Been super busy with life and work lately, so sorry it was so slow, and even more sorry it's so short; this is my first Jon chapter, and I had a much harder time writing from his POV than from Sansa or Tyrion's, so I decided shorter would be better than dragged out. Anyway, thing's are going to start picking up in the action department, so enjoy!

Chapter 11

Jon I: Light in her Eyes

The smell of the spices of Pentos, Volantis, and Meereen pervaded the air, and Jon knew he'd never smelled anything so exotic in his whole life. Dinner that night was at Daenerys Targaryen's behest, and so he, Edd, Lord Royce, Robert Arryn, Davos Seaworth, Lord Varys, Tyrion, Sansa, Yara Greyjoy, and Daenerys herself sat round a table in the middle of her tent, sharing Dornish wines that Sansa had offered for the occasion, spiced meats that were hotter than anything he'd tasted, exotic fruits and vegetables from across the Narrow Sea, and fresh-baked breads still hot from the ovens. Jon was used to the luxuries that Sansa enjoyed as Queen; they were the same they'd both grown up with in Winterfell, if maybe a bit more extravagant. But the colored silks, dyed horse hides, bright patterned rugs layered under fur pelts strewn all over the floor, it was everything he'd imagined nobility from Essos would have from all the stories he'd read as a boy.

"Thank you," he said to the Queen's handmaiden as she refilled his and Daenerys's cups of wine, wishing he could remember her name.

"So, Jon Snow, Lord Commander Tollett tells me you used to be Lord Commander before you died?" Daenerys asked him, picking up her cup and staring at him over the rim. "That must be an interesting story."

"Not particularly, I don't think," Jon said, not eager to be reminded of his chest full of scars and the men who had given them to him. "There was a mutiny. The Red Woman brought me back. I hear the priestesses are much more common in Essos than here."

"They are, yes. But even so, resurrection from the dead is no small thing." Her violet eyes stared into him, unnerving him. Whenever he'd seen her face off with Sansa, there was usually a guarded look to her, but he saw none of that now. Probably just the wine, Jon thought, noting how many cups they'd all had since gathering for dinner. No, rather than guardedness, there was light in her eyes, amplified by the flickering of the candelabras all around them.

Gods she's beautiful, Jon couldn't help but think, but he shook the thought from his head. She was a queen, and he was a bastard. Fair enough that he would be legitimized and lord of the Dreadfort after this was all done if Sansa got her way, but he would always be bastard-born with a nameless mother.

He realized how long he'd gone without responding to her and merely shook his head as modestly as he could. "If you say so, Your Grace."

"If I say so..." Daenerys smirked at him as she echoed his words, and Jon didn't know quite what to do, so he turned his attentions back to his food.

"Your Grace," Yara Greyjoy said, turning Daenerys's attention away from Jon. "Surely I've told you of the drowned men, the priests of the Drowned God worshipped on the Iron Isles? Those who choose to serve the Drowned God are drowned properly, then revived to be reborn as the drowned men." She took a drink of ale and looked at Jon before returning her piercing gray gaze to Daenerys. "You'll see no such devotion to risk their lives to become servants to their supposed gods in the other faiths."

"There are no servants of the faith to the old gods. Nothing to come between a man and his prayer," Jon said. Daenerys looked back at him, and Yara glared at him. "Not that I'm particularly devout or anything." Jon focused on Daenerys. "Doesn't seem a good idea at the moment to go out past the wall just to have a pray at the weirwood tree."

Daenerys smiled, and Jon was relieved his joke had come off well. "So, Jon Snow, I've heard you're one of the greatest fighters the North has ever seen."

Jon shrugged and looked away, embarrassed. "Whoever told you that must have a low opinion of Northern warriors."

Daenerys's laugh tinkled like crystal, and Jon felt a blush rising to his cheeks. In that moment, she reminded him of Ygritte, of his wildling lover, and he realized she was just as fierce and proud and stubborn and vibrant as Ygritte had ever been. He shook his head to scatter the thought to the winds blowing outside the tent and took a long draught of the wine in front of him. To Daenerys's left, Yara turned away from Jon and the dragon queen and began speaking in hushed tones to his sister. He couldn't make out what was said, but a blush accompanied by confusion came over Sansa's face, and Tyrion chuckled over the rim of his glass of wine, looking anywhere but his wife.

"No, I have quite a high opinion of Northern warriors, as a matter of fact," Daenerys told him, leaning back in her seat and regarding him over her glass of wine. Taking her lead, Jon leaned back in his seat as well. Away from the table, it felt like they were on their own. He looked across the table at Varys, who was watching Daenerys and him intently until Jon returned the gaze, and Varys turned his attention to Davos. On Varys's other side, Tyrion continued to drink in silent amusement as Sansa looked more and more confused with a deepening blush. Jon made a note to ask Tyrion later just what Yara Greyjoy was saying that was so amusing to him and flustering for her. To his left, Edd was in conversation with Lord Royce over the transition of the Wall from the Night's Watch to the Knights of the Vale, though Edd was fighting for silence with Robert Arryn, who refused to be left out of the conversation. Robert half-shouted to turn Lord Royce's attentions back towards him, and Jon shook his head at the insolence. Royce shot a look of reproach at Jon before mollifying Robert and returning to conversation with Edd.

"Before I sent him away, one of my most trusted advisors was Ser Jorah Mormont." A look of pain crossed her eyes, but she hid it quickly.

"His father was a great man. I can't speak for Ser Jorah, though." Jon pressed together his lips, deciding it more prudent not to bring up the fact that he knew of the man's exile.

"I'm well aware he tried to sell men to slavers, if that's what that look is for, Jon Snow." Jon gave her a smirk and a nod. "He also spied on me to Robert Baratheon, and yet he loved me and served me loyally. I forgave him."

"Not many would, after those charges."

"No," she agreed. "But as he often told me, I have a gentle heart. Lord Tyrion considers it a weakness and a strength." She gave her Hand a brief glance and smirk before turning back to Jon.

"It is. My sister is much the same." He gazed at Sansa, who was giving a pointed to look to Tyrion, who was momentarily deeply engaged in Lord Varys and Lord Davos's conversation, before Jon returned his attention to Daenerys. "A gentle heart is a good thing, so long as it's tempered with strength and the knowledge when to punish rather than forgive and show mercy." He was quoting Sansa, a part of her answer to him when he'd asked her why she'd granted pardons to Bolton's pledged households, when they'd stood by Bolton rather than joining Jon and Sansa when they'd marched to retake Winterfell.

"And do you have a gentle heart?" she asked him with a coy smile, and Jon felt a blush come to his cheeks.

He thought of Ygritte, of how soft and gentle she'd made him feel in comparison to all the other Free Folk. Of how he fondly regarded the Free Folk even among the Night's Watch, and how it had got him killed. "I can. I used to. Not so sure anymore. But it's not really my place to have a gentle heart, either."

"Well, I think I'd like to decide that for myself," she said, and Jon found himself wondering whether he'd heard correctly.

He was about to reply when a horn blast sounded from the Wall. His eyes snapped to Sansa, and they waited with bated breath to see whether it was Rangers coming back or White Walkers. Another blast, and Jon, Edd, Davos, and Sansa rose and scrambled for their cloaks in a rush to ride to the Wall. But then… silence. No third blast.

"Wildlings?" Sansa questioned, looking to Jon, and he shook his head.

"I didn't think there were any left. None who would come to Castle Black to pass through, anyway. Maybe Shadow Tower or Eastwatch or the other outlying strongholds, but not Castle Black."

"Best go check it out all the same," Edd suggested, and Jon nodded his agreement.

He turned to find Daenerys nervous in her seat, but Jon didn't have time to assuage her. "We'll sort this out, Your Grace." He nodded a goodbye and left, Sansa, Edd, and Davos quick on his heels to saddle up.

When they reached the Wall, the caged lift was just opening at the base, and a lad of Jon's age, maybe a little older, stepped out in a rush. He spotted Edd and started sputtering. "Wildlings. We think it's Wildlings, anyway. Too slow to be White Walkers, and they look weak. Looks like two of them, but we can't be sure. It's hard to make out."

Edd nodded. "Scouts see anything moving in the trees, following them?"

"Nothing, Lord Commander. We thought it might be a trap, too, to lure us out, but we can't see anything. It's a full moon and clear sky, too. If there were something, we'd see it, but it's just them."

"I'll lead a party," Jon offered, and Edd nodded his approval. Jon looked to Davos, then saw Tormund and Lord Royce had joined them. "You two want to come?"

"I'll follow you, Snow."

Lord Royce merely nodded his assent before remounting the horse he'd ridden. The four of them all on horseback, the gate clanked open, and they entered the tunnel. They waited for the middle and far gates before, finally, they reached the other side.

The man hadn't lied; the night sky was clear as glass, and the moon shone like the sun, showing the Wildling as if in daylight, though he saw only one where the lookout had said there were two. "Keep a sharp eye out for the second one," Jon told Davos, and the man bowed his head.

Jon kept one hand on his reins, and his other on the hilt of the knife of dragonglass that was sheathed at the side of his saddle. Slowly, they rode up on the Wildling, who continued toward the Wall. Surely he saw them by now, he was walking right toward them with a slow lumber, but he didn't call out or make any move or slow. He was small, maybe even a child for all Jon could tell. Covered in furs, but still small.

"Who's there?" Jon called out, when they were within distance of being heard over the howling winds.

A face looked up at him where it had been bowed against the winds, and Jon saw it was a woman, petite with a slender face surrounded by long, unkempt brown hair scattered out of a loose braid by the wind.

She looked vaguely familiar, but Jon couldn't take any chances, even if she was a Wildling he'd met and known while north of the Wall. "Do you speak the common tongue?"

With a thud and a puff of snow, she dropped something heavy, and Jon realized she'd been pulling a cart of some kind behind her, dragging it through the snow. Without saying a word, she closed her eyes and collapsed forward onto her knees, then onto her side.

Jon dismounted and grabbed his knife, tucking it into his belt before he approached her. Davos shadowed him, sword in hand.

"Check her," Jon ordered Davos, and he went to see what she'd been dragging.

"Jon?" a voice called out, and Jon's breath was whipped from his lungs as he recognized that voice for certain.

"Bran?" He moved to the side of the cart, and sure enough, there was his little brother, seven years older than when he'd last seen him. He was a young man now, and no longer a boy, but there's was no mistaking his brother.

"Is Meera alright?"

Jon looked to the girl, where Davos had knelt by her head and laid down his sword, judging her no threat.

"She's out cold, it seems."

"We have to get behind the Wall," Bran said. "They're coming."

"Who's coming?" he asked, though Jon knew the answer already.

"The White Walkers. The dead are coming."