. No doubt wolf and man were sharing the same dream.

“No, no!” Jon started shouting. “Dany!”

“I’m here, Jon.” She reached for him then, taking his hand. She felt Arya’s eyes boring into her. She could feel her judgement and wanted to snap at the wild girl who wasn’t exactly known for propriety.

“Arya, will you leave us?” She asked, careful not to command Arya to go. “I’ll have someone fetch you when he wakes.”

“Alright,” Arya grunted, stroking Jon’s forehead as he quieted, settling into a calmer sleep. At the tent’s entrance Arya turned back to look at Daenerys, kneeling on the bed beside her brother, stroking his hand. “If I asked you to stop it, would you?”

Daenerys met Arya’s grey eyes, so like Jon’s, from across the tent. They had never spoken about Dany’s relationship with Jon. Arya’s accusing eyes made it very clear that she had no illusions about what Jon was doing outside the queen’s tent in the middle of the night. Daenerys felt a prickle of embarrassment, but she could not muster the shame she knew Arya wanted her to feel.

“No,” she said. She did not know where things would stand between her and Jon when he woke. But she knew that this thing between them was theirs alone, and only they could stop it. She would not be shamed by members of Night’s Watch or concerned sisters.

“Thought not,” Arya said with a sigh. “I’ll have to be more careful to protect him then. If you won’t do it yourself.”

Then Arya left, and Daenerys moved closer to Jon. She kissed his hand and soothed his brow.

“Can I do anything for him, Sam?” she asked.

“For now, he needs rest,” Sam said. “Later you can help me with his wounds.”

“I would like that,” Daenerys said.  

“Is it true what they say?” Sam asked. “Cotter Pyke?”

“It’s true,” Daenerys said. “They’re gone now. I burned everyone who mutinied against him.”

“Seven hells,” Sam gasped. “I knew there was grumbling—but—but I never—never thought it would it would go so far.”

“What kind of grumbling?” Daenerys asked, turning to look at him.

Sam turned beat red.

“Oh—I—uh—I dunno—Your Grace. There are always grumblings. Men have tried to kill Jon before—and they—they killed the Old Bear. The Night’s Watch is a hard lot.”

“What are the men grumbling about, Sam?” She knew the answer, but needed to hear it from someone beside Cotter Pyke.

“They—some didn’t like when he let the wildlings through the—the Wall,” Sam stammered.

“That was years ago,” Daenerys said. “I believe there was already an attempt on his life over that that was stopped.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. She would have to pull it out of him.

“Cotter Pyke said the men claim Jon means to be a king,” she said. “They say he shares a queen’s bed, which dishonors the Night’s Watch.”

“They—they do say—say that, Your Grace,” Sam sputtered.

“When did these rumors start?” she asked.

“You—you work very well together. There were rumors when he returned from the south with you and your armies.”

She wanted to laugh at that. They had been so careful not to touch each other on the road or at Castle Black. What was the point of their restraint when the rumors spread anyway?

“Why do they care?” Daenerys asked. “They have women. They visit their whores. You have your Gilly.”

Sam flinched.

“We don’t stop them from getting their release and their comfort when they can,” Dany continued.

“I know,” Sam said. “But it’s different when it’s a queen.”

At the word queen, Daenerys’ tears finally started to flow. Kneeling here beside Jon on the bed, she didn’t feel like a queen. She felt like a foolish girl, in love with a boy she was forbidden to have. A queen would hold her head high, restrain herself, and do her duty. But she never felt like a queen when she was alone with Jon. Everything between the two of them was blessedly simple, but the world around them with its awful rules and complications, wanted to tear them apart.   

Sam let her weep. He mixed Jon’s potion in a quiet that Dany found comforting. She stayed by Jon’s side. Once her tears stopped, she returned to soothing him through his fevered dreams. She must have slept draped over his body, for she was awoken by Jon’s gruff voice.

“What am I doing here?” he asked.

“Jon?” Daenerys stirred, relief flowing through her. “Thank the gods you’re awake.” She reached up to stroke his face.

“Why am I in your tent?” He drew away from her touch.

“You were stabbed,” she said. “Cotter Pyke and—”

“I remember. But why am I in your tent?”

“You were hurt,” Daenerys said. “They stabbed you outside my tent. We needed to treat you quickly—”

“So, you brought me back in here?” Jon’s voice was hoarse and weak, but anger fueled his words. “Have you lost your wits?”

Daenerys sat back from him. “Excuse me?” she asked. “I insured that you were treated immediately. I kept you safe. I burned them.”

“You burned them?” Jon tried to sit up, but he winced and fell back into her furs. “They were my men. I should have killed them.”

“You were in no position to swing a sword.” Daenerys spat back. “And they’re my men as well. They’re all my men.”

Jon glared at her. His eyes were still somewhat glassy, but he seemed entirely lucid. He looked to the table in the corner where Sam was sitting, awkwardly pretending not to hear their spat.

“Sam,” Jon said, his voice full of command. “Move me back to my tent.”

“I’m not sure it’s wise to move you right now, my lord—” Sam said.

“Jon, don’t be ridiculous. You’re hurt!” Dany seethed.

“Do it,” Jon said through gritted teeth. “Move me on a stretcher if you have to.”

“Sam, don’t,” Daenerys insisted.                                                  

Sam remained where he was, awkwardly caught between his lord commander and his queen.

“Do you honestly think that keeping me in your bed is a good idea right now? After where they stabbed me?” Jon’s voice was tight with pain, but his words were sharp. It seemed the milk of the poppy had worn off.

“My tent was closest,” Daenerys said. “I had to get you help.”

“So, you pulled me into your tent and burned my men very publicly I assume?”

Daenerys was taken aback. She had done everything she could to save his life and deal with his would-be assassins. And he blamed her for it? “You would have done the same! We can’t tolerate mutiny!”

“You’re encouraging more with your actions.” Jon tried to sit up in bed again, but didn’t have the strength and fell back amongst her furs. She watched him struggle, but didn’t bother to comfort or help him. He clearly didn’t want her help.

“Fine then,” Dany turned to Sam. “Take him back to his tent. Do not let him leave until you deem him healthy enough.”

Sam nodded, and left the tent to find men to move him. Daenerys and Jon stared at each other in silence for a moment.

“Everyone knows now.” Jon buried his head in his hands. It struck Dany that his eyes were full of fear. He faced death daily. He had killed multiple Others. She knew he feared them, he would be a fool not to, but the fear he held now was sharper somehow. It was a different kind of pain for a man to lose his good reputation.

She knew why it hurt him. But it hurt her with a pain equally sharp to see that the man she loved to distraction was ashamed of her love. She gave him everything she could. All he would give her was comfort in the dark of night, but never show that he cared about her in the light of day.

“Let them know,” Daenerys said. “We have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You didn’t get a knife in your side because of it,” Jon hissed, wincing through his pain. She didn’t have a chance to respond, because Sam had returned with Pyp and Grenn. Trusted men.

They looked at Jon laid out in the queen’s bed with wide eyes. Jon slowly rose from the bed. Ghost kept to his master’s side. Jon leaned on him for support, while Sam supported him on the other side.

“Do you need a stretcher?” Sam asked Jon. Jon shook his head.

“That’s won’t look good. They need to see I’m not at death’s door.”

The group of men slowly left the tent, assisting Jon with his shaky steps. Daenerys remained where she was, seething in the privacy of her tent and feeling terribly alone.

*

The lord commander was still alive, and it appeared that he would make a full recovery. That was the good news. But the camp was alive with the rumors. Given where the lord commander was stabbed, the camp had made the correct conclusion that the lord commander and the queen were lovers. But that was only where the rumors started. Others flew wildly around the camp. The queen was pregnant. The queen had released the lord commander of his vows. The queen planned to marry him. The queen had seduced the honorable Lord Snow. The lord commander had seduced the queen to win her to his cause. Tyrion was dizzy with the rumors, but he had to know all that was being said if he was to help the doomed lovers.

Tyrion visited Jon Snow in his tent. The lord commander was propped up on his cot, covered in furs, with his wolf on one side of him and his sister on the other.

“I have come to report to the lord commander,” Tyrion said to Arya. “May I speak to him alone?”

“I’m not leaving him,” Arya crossed her arms over her chest.

“Arya, go to the tent’s entrance,” Jon croaked. “I’m safe with Tyrion.”

“You would have thought you were safe with your men who stabbed you,” Arya said, her hands crossed over her chest as she surveyed the Lannister who she tolerated but would never trust.

“Take my sword if it makes you feel any better,” Tyrion said, handing Arya his small sword. “But trust that I very much want to survive this fight, and I think I have a better chance of that with your brother alive and leading the armies.”

Arya took his sword with force. “I’ll be at the mouth of the tent. If I hear anything suspicious, your sword will be through your throat before you can defend yourself.”

“Arya!” Jon said.

Arya stocked to the edge of the tent.

“You do inspire loyalty, don’t you?” Tyrion said.

Jon’s lip curled in a self-deprecating sneer. “I seem to inspire treachery even more.” The lord commander was coiled tight.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you, Jon,” Tyrion said. “Truly—but I did warn you to be more careful—”

Jon crossed his hands over his chest. “I’m not discussing this with you,” he seethed.

“I’m not here to reprimand you—“ Tyrion said. “But perhaps we can create a plan to help you and the queen be more discreet—”

“A bit late for that don’t you think?” Jon asked.

“Better late than never—”

“Lord Tyrion,” Jon clipped his voice harsh and cold. “I thought you had come to discuss our supplies. If you have come to discuss other topics, you best leave now.”

So Tyrion turned to the grim topic of their dwindling supplies, accepting that he would not get through the lord commander’s walls today.

For the few days after the stabbing, Jon Snow stayed in his tent, and the queen wisely stayed away from him. Lady Arya served as a go-between, attending council meetings, and reporting what was said to Lord Snow and then returning with Jon’s notes. It was not a role anyone on the council envied. Lord Snow’s mood did not improve, and his cold critiques of the queen’s plans only sparked the queen’s fury.

“He says you need to move more men to the left flank,” Arya said at one such council meeting. “You can’t leave the back of the camp undefended.”

“The Dead are in Eastwatch,” Daenerys said through gritted teeth.

“He says they could cross the Wall at other forts,” Arya said.

“But they haven’t,” Daenerys said. Yet. Before the stabbing, if the lord commander had been giving the queen this advice here in the war council tent, she would have accepted it without question. But now, the queen crossed her arms over her chest, and turned to Arya with cold fury, likely angry that she currently wasn’t talking to her lord commander himself.

“Your Grace, I’m only reporting what my brother said,” Arya said over the council table. Things had become frosty between Lady Arya and the Queen. The Stark girl cleared blamed the queen for her brother’s knife wound, and she was not one to hide her displeasure, even from a queen. “You can speak to him yourself if you don’t agree with his counsel.”

The council members all looked down at the table in awkward silence. Tyrion cursed that they had ended up in this situation, with the two most powerful people in the army in the middle of a lover’s spat. They were fools. But who could blame them? They were only human. How could two young, beautiful heroes resist their pull to one another?

Daenerys composed herself, taking stock of her room of advisers. “Fine,” she pulled herself together to look more like the queen and less like a jilted lover. “Lord Hardyng, Lord Bracken, you will take your troupes to our western perimeter.”

After that meeting was dismissed, Tyrion lingered to try to speak to the queen. He worried about her, just as he worried about Jon. Missandei was in Meereen, fighting to hold the city. Ser Jorah Mormont and Ser Barristan had both died in the battle for King’s Landing. Here at the Wall, those closest to her were also connected to the lord commander. He feared her isolation.

“Come to gloat?” Daenerys glared at him.

“Gloat, Your Grace?” Tyrion asked.

“You did warn me, didn’t you?” Daenerys snapped. “You told me I was putting him in danger.”

“I promise you, I feel no pleasure in his or your pain,” Tyrion said.

“No, he won’t let anyone feel pleasure now, will he?” Daenerys asked. “He bites my head off every time I try to talk to him.”

“Give him time, Your Grace,” Tyrion said. “I am sure you are worth it, but a knife wound is bound to give even the most ardent lovers pause.” He didn’t mean for his words to come out as flippant as they did.

“Get out,” Daenerys raged. “I’ll not sit here and let you mock me!”

Jon’s warning about the left flank turned out to be prescient, much to the dismay of the living. A couple of Others and a group of wights were spotted west of their camp a few days after Jon ordered the men to increase their defenses there.

“How are they west of us?” Daenerys demanded of the group. “No one’s left Eastwatch. We’ve kept them in the fort.”

“Did they breach the Wall?” Tyrion asked.

“They—they couldn’t,” Sam looked pale. “There’s magic that respells them. If they breached the Wall, and that magic—we’re doomed!”

“As long as we live, we’re not doomed,” the Lord Commander stood in the entryway to the tent, leaning on his wolf for support.

“What are you doing here?” the Queen asked Jon as he limped to the table. He was white as a sheet and looked like he was about to pass out.

“I am Lord Commander of the army, Your Grace,” Jon said through gritted teeth. “We are under attack. I am here to lead the attack.”

“Lord Commander, we will follow your orders and your commands, but are you sure you are in a position to fight?” Lord Royce said, his eyes wide with concern.

“I am fine,” Jon said as he swayed on his feet.

“You look like you’re more likely to fight for the side of the dead than the living, my lord,” Tyrion said cheerily.

“We are wasting time,” Jon said. “We need to move.”

“All of us who are able bodied,” Daenerys agreed.  “But you are no use to us, bleeding out before you even make it to the battle. We need our Lord Commander alive.”

“I’m prepared to give my life to this fight,” Jon said.

Daenerys flinched at that, turning almost as white as her lord commander. “Dying in battle is one thing. Insisting on fighting with a fresh knife wound is quite another. Do I have to order you back to your tent?”

“Don’t embarrass me,” Jon spat.

“More than I already have, my lord?” Daenerys asked. Her statement hung in the air between them.  Jon Snow turned a shade whiter, and then red. He looked as though he was fit to burst with things he should probably never say to the queen—and certainly not when they were surrounded by the most powerful lords of the realm.

“Jon, come,” Arya grabbed her brother’s arm. “The queen’s right on this. You would be a liability on the battlefield at the moment.”

The fierce Stark sister was not usually adept at politics, but she was the best, besides the queen, at swaying the lord commander to do things he didn’t want to do.

Jon returned to his tent, and Tyrion and the rest of the command tent returned to plans based on the lord commander’s battle tactics. The men left for battle, the queen mounted her dragon, and Tyrion remained in the tent. Someone would need to be present to organize the tending of the wounded and the burning of the bodies after the battle was done. Tyrion prayed to every god that he could think of that they made it through this battle—fought without their lord commander.

For the next dark hours, Tyrion would have little to do. So he tried, once more, to have a chat with his old friend, Jon Snow.

When he entered the tent, the lord commander was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, a fire burning in brazier next to his bed. His wolf was draped across him. He bared his fangs as Tyrion approached.

“Shouldn’t the wolf be fighting?” Tyrion asked.

“He refuses to leave me,” Jon said, sitting up in his bed. The beast had saved the lord commander. No doubt he was frightened to find his master knifed in the dark. Still, Tyrion wished the wolf was tearing off wight’s heads, instead of staring at him with his disconcerting red eyes.

“Do you need something?” Jon’s face was stony, his tone defensive. Tyrion pulled up a stool and steeled himself for an awkward conversation. He failed at reaching Jon Snow before, but perhaps he could try a different tactic.

“I have everything that I could possibly hope for in this frozen wasteland you call a home,” Tyrion said. “You, however, seem like you could use a friend.”

“Friend?” Jon scoffed, his eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“You called me that once,” Tyrion said, remembering when the lord commander was only a naïve, green boy. No longer. “I hope you still consider me one. You need a friend to talk to. Someone who’s not your sister, one of the men you command, or the queen.”

Jon grunted at the mention of the queen.

“You were caught with your pants down,” Tyrion said. Jon flinched at that. “It’s happened to me, and it’s stung. And I am not a particularly proud man. You, on the other hand, are enormously proud with your talk of honor and your quest to save the world. I can imagine it stings even worse for you.”

“I’m not talking about this with you,” Jon said through gritted teeth.

“No?” Tyrion asked. “I beg you to reconsider. Because you are fit to bursting with all your hurts and your embarrassment. If you don’t talk about them with me, I fear they will all come out at the next council meeting, and that would be bad for you, the queen, and the land of the living.”

“She should take away my command,” Jon spat. “I’m not worthy of it.”

“Perhaps,” Tyrion considered. “You have not proved to have the best judgement, sharing the queen’s bed in the middle of an army camp, where you were bound to be caught. But you’re also the mind behind this whole operation and have dedicated your life to this fight. The queen’s not wrong that you’re truly the only man anyone can imagine doing this job.”

“If I was so dedicated, then why would I risk my command like that?” Jon asked, his voice thick with self-loathing. Good, Tyrion was getting him to talk.

“You tell me,” Tyrion said, sitting back on his stool in uncharacteristic silence.

“I can’t even blame her for it. I’m the one who started it this time.”

“This time?” Tyrion raised a brow at him, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Jon scoffed at his own mistake. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. You’re a politician. I can’t trust you.”

“I am Master of Supplies,” Tyrion said with a sneer. “I am lord of nothing. I have no family to fight for anymore. The queen is my only horse in this race. And I am quite fond of you, Lord Snow. I have been since you were a boy. It brought me no joy to hear that you were bleeding out in the snow, stabbed by your own men.”

“I deserved it,” Jon said.

Tyrion bit his tongue at that. He supposed after almost being murdered by men who were close to you, the lord commander was allowed a bit of self-pity.

“There are those who say you are without honor,” Tyrion said. “But you would be surprised how many understand it. You are only human after all, a man who’s lived a cold hard life these past years, fighting the dead. The most beautiful woman in the world looks at you like you hang the moon itself. Men who are honest know they wouldn’t be able to resist that.”

Tyrion wouldn’t be able to. His own history with women confirmed that. For years he thought that he could only pay a woman to love him. But that was a twisted lie from his father.

The lord commander was quiet. Perhaps if Tyrion confessed his own sins, he could inspire the man to talk.

“I killed my father over my love of women. Two in particular. One who betrayed me, and one who loved me truly with the passion and innocence of youth. I have only had that kind of love for a few short weeks, and the mere memory of such sweetness that was taken from me was enough to rot my soul and make me a kinslayer. You are not the only fool when it comes to love, Lord Snow.”

 “I am the shield that guards the realms of men,” Jon said, his voice racked with grief.  “Those words have never been as true as they are now. Nothing can matter to me but the fight ahead—but it all seems so pointless given the circumstances.”

“Pointless, how?” Tyrion asked.

“Aemon told me once why we spoke our vows. He said that love was the death of duty, and the Night’s Watch had to put their duty before their families. If they had a wife at home, they couldn’t be focused on the fight ahead. But I don’t have a wife at home. I have Daenerys here, with me every moment of the day, fighting by my side. She’s taken up this duty with me, even if she has not spoken our vows. I can’t stay away from her. We have to save the world together.

“I convinced her to come here, Tyrion,” Jon said his eyes wide. “And now I have nightmares that she dies. They kill her, and she comes back—and I have to—it’s up to me to—to.” Jon shuddered. He couldn’t even speak the words. “I can’t stop the nightmares. I can’t stop the feelings I have. I can’t sleep without her, without knowing that she’s safe, that they don’t have her yet. It’s a fucking stupid thing to do, but it’s the only the thing that makes me feel better if only for a little while. My home’s becoming a graveyard, and I brought Daenerys to it, do you understand what that’s like?”

“I can only imagine,” Tyrion said. “I urged her to stay in Essos, but it is not in her nature to sit by while innocents are in danger.”

“I know,” Jon said. “I took advantage of her goodness. What if it kills her? What if they turn her? What if they turn her children?”

Tyrion shuddered. He had considered it before, but the thought was too terrifying, he had banished it from his mind. The lord commander, apparently, had not.

“I do not know,” Tyrion admitted. “I am out of my depth with these inhuman monsters. My concerns are for what comes after the war. When you win.”

“I don’t know that we will. How can we beat such a fearsome enemy?” Jon asked.

“Picture for a moment that you do,” Tyrion said. “What happens when this war ends?”

“Daenerys returns to the capital and marries Willas Tyrell,” Jon said the words clearly, although it looked like they cost him.

“Willas Tyrell,” Tyrion shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about Daeron II lately.”

“Daeron II?” Jon looked utterly confused. “What does that history have to do with us?”

“Daeron II was a perfectly fine king,” Tyrion said. “Well mannered, polite, well liked at court.  A little like our Lord Tyrell, don’t you think?”

“Lord Tyrell isn’t a king,” Jon said.

“No,” Tyrion agreed. “But when we turn south, he is supposed to become king consort. I was proud when I secured the match. A strong political arrangement, with a decent man? My queen was a lucky woman. But still, I feared that her heart might lie elsewhere.”

“A queen doesn’t marry for her heart,” Jon said.

“She’s not supposed to,” Tyrion said. “But our queen is a passionate woman. And she is betrothed to marry a Daeron II, while she shares her bed with a Daemon Blackfyre.”

“What?” Jon looked utterly perplexed. “Tyrion, I’m no Daemon Blackfyre.”

“You’re a highborn bastard who outshines all the legitimately born men around you, including the soon-to-be king consort.”

“I’m—I’m not—” Jon was at a loss for words. “Daemon Blackfyre was a courtier and a king’s bastard. He was a tourney fighter. I’m none of these things. I’m Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. We’re a force of thieves and criminals. There’s no glory to my command.”

“Jon,” Tyrion rolled his eyes, incredulously. “You have transformed the Night’s Watch. You have turned it into a force of legend. We used to laugh at your order. Now we have all come to fight your cause and follow your commands. What you have done is more impressive than any of Daemon Blackfyre’s actions.”

“I had to do it—” Jon said. “Or we would all be dead. But I’m not a king’s bastard. I have no interest in the Iron Throne. I have nothing to do with court.”

“The next king will be the man the queen weds. I fear she will try to release you from your vows, legitimize you, and wed you.”

“What?” Jon looked horrified. Apparently, this possibility had never occurred to him. Tyrion was somewhat heartened that the two had not discussed it. “She wouldn’t do that. That’s impossible. I would bring her nothing. The north will be destroyed after this. And I’m not a Stark.”

“You and the queen are similar in so many ways,” Tyrion said, shaking his head. “But you are also different. You bend things to fit your needs. You let the wildlings through the Wall, but you enlist them in the army. You helped the Starks take back Winterfell, but you refused the calls to become King in the North. You share the queen’s bed, but justify your honor by insisting you will never truly break your vows—you won’t marry her, and you won’t take a crown.”

“Honor,” Jon shook his head. “You make me sound like a man who has no honor.”

“But you do,” Tyrion said. “You are pragmatic and creative, and yet you still care about our laws, our customs, our values. You bend the rules—some would say too much—but you do not break them. The queen is similar in many ways, but she does not stop at bending the rules, she breaks them.”

“Breaker of Chains,” Jon muttered.

“Precisely,” Tyrion said. “This affair makes everyone uneasy, because it is all too easy to imagine her breaking her betrothal, breaking your vows, breaking the role of the Night’s Watch to change the world to fit her vision.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Jon shook his head. “She wouldn’t be so selfish.”

“Is it selfish?” Tyrion asked. “I don’t think she would see it as such. She did not grow up here. She sees how our rules about propriety, honor and legitimate birth hurt talented men like you. The throne is not truly hers by right, it is hers by conquest. She wants a world where men and women who have proven themselves can rise high.”

“Not that high,” Jon shook his head. “The realm has bled enough. It will not bleed for me. She has not said of this to me, Tyrion. I don’t think she considers it. If she did—I would not—I could not.” He shook his head. “My—actions—they’re not a folly of ambition—they’re a folly of—of—” He couldn’t even say the word.

“Of love?” Tyrion asked. Jon nodded, but the look in his eyes told Tyrion that he understood how dangerous a thing love could be. “When someone like you loves an unmarried queen, ambition cannot be so easily dismissed.”

“Someone like me?” Jon asked.

“An ambitious bastard, my lord,” Tyrion said bluntly.

Jon’s face was open for once. Tyrion had finally breached his formidable walls. “I am ambitious. And I can’t deny that part of my love for her is because of who she is and what she’s done for us. She’s given me hope, Tyrion, which is a bleak thing to live without. But my ambitions do not extend to a kingship. I swear that to you on my sisters' lives.”

“I will speak of it no more then,” Tyrion said. “But be wary, my friend, that Daenerys may well want this. She may feels that she deserves it after this war is through, and she is not wrong. But the consequences—”

“Could be drastic,” Jon shook his head. He stroked his wolf’s fur, lost in thought for a moment. “I don’t think I’m going to survive this war.” His voice was quiet and vulnerable, full of a fear that he kept well hidden from his armies. “I have to protect my homeland, and the living. I lead the armies; I don’t hide behind them. I don’t just fight wights, I fight Others, Tyrion. They’re strong. They’re death itself. I’m a good fighter, but I’m only mortal—it’s only a matter of time before I fall to one of them. I am good in battle. That’s why I risk it—that’s why I let myself be foolish—”

“Because you don’t think you’ll live to see past this fight.” Tyrion looked at the handsome young warrior who had accomplished so much in his short life. “What do you say to the army? That you have to believe that we can succeeded, or the dead have already won?”

“Of course, I say that to them. They need to hear it. Maybe we will win. The fight will continue if I die—as long as the queen survives.”

“And you’re willing to die to protect her,” Tyrion said.

Jon nodded.

The tragedy of it all made Tyrion uncharacteristically weepy. The realm had bled for years, and now it faced a threat even more deadly than the lords’ follies. Jon was young, strong, and brilliant. He should be planning for a long life, full of accomplishments. But after everything he had survived, after the deaths of his father and his brother, why would he expect anything besides an early grave? And how could any of them deny the man a bit of joy when he had already dedicated his life to this fight and was willing to risk even more?

Tyrion might well die here too. If there was a woman here who loved him, who wanted him, who would hold him at night and guard him against the terror they all faced, he knew he would give into her. He knew it would be worth the risk to him. What did his warnings, his sense, his politics matter when compared to the love of the dragon queen?

“We should pitch your tents next to each other,” Tyrion said. “Double the guard around both of them.”

Jon reddened at that. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—that will make it seem like we’re—”

“Lovers?” Tyrion asked. “A bit too late for that don’t you think?”

“I’ll stop it,” Jon shook his head. “A knife wound is warning enough for me. I’ll have better sense.”

“No, you won’t,” Tyrion said. “You may be used to lying by now, but don’t lie to yourself my friend. The next time you have a close battle, or the queen almost dies, you’ll be sneaking right back into her bed. You might as well be smart about it.”

“I don’t know if she still wants me,” Jon sighed. “I was sorely cross with her after the stabbing.”

“She’ll forgive you,” Tyrion said with a twisted grin. “She has a tender heart—all too tender when it comes to you, I fear.”

Jon sighed, settling against his furs. He looked exhausted.

“Rest, my friend.” Tyrion patted him over the furs. “We need you for the fights ahead. Fights I pray you will survive, no matter the political headaches you inspire.”

*

Waiting for Daenerys to return was agony, worse than his knife wound. Jon should be by her side, fighting on the ground beneath her, protecting her from the Others. Not wasting away in his bed due a knife from his own men. His lust and stupidity had rendered him temporarily powerless, and the shame of it was eating him alive even as his wound healed more every day. Arya, stayed with him, determined to protect him. It was a relief that she had not joined Daenerys in battle, but her constant presence only made him feel more shame. He should be a good example for his little sister, not a cause for her to worry. They didn’t speak of why his men mutinied, but she made it clear enough that she knew the reason with her sly looks and exasperated sighs.

After three days, the horns finally blew—one blow—signaling that the army had returned. Jon pulled himself out of bed, and put on his furs. He had more strength in him. He could stand without his vision blurring. Soon he would be back on the battlefield where he belonged. Ghost walked beside him, and he leaned into his wolf for strength.

As soon as Jon left his tent, Unsullied fell into step around him. He wanted to dismiss them, but Tyrion’s words of warning gave him pause. He couldn’t risk another stabbing. He had too much to do. He walked to the edge of the camp to meet Daenerys, who had just landed. An intense physical feeling of relief flooded through him. She had survived the battle without him. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he could not. He wanted to apologize for being a grumpy cad, but they had more important matters to discuss.

“You are well?” Jon asked, politely and somewhat coldly. He hoped she could see what her presence did to him—how glad he was to see her.

“Yes,” she responded, also politely. She looked wary and guarded as she spoke to him, as she had every right to after he had lashed out at her. “The force was not so great. I easily took care of the wights. But I fear the Others who slipped through eluded us.”

Jon felt fresh guilt. If he had been well enough to fight, he might have been able to defeat them. “How many?” He asked.

“We only noted two,” Daenerys said. “I’ve ordered the generals to meet in the command tent. You look well enough to join.”

“I am,” Jon said.

“Good.” They walked through the camp together. Not walking together would have been awkward, as they were headed in the same direction, but walking together was uncomfortable as well. Jon wanted to scream in frustration. Nothing had ever felt as right in his life as holding this woman in his arms, tasting her, entering her tight heat. But it was also, the worse thing he had ever done. He feared Tyrion’s warnings that Daenerys might consider making her his king. The thought of breaking his vows not just for his own lust but for a wife and a crown, filled him with dread. He was a man of the Night’s Watch. He couldn’t shatter his vows like that. It would make a mockery of them.

When they entered the command tent, Jon felt even more self-conscious. All these great lords he commanded knew that he had been stabbed outside the queen’s tent in the middle of the night. He had all but confirmed their affair the last time he had been in this tent, fighting with her in front of all of them. His hand twisted in Ghost’s fur. He would have to face his shame. He couldn’t hide from it. No matter what follies he made in the night, his place was still here. He could not lose his command, too much depended on it. So, he would have to act as a lord commander and not a petulant lover.

He surveyed the men before him. Harry Hardyng had a terrible gash over his eye. The Blackfish looked exhausted but unhurt. Tyrion sat on high alert. Sam seemed anxious to hear more news of the Others. Arya stood behind Jon. She had no place in the council, but she insisted on staying by his side to protect him. The queen took her place at the head of the table and surveyed the group.

“Two Others breached the Wall at Sable Hall and raised a number of wights from the graveyards. We easily killed the wights, but the Others eluded us. Lord Hightower died fighting one. Lord Hardyng was injured.”

“I could have gotten them!” Harry Hardyng puffed up his chest with all his pompous bombast. “If it wasn’t for the cold.”

Harry could have killed them, if only they weren’t Others essentially.

“Where are they now?” Jon asked.

“We don’t know,” Daenerys said. “We lost sight of them in the mist.”

“My lord, I know that you fear for his safety, but we need your brother, Lord Stark, at the Wall,” Sam said. “He sends cryptic messages, but I need his help to discover how they are getting through.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed. “The Wall has not yet fallen. But they are slipping through its cracks.”

The rest of council meeting was spent discussing sending messages to the forts along the Wall to ensure that they would be at high alert for the Others. They debated spreading their main force thin, or remaining at Eastwatch, where the bulk of the Others force was still trying to invade from across the ice. Sam made notes of all the questions he had for Bran. Jon would ask his brother to move to Last Hearth. It was closer to the Wall, and the first castle they would retreat to, once it became too much of a risk for their army to be camped out in the cold.

It felt good to be back in the command tent. While the news was terrifying, Jon was so focused on the task at hand and had no time to dwell on his personal drama. By the end of the meeting, he was exhausted, and his knife wound ached. He would need more rest before he could return to the battlefield. As the council was dismissed and the men began to shuffle out, Daenerys asked him to remain behind. Arya stayed by his side.

“Lady Arya, may I have a moment alone with your brother?”

Arya crossed her arms over her chest and stared down Daenerys. For an absurd moment, Jon had the impression that his little sister was protecting his virtue.

“Arya, you can leave us,” Jon said, swallowing a laugh at the thought of Arya protecting his chastity.

“Is that wise?” Arya asked.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Daenerys said, sounding offended. She didn’t seem to see the humor in the moment.

“Wait outside the tent,” Jon said. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Reluctantly, Arya nodded and left them.

Jon moved to sit next to Daenerys, so they could speak quietly. He hated the openness of camp. There was no privacy. His stabbing had proved that.

“She blames me for what happened to you,” Daenerys said, not meeting his eyes and sounding miserable.

“No, she doesn’t,” Jon protested. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“She talked to me about it,” Daenerys said. “Believe me, she does.”

“She hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Well, she wouldn’t, would she? You’re her darling brother who can do no wrong. I’m the foreign whore putting you in danger.”

“Arya would never see you as a foreign whore,” Jon said. He reached out to touch her hand, but then thought better of it. They should refrain from touching. He couldn’t end up back in her tent tonight.

Daenerys shrugged, resigned to her scandalous reputation. Jon ached for her. She was the savior of the north and despite all her sacrifices and her bravery, she was belittled for petty reasons.

“I’m going to increase your guard,” Daenerys said. “I’m ordering an Unsullied tail to follow you.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Jon protested. “It will only draw attention to our connection—”

“The connection has been made, Jon—”

“I can take care of myself. They didn’t get me last time—”

“You were lucky. If the knife wound had festered you would have been lost to me—”

“I’m a solider,” Jon said. “There’s always a risk.”

“Jon,” Daenerys shook his shoulder. It was not a gentle, loving touch, but rather one full of frustration. “I needed you on the ground with me in the last battle. Do you understand?”

Jon swallowed, his guilt threatening to overwhelm him.

“The men were terrified by the Others.” Her grip on his shoulder tightened. “They’ve grown used to the wights, but at the sight of those skeleton mounts they freeze.”

Her eyes were wide and full of fear. She was so small for such a fierce warrior. Jon longed to pull her into his arms and protect her from all that threatened them.

“I—I don’t feel safe up in the air when you’re not on the ground below me,” Daenerys admitted. “They didn’t have spears this time, but if they did—I—I—it could have been the end. I need you there.”

She looked at him with a raw need that went far deeper than lust. She needed to be in this fight with him. Jon felt overcome with awe that this legendary woman trusted him so much, needed him so much. But she could never possibly need him as much as he needed her. Jon forced aside his fears and the need for propriety. He rose and pulled Daenerys into his arms. She trembled against him. His fierce dragon rider. The Breaker of Chains. Only in each other’s arms could they admit how frightened they were.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered against her head. “I should have been there. I wanted to be there. We were too reckless. I had poor judgement.”

Daenerys pulled back, looking up at him with a fierce rage that startled him.

“It was not your judgement that almost got you killed,” Daenerys said fiercely. “Those men are petty. Jealous. And they’re terrified too. You cannot bow to their mutinies.”

“Dany—” How could he make her understand? Sometimes she seemed as foreign to the culture of Westeros as Ygritte had been. “My actions—my recklessness—it’s bound to attract mutinies. They have cause—”

“They do not have cause,” Daenerys said fiercely. “They’re treasonous! I’ll burn anyone who threatens you. What is wrong with these people? Do they want to die? Where would we be without you?”

He hadn’t considered how frightened she must have been. Losing her was his greatest fear. Perhaps she thought the same of losing him. This was their fight together. She had joined his cause with all the force she could muster. How terrifying it would be for her to face it without him.

“I’ll accept your guard.” Jon entangled his hand in her silken curls and pulled her towards him again.

“I’m your queen. You have to accept them,” Daenerys said.

“Aye, that’s true,” Jon smiled, leaning his forehead against hers. “But I’ll not be a sullen boy about it.”

“You were a sullen boy earlier—“ Daenerys said.

“Apologies. My own men trying to kill me put me in a rotten mood.”

“You didn’t like it that I saved you.”

“My pride’s suffered a few bruises these past few weeks,” Jon said. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you.”

“You’re going to get better,” Daenerys whispered, nuzzling her head against his. “We’re going to fight them together.”

“I belong on the battlefield,” Jon said. “I’ll return soon. I’m getting stronger.”

It was the look of need in her eyes that ruined his resolve. He kissed her with the pent-up passion from their weeks apart. He tried to show her his gratitude for all she did for him, and his regret that he had poor ways of showing it. He infused the kiss with his own need. Not just for her body, but for her. Her goodness. Her heroism. Her presence, here with him, fighting at the edge of the world.

“Come to my bed tonight?” Dany pulled back to whisper.

“Dany, I can’t,” Jon protested.

She grew still and cold in his arms. He wanted to take it back. But his wound was too fresh, as was his conversation with Tyrion. He felt her putting up walls between them and hated it. But he hated the thought of missing another battle more.

“I promised you, I would be with you in the next battle, remember?” Jon stroked her cheek. “I need rest. I need to not put myself at risk so I can be by your side where you really need me.”

Daenerys sighed, knocking her forehead against his. “I hate that you’re right.”

“It’s not because I don’t want to be there,” he said. “I want to be by your side at every moment. But let’s try to have better judgement, at least for a little while.” How pathetic his protests had become. Gone was the insistence that he remain true to his vows. Gone were his clear lines and rules. All he was asking for was a little more time before he inevitably gave into the magnetic pull between them again.

Daenerys stepped back. She looked pensive—sad and disappointed, and yet there was a spark of hope in her eyes. He hadn’t sworn to reject her forever. They had to lie to the rest of the world, but at least he would stop lying to himself.

“Alright,” she said. “Rest up. Get used to your tail. And tell your sister that I did not molest you. Much.”

Jon laughed, and pulled her to him for a final kiss before exiting the tent.

*

Jon’s health improved, but their position at the Wall did not. There were more reports of small bands of Others slipping through the Wall. A group even scaled it near the Nightfort, slaughtering and turning the force stationed there into wights. The onslaught from the Shivering Sea didn’t end. Daenerys patrolled every day, torching wights. Within a couple weeks, Jon was well enough to lead the forces on the ground again. He pushed them farther than his generals had when he was indisposed. He was not content to simply keep the perimeter, but rather pushed the Others back onto the ice. But it did little good. There were simply too many of them. Thousands and thousands of enemies that never tired, that had no fear, or feeling of self-preservation.

Then the sickness began to spread through the camp. It had only been a matter of time with their forces living in such poor conditions. They were only human after all—despite the inhuman force their faced. They could not remain so vulnerably positioned. After a particularly cold and bleak day, Daenerys landed Drogon near the camp and came to meet Jon. They didn’t even need words between them. They simply nodded in agreement. It was time to retreat. They would bring the army to Last Hearth where Bran awaited them.

Admitting defeat felt as bitter as the cold. It was a grueling day, when they ordered the army to pull back. The Blackfish lead the forces towards Last Hearth, while Jon remained in the van, protecting Daenerys and the pyromancers and red priests while they burned those who had died of fever. Worse, they made the awful decision to burn those who were too sick to be moved. It was a terrible choice to make. Jon wouldn’t turn his back on it.

Leaving Eastwatch, Jon felt a fear he usually reserved for his nightmares. The worst was happening. They were giving ground to the Others. The army of the dead had a foothold in the land of the living. Was this the beginning of the end? Would there be anyone left to sing songs about their bravery and their sacrifices? Or would this last stand for the living be buried beneath the ice?

When the troops were so tired, they could no longer move, Jon ordered camp to be struck. They were in the New Gift, between Eastwatch and Last Hearth. Underneath the snow likely rested a meadow or a fallow field, but all they could see as they cleared the snow for their camp was white. It was risky. They were vulnerable here. But one thing he was beginning to learn about the Others was that despite the fact they presumably did not have the same needs as the living, they moved slowly. It was the one advantage his armies had.

Still, they posted guards around the perimeter. Viserion and Rhaegal circled overhead while Drogon rested. By the time Jon made it to his tent, he saw that it had already been pitched next to the queens. He didn’t have the energy to protest. He let the Unsullied guards create a perimeter around the lord commander’s tent, the command tent, and the queen’s Tent, all pitched facing each other. It was a terrible look. It made him appear a king. But he was freezing, weary to his bones, and starving. He prayed that was the case for the rest of the forces with them, and no one would have time to care.

He slept as soon as his head hit his pillow, but he was awakened later in the night with the feeling of a familiar body slipping through his furs and lying beside him. He turned to see Daenerys, her beautiful face softly lit by the coals of the braziers. She had been crying. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked beaten by the weight of grief.

“I’m sorry,” she started. “I know I shouldn’t be here, but I was so cold, and—and—”

She shuddered, and Jon pulled her to him. He couldn’t deny her comfort. He wouldn’t. That would require a cruelness, he didn’t have the strength to muster.

“It’s alright,” he whispered in her ear as he held her close. “I’m here,” he said. “We’re both still here.”

“For now.”

He felt her tears falling on his neck.

“How long until we’re sick too?” Daenerys asked. “I burned men alive today, Jon. Sick men, who needed care, not death by fire.”

“You did what you had to do,” Jon said, but it haunted him too.

“Is this what being a hero feels like?” She asked through her sobs. “Because I feel wretched. They’re turning me into a monster like they are.”

“You’re not a monster,” Jon clutched her to him. “You’re the bravest person I know. You’re doing what needs to be done.”

She turned into him, burying her face in his neck. “Please, Jon,” she whispered. He was already hard. How could he not be, when she was in his bed? “Please, I need you. I need to feel something besides death.”

Jon kissed away her tears with a tenderness that made them both ache. Their bodies moved together and for a few blessed moments, the dead were forgotten—abandoned to the pressing needs of their bodies. Jon accepted it. He buried his doubts and his better judgement. He gave himself over to the sweetness of it—the shocking necessity of it. When he was inside Daenerys, feeling her around him, above him, underneath him, he reveled in the pure frenzied joy that they were still here. Death hadn’t yet claimed them. He didn’t even bother to silence Daenerys’s cries. He needed to hear her pleasure—needed to be reminded as death and doom surrounded them that despite its countless sorrows, life could be shockingly sweet.