A/N: Longclaw: Real life has reared its ugly head, so I'm sorry. But we're here and this one is out, so I hope you enjoy :)

BRuh4: Perhaps it's been a hot minute, this one took us longer than expected. My motivation has been lacking lately. Also I think we both fought bouts of WB. Plus life is sort of getting back to normal now. Which has weighed on the pair of us.

All that aside, it's time for another chapter.

Enjoy.

Chapter 36: Port in the Storm

Huddled around a campfire, the surviving members of the Brotherhood renegades laughed over a hearty meal of roast pork and potatoes - 'liberated' from the village's stores. Juice dribbled from one of the men's chins as he fingered a silver chalice. "This should fetch a pretty price in Fairmarket, dontcha-think?"

The leader, yellow cloak pulled tight over his shoulders, shrugged. "Wasn't too big a haul. Not for all of us." They targeted the place cause it seemed undefended… which was mostly true.

"It's fine to divide among those that made it out," laughed another, spooning a bit of stew into his mouth.

"That's my point. We lost too many, at what was supposed to be a village without anything but farm equipment." They only went in with a little over a dozen, and were down to eight - even with the haul requiring far less shares to distribute, they still needed more silver and coin to make it worthwhile. He wanted a nice house in Lannisport or Oldtown to retire into, not continuing to pillage while living in the muck of the countryside. While he was in the brotherhood Beric and Thoros were content to do that until there was no more injustice.

There's always injustice - at least my goal has an end. Trouble was, most of his comrades were content with simply being bandits for the rest of their lives. "I saw another village about ten miles away, we could loot that… farmer has a fat wife, so eatin's got to be good."

One of them stood, waving his sword in the air. "Sounds like a plan, let's go!"

But no one was paying attention to his bombastic posturing, merely standing from the stumps and fallen logs they sat upon. Gazing at something coming in the distance. Only yellow cloak reached for his sword.

"What?" He was starting to get pissed off. "What the fuck are you shits lookin' at?" At a growl behind him he turned just to see the scarred face of Sandor Clegane before an axe beheaded him in one stroke.

One of the younger lads hesitated, just standing there in shock… Sandor hesitated not, immediately burying the axe in his chest. Blood spattering everywhere, one of the others - who had enjoyed cutting down fleeing innocents from atop his horse - pissed himself at the sight of his comrade's blood. Mercifully, his embarrassment ended as the thin blade of Arya Stark's sword skewered his lungs.

Shorter than all of them, it proved to Arya's advantage as she darted in between two attackers. Parrying wild swings of their swords, Needle shot upward. The thin materiel holding firm at a strong chop, force turning against the wielder as the blade shot to the side. Arya swiveled on her feet and stabbed her dagger between the ribs of the other, the man's eyes widening before the beating heart shredded itself on the metal.

The last man still recovered and bellowed a war cry. Lashing out with his fists. Dodging a wild right hook, Arya lunged. Needle piercing the fat brigand's belly. Not content from his howl of agony, she slashed with her dagger, disemboweling his gut and watching ropes of bloody intestines spilling out upon the ground.

He fell to his knees, shaking in pain. "Fuckin' whore…"

Arya regarded him the way Sansa or Cersei would regard a lesser being. "Is that any way to speak to a lady?" Arya asked innocently. She wasn't a lady, but she found a perverse pleasure in adopting the persona now.

Still shaking, his mouth opened - only for… "Bitch!" to gasp out.

"You have no manners." Suddenly snarling, Arya swung her dagger till it slammed through the man's temple. Instant kill, his fat body crumpling in a bloody heap of meat.

Looking over, she watched as Sandor removes his axe from the bloody mess of where a man's head used to be. She caught a glimpse of the man's yellow cloak soaked in blood. The leader. "Too bad, I would have liked to skin him slowly."

"You a Bolton cunt now?" Sandor growler, wiping the axe head on the trousers of one of the corpses. "Needed to get it done, and it's done. No sense complicatin' it like a whiny shit." He plopped onto the same log in which the brigands were sitting upon.

Arya plopped next to him, wordlessly picking up an untouched bowl of stew. "Doesn't matter. We avenged Meribald." Nonchalantly, she scooped up a large helping of potato, current, and salt beef and spooned it into her mouth. A life for a life, the God of Death is sated. She made a mental note to collect the faces… at least the intact ones.

"Bastards left behind a regular feast." Cutting off a chunk of the pork, the Hound bit into it. Juices coating his beard as he ate with gusto. "Better save all of this."

"Aye, we'll need the provisions when I go to kill Cersei."

Eyebrow raised, Sandor looked her over. "Still obsessin' bout fuckin' vengeance?"

"Of course. It's all I have left." She was a killer - Arya knew this. It was all she was good at and her only goal in life anymore. "First, we're gonna take the silver back to the survivors. Then I'm going south to King's Landing and my destiny." Perhaps then Arya would be content.

Sandor snorted. "Somehow you've become an even bigger fool than before. Stannis is gonna go after Cersei, he'll do the deed and you don't have to obsess over whether to get yourself killed just to kill her."

"You still obsess about killin' your brother."

"That's different. The big cunt deserves it, and it deserves to be me doing it."

"And you think those on my list don't?" There was a slight silence. "Come with me."

He looked at her. "Unlike you, I don't have a death wish."

"I'll need someone to handle all the brute force where stealth just won't do." She rolled her eyes when he said nothing. "Didn't know you were such a coward."

"Not about that." Sandor had no idea why he was even bothering - it wasn't if he liked the little bitch. But… somehow, she just grew on him. "I think for all his annoying prattle, Meribald made some sense. He fought all his life, killed all his life. Mayhaps I want what he had at the end. A little rest."

Where did this come from? Sandor Clegane of all people tired of fighting? "Well that can't be me, not till Cersei's dead."

"What are ya' talkin' bout? Girl, you have a family. Little bird for your sister, plus that bastard… well, not bastard anymore brother you used to drone on and on about like you wanna fuck him. Why don't you just go back there?"

Opening her mouth to respond, the words died on Arya's tongue. Everything in her wanted to go home. To be safe in the arms of those that loved her, but over the years loss and pain caused Yoren's words of odd comfort to actually become her entire world. Encompassing all that drove her forward. And when she finally did make it home...

"I went back. I saw my family again." Jon consumed in duty, Sansa traumatized, Rickon still so much a child, and Bran… Bran was gone. All that remained was… she didn't even know. "I couldn't handle it anymore. We were all so broken."

"Want a broken family, try having your brother shove your head in a furnace for playin with a wooden horse. That's fuckin' broken." Shrugging, he let out a groan, "Fine, lets go."

Arya blinked. "What?"

He grabbed a sack of food from the foot of his first kill. "You said you needed a set of muscles, so let's go to King's Landing." He regarded Arya just sitting there, not making a move. "Well, don't you want to kill the fucking Queen before Stannis does or not?"

Nodding, Arya stood. Sheathing her dagger, the young assassin's determination was… not as exuberant as it had been even one hour before.

Stepping towards the large pyre assembled in the middle of what had once been a sept, the torch-bearing soldiers lowered the flaming staffs. Properly dried and coated with pitch, the fetters ignited. The licking and crackling flames slowly spread to the resting pyre, a red sheet covering the form of Queen Selyse Baratheon. Never to breathe the air of the living again.

The air that the fires of her purification would use as sustenance.

"Oh Lord of Light," began the red priest… yet another poor soul sent from Volantis to serve the Stag King. "We bring to you the dutiful, faithful Queen. Offer her lifeless form so that you may draw power from her. Bind her to your fiery kingdom for eternity."

Beside the priest, Stannis listened with a hard frown. His eyes rooted on the pyre, flames ever growing from the fuel placed there. Slowly consuming the shrouded figure until the red-orange blocked even the shape of her from view. He sighed. Normally in these ceremonies the departed's face would be exposed… but Selyse had no face. Not after the thing that had once been Gregor Clegane had his way with her.

"Draw on Queen Selyse… let her untimely, grievous death end with glory as she feeds your eternal flame. A flame that will banish the night from the mortal realm."

"The night is dark and full of terrors," the crowd chanted, knowledge of the practices of R'hllor so extensive as to be rote. Even the uncomfortable believers of the Faith - whatever remained of it after Cersei decapitated its leadership - such as Randyll Tarly droned out the words. Better that than risk the wrath of the King.

"The night is dark and full of terrors," Stannis finished, watching as his wife of more than a decade disappeared before him.

"A moving service, your Grace," Petyr Baelish said as they both withdrew to his solar nearly an hour later. "Her Grace is surely in peace and contentment in the embrace of the Lord of Light." Picking up the religion was easy enough for him.

Merely grunting, Stannis turned his head at a knock on the door. "Come in." He watched his nephew enter.

"Your Grace," Ser Edric stated, bowing. "Lord Davos Seaworth has docked at Storm's End and is making his way up the Kingsroad to us."

Stannis nodded. "That is good news, nephew, thank you." He turned his back, looking out at the flowing banks of the Slayne from his perch. "Leave us. I require time alone with Lord Baelish."

"At once, your Grace." The bastard knight withdrew, shutting the door behind him. Leaving the two of them standing in silence - Stannis not speaking and Littlefinger not daring to speak out of turn.

It ended up being at least a tenth of an hour before the Stag King finally spoke. "Strange time we live in, Baelish."

Littlefinger cleared his throat. "You speak true, your Grace. Though forgive me." He made his way to one of the plush boarhide chairs that Lord Buckler would use to entertain guests in his solar, but made no move to sit. "Do you speak generally or of anything in specificity?"

Snorting, Stannis turned. Hobbling over to the lord's seat… not fit for a King but was he truly a King without the Iron Throne? I would be the first to make the argument that the Dragon Whore wasn't a true Queen for the same reason. He hesitated to do the same for himself, but it was what it was. "There's a reason I keep you around, Baelish."

Resisting the urge to raise his eyebrow, Littlefinger demurred. "Every day in your Grace's service is the honor of a lifetime…"

"Shut up, I'm not naive." He eased himself into the chair. "I know you're a greedy little shit just wanting more coin to line your pockets. I remember the state of the royal treasury when my brother was too into his cups to know the skin color of the whore he was fucking. You took a decent commission for yourself."

Seems you are the naive one here, Stannis. Mere corruption was the least of Littlefinger's crimes against those he served - a mere veneer of a crime to hide the greater ones. "I'm sure you're not here to discuss decade old financial transgressions upon a King now long dead," he finally said.

Frowning - though when was he not - Stannis eased his leg up on a stool. It hadn't reopened again, but the events of the last few weeks had made it sore and tender to the touch. "No, I did not." His hands dug into the muscles, seeking the relief that Selyse once tended to him. "I keep you around because you know how to read people's duplicity… you're a duplicitous person yourself, Baelish, but when you have mutual interests then you have a purpose."

"The Vale and my dear stepson both benefit from your victory, my King." Such was his greatest asset, making those that dealt with him either trust him or imagine they shared mutual interests.

Grimacing, Stannis just decided to let his leg rest. Heal from lack of attention - any further and he might need milk of the poppy, and he couldn't afford to not be at his best mental capacity for the coming moon. "To answer your first question, I find it quite strange that my wife and Queen - whom I have been married to for over a decade - has died and aside from indignant anger at that bitch of a goodsister… I feel nothing." He shook his head. "Selyse was merely a duty."

Littlefinger allowed a pause. "A lot of marriages are like that, your Grace. None were… blessed by love as mine was with Lysa."

Pursing his lips, a rare chuckle left Stannis' lips. "Ironic, such is something I share with both my goodsister and the dragon whore. We all had marriages with… unpleasant people foisted upon us." Grabbing a flagon of wine on the table - a local vintage from the Slayne river valley - Stannis poured himself a cup before offering it to Baelish, who gladly accepted one. Sipping at it, Stannis sighed. "I had loved her, once. But now she's gone. And now I'm free of her. Perhaps I should thank Cersei for that?"

"I wouldn't thank her - unpleasant being married to her undoubtedly was, your Grace, Queen Selyse raised your daughter and provided good counsel on occasion."

His nose wrinkled. "Shireen has been inconsolable. She wouldn't visit her mother's corpse unless it was alone - locked in her own chambers sobbing if Edric is to be believed." From his tone, Stannis seemed to be… disgusted with his daughter's behavior.

It was… intriguing to Littlefinger. Shireen was - or had been - the one person Stannis truly loved. Was that bond even cracking? "Unfortunately, I wouldn't doubt the Princess being in such a state. Had she not acted out of turn and required Selyse to take her away, then none of this tragedy would have occurred… though Cersei deserves the lion's share of the blame." He chuckled at his own pun.

Stannis nursed his cup. "Perhaps…"

"Have you considered taking another bride, your Grace? It could help solidify alliances that need to be made." Ideas came to mind, ones that could… ensure his own plans worked smoothly. If she holds the claim of two dynasties, then it would be far easier.

Brows knotting, he looked uncomfortable. "I suppose I've been married to Selyse so long, the idea of another never came up… I wouldn't know where to begin."

"I understand. Filling her Grace's place would be daunting for any maiden."

"There was something Selyse told me, before this parlay business." Littlefinger laid back, listening. "She was warning me… saying that Jon Stark was a serpent in the grass, waiting to strike. It was a constant refrain from her ever since Harrenhal."

Littlefinger knew that quite well. After a servant in the keep - his keep - told him about the fight the royal couple had, the slow fostering of Selyse in that regard was truly paying off. "Did you ever believe her?"

"No!" Stannis roared, slamming the desk. "Jon Stark is practically my son now! We fought every single battle together since Castle Black - half my victories were won in part due to him... I was planning on marrying him to Shireen…" He trailed off, reflecting on plans destroyed. "His fall to the Dragon Whore nearly destroyed me. Highgarden was a miracle."

"He's still on Dragonstone. You could barter for him…"

"No one is worth bartering with that whore," he growled.

"So you're writing him off, then?"

Head in his hands, Stannis truly did not know.

Littlefinger sensed this. "I think you'll need to ask yourself… is it worth taking a gamble that Jon Stark stood strong against everything the Dragon Queen could throw at him? All riches, land… and more pleasurable parts that she could dangle in front of him?" Seeing Stannis grit his teeth, Baelish went for the kill. "Then again, I've heard whispers that Jon Stark is dead."

Frustration turned to shock, Stannis looking at him wide-eyed. "What?" For once, he was completely stunned. "Where did you hear this?"

"I have been communicating with Lady Sansa, testing the waters for a possible resumption of our alliance… she seems to think Lord Stark was killed by Daenerys Targaryen." He shrugged. "Now, her sources can't be as extensive as mine, Qyburn's, or the Spider's, but it is something to consider." Littlefinger sat back, waiting for it to sink in.

Clenching his fist several times, many different emotions flashing on Stannis' face, finally he simply simmered. "I'll wait for Davos to return with the truth… but hear this. Once Cersei dies, so too will Daenerys Targaryen."

"An excellent plan, your Grace… but how will you do so? Her dragons are formidable." Before Stannis could reply, Littlefinger provided him the answer. "On my last trip to Braavos, your Grace, I saw from across the harbor a landmark that may have the solution to your problem."

Stannis raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

Hunched over the Painted Table, Daenerys wished for a soft bed to lay down in. A glass of wine to calm her nerves. Seven hells, even for Missandei to simply massage her temples without her having to speak and risk amplifying the headache that threatened to overwhelm her.

Unfortunately, the Dragon Queen couldn't afford even the simplest luxuries in that moment. "You told me the Torrentine was well-defended."

Barristan sighed, meeting eyes with Tyrion to his left and Varys to his right. Both had little in the way of support to give him… especially given the Queen's rage would be inflicted on them as well. "Seems that Paxter Redwyne managed to offload forces just west of Starfall to turn the Dornish flank. As such, they fell back to High Hermitage rather than risk an envelopment. The castle is under siege but they have provisions." One bit of good news, though the Hand didn't know whether it was the truth or mere puffery on Arianne's part.

Still scowling, Dany looked at Varys. "Tell me that Princess Arianne has a plan," she spat.

"Her letters indicate that she and Lord Gerold Dayne - her commander - are luring the Hightowers deeper into the lands of the Stony Dornish, largely where Dorne gets its grain these days."

"Wouldn't they be better served fighting them in the sands as they did to Aegon and Daeron?"

"You would think, your Grace," Tyrion answered respectfully. "I have read many tomes on the various conquests… Daeron I speaks that the Dragon's Wroth caused incredible starvation and famine for a decade after the war. Perhaps Arianne wishes to avoid that by giving decisive battle if the opportunity shows itself?"

Much as she wished to cast him as a drunk without good ideas at the moment, Daenerys had to admit that he spoke sense. "And is that what she's doing, Lord Varys?"

The eunuch nodded. "I believe so, your Grace." His eyes flickered, clearly nervous. "Your Grace… perhaps you should fly to Dorne personally and assume command of their armies."

She blinked. "What?"

"They are our last ally left on the Westerosi continent," Barristan explained - clearly they had discussed this beforehand. "While their forces will not be able to assist us in capturing the capitol, having their support will be crucial to your legitimacy as Queen… and the arrival of Garlan Tyrell in Yronwood allows them the ability to restore him to Highgarden if you give them a reason to do so." There was only silence from the Queen, her eyes closed as she pondered her options.

"You do not wish to leave, your Grace?" Missandei asked, she reached for Dany's hand, who took it. Quietly, they left the room. Soon, they walked down the corridor to her solar. Behind and ahead were her bloodriders, their commanding presence scaring away any evesdroppers.

Dany sighed. "Perhaps I'll have to."

The translator, her closest friend, regarded her with concern. "I know you may have to, but do you want to?" They turned a corner, approaching the residential wing. "To leave Jon Stark?"

Holding her head high, Dany clasped her hands together. "I've beaten myself up for days thinking such a feeling is selfish and wrongheaded, but I don't care." She closed her eyes, a small smile gracing her face at the thought of him. "Yes it's selfish, but I don't regret wanting to be here as he recovers."

Delighted at the small bits of happiness Daenerys was truly allowing herself - real, lasting joy - Missandei prided herself as the voice of simple reason. "And yet you may have to."

"I know." Not for the first time she wished for the House with the Red Door - where an exiled Princess and a northern bastard could live an uncomplicated life. Oh, for what could be. "If only he could be fighting for us."

"You'd wish him to risk his life in battle?"

"You've seen how well he can take care of himself," the Queen quipped, smirking as the Unsullied guards opened the door to her solar… only to let out a soft gasp at the person waiting for her. "Jon…" her heart leapt in her chest at the sight of him.

Only to deflate at the grim look on his face. "Your Grace," he bowed. "Lady Missandei. If you would please, I'd like to speak to the Queen in private."

Blinking at the rather… forward command, Missandei nevertheless nodded. "Of course, my Lord." She wouldn't ever comply for someone who didn't have her Queen's support, but there was no doubt as to how Jon Stark rose to such a high position in such a short time. He was a commanding presence.

With Missandei leaving, Daenerys folded her arms. "There better be a good reason why you feel the need to command my council - if I recall correctly, you bargained yourself in exchange for neutrality of the North in these affairs."

"I did, and there is," was his answer.

Now she started to feel worried. There was something he wasn't telling her… since his resurrection, Jon was normally brutally honest with her. The absence of that was disconcerting. "Please," Dany said softly. "Just state your business."

"I have to go, Daenerys," Jon finally told her. There was no point in dragging it out.

"Go where?"

"Anywhere but here," he added. At her clear frown, he continued. "Not because of you, gods…" He covers his face in his hands, breathing deeply. "I wish I didn't have to leave you. I can't imagine leaving your side."

Biting her lip, Daenerys wrapped her arms around her protectively, trying to appear strong but worried she'd fail.

"I've been here too long. I ain't been locked up, physically. But my mind has been. I have to go somewhere else to free it back up." He sighed, then cupped her face. "You are my port in a storm. But the storm just keeps comin'. I can't stop it. But maybe I can at least understand why it comes every day."

She stayed silent as he continued, backing up from her. "You are my comfort zone. I'm safe with you. I'm safe here. But no one ever learned anything worth a damn wrapped up in a blanket. I have to go somewhere else to find out what I need to know. Staying here just keeps me where I am. I need to evolve."

His words… any other time in any other context, she'd be elated. But the truth of what he was doing loomed large. Turning what should have been happiness into anger. "After all this time," she hissed, eyes hard. "You're going back to Stannis?"

"It ain't like that," said Jon in response, shaking his head. "Stannis just has answers."

There was a fury in Dany's purple eyes. "There are those in my council who would want you killed for this. The threat of Stannis Baratheon's greatest commander returning to him."

His eyes narrowed at that - greys hardening as he stepped closer to her. "Do you really believe that, Dany?"

The use of that name for her… Jon Stark had an uncanny ability to break her walls. To put her off base. Daenerys looked away, biting her lip as the anger changed to something akin to fear and… emptiness. It was how she felt when Rhaego was taken from her and Drogo was simply a broken man. "I thought we were meant to be."

"We are. Or might be. I just need to find myself again… I need to see if I deserve you."

"So you're just going to leave me? After all we've been through?"

"I'm leaving because I'm lost. I'm leaving because I need to find whoever I was before I died. Because I am not the same person."

Dany frowned, inching a bit closer to him. "What?"

"If I felt the same about you before, as I do now, there's no way I wouldn't have at least kissed you," He said, eyes glancing at her mouth. "Apparently we danced around it before. I certainly want to do more than dance with you now. But… I don't know if that's right."

"I'm confused."

"My mind is a mess. Many things aren't as clear as they were before. Except for you. Daenerys, you are as clear to me as my hands are. Or the sky. As real as can be. So I know I felt strongly for you. Shit, I feel strongly about you this very second," Jon told her. His skin feeling hot all of a sudden. "But it feels carnal. Instinctual. I do desire you, intensely. I want nothing more than to have you." He didn't have to guess she felt the same. "I want to know where this feeling came from. I have to. Because when I came back, it was always there. It didn't gradually appear, as I've known it to do before. As soon as I saw you, I didn't recognize you, but I felt it."

"And how is Stannis going to help you with that?"

"He's going to help me understand who I was before I died. I was his Warden of the North. He legitimized me. There must have been something for him to see. I want to know what he saw in me. Because I don't remember what it was."

Dany huffed a bit, then brought her own hand up to his face. As he did for her, so many times. Her fingers intertwined in his scraggly beard. His body relaxed, after all that explaining he had tensed. Now flooded out from his face. His eyes innately bored into her. "See? I feel strongly."

A trickle of warmth - not fiery heat, but a soothing warmth - filled Dany's heart at his words. "You… you mean that, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"Aye, I do." He wasn't certain about much, but that was one.

"And you have to leave to confirm it?" He nodded, as she dropped her hand down. "But why Stannis? Why couldn't I escort you North to your family? They'd be happy to see you." A family showering love… it was alien to Daenerys.

He let out a grimace. "I would love to reunite with them - to make new memories to replace that I lost - but instinct tells me that the secret to what I'm missing lies with Stannis." The dreams… the great Stag in the center of it… "I have to face him, but also to come back to you."

She wanted desperately to kiss him. "I want that too… just be safe."

Determination crossed his face. "I don't intend to die again. I intend to live."

Nodding, Daenerys felt rather… taken by how handsome he looked with resolve about him. Not tang she didn't always notice how comely he was. "It would mean a lot to me," she said. Be a dragon, that's what Olenna always said. Well, dragons took what they wanted, and in this, Jon had all but confessed himself willing. She walked close to him, dark red dress accentuating all her curves, amplifying the silver of her hair. "Your touch has done little to satisfy me."

Gulping, Jon gave a half-hearted look of apology. "Forgive me, your Grace."

"You can rectify that." She leaned up, hand pressing on his chest lightly. "Please, Jon." Her lips drew close to his.

Jon felt compelled to turn his back to her, intending on leaving. Yet her presence was known to him. Her shoulders dropped low, a low huff fluttered from her lips at how he seemed to hesitate. His body became rigid as thoughts ran through his mind. Thoughts he'd seen before but had pushed them back down without a question. Then he had second thoughts. He'd have to go regardless. But… perhaps a preview of possibilities?

He sighed. "Ah… Fuck it." Slowly, he turned back to her. "If it means that much to you." Closing the distance between them before he thought otherwise. Her face lit up in surprise, immediate joy. She met him halfway. Crashing into an embrace they'd both longed for. Not taking any time to ponder, their mouths finally met. She melted into him.

Jon wondered what had taken him so long. He'd forgotten a lot of things. But this came easy.

For weeks, Daenerys dreamed of this moment. Hells, since she first laid eyes on Jon Stark, even if the thoughts were unbidden at first. None of those dreams could compare to the reality of it. Lips parting so that their tongues could meet, she moaned into his mouth. Pulling herself against him. Dany enjoyed his northern scent, his strong muscles, the curls of his hair against her palms… For the first time since capturing the Unsullied in Astapor, Daenerys felt truly safe.

Knowing that she gave familiarity to him, the emotions that hit Jon as their tongues melded together - their bodies flush against each other - they felt real. Grounded. Solid. He could sense his passion, his duty, an overwhelming urge to protect those he cared about. A woman kissed of fire, wrapped in a sheet as she hugged him. A girl with a thin sword, fighting and killing alongside him. A boy with wild curls, racing through the snow with a black wolf. A silver-haired goddess, the one who truly could understand his pain as they touched hands in a dark cavern, illuminated by a single torch. The thoughts and memories assaulted him, but under Dany's embrace, Jon felt no pain. Only relief… dare he say happiness.

Only air drew them back, a need to breathe. Both stood there, panting heavily - Jon's hair was disheveled and Dany's lips were bruised, but their eyes sparkled. For once the Stark's greys filled with the same passion that she had seen in him when they first locked heads. A determination and strength that would set any dragon's loins aflame. "Gods…" she couldn't help but murmur.

"Aye, indeed." There was nothing Jon wanted more than to simply carry her into her bedchamber, but he could not let her distract him. Once he understood the source of his desire. Then and only then could he succumb to his desire for her.

"I love you." She said, out of nowhere.

"What?" In truth, he had heard her. It just didn't sound right.

"I love you, Jon Stark." She bit her lip. "I know our history, and it makes as little sense to me as it simply feels right, but I do." A humorless laugh. "Men and women fall for those easiest to them. A dragon… they crave the struggle. The ferocity. Perhaps I was always meant to fall for you, Jon."

Wanting to say it back, Jon just couldn't. Not now… not until his mind fully returned to him.

His hesitancy caused her to pull a face. "You don't have to say the same. I… I understand."

Jon's heart throbbed at seeing her sadness. "No… I… I'm just not sure." Gods, his mind was a mess. "You're the only thing that makes sense to me. Yet, I don't know if I'm preying on my innate desire for something to latch onto... the first flash of flesh I see. I feel for you, no doubt. It's hot, like a fire, a fire so hot it fills my body. Sometimes, you're all I can think about. If that's love, then, it is." Her face changed to a bright smile. But he had more to say. "The problem is, I don't know why."

She nodded. "I know. Melisandre… she told me to ask about your feelings. To ask if mine were reciprocated." The tears welled unbidden in her lids. "Looks like I have my answer."

It had come clearly to him long before… one of the few things that emerged out of the morass of his mind with any clarity. The first memory to be clear was of the two of them, in the cave. More had invariably hit his mind since, but that first was always the one that grounded him the most. - a window into the man he was before his death and resurrection.

His feelings hadn't changed apparently… she always calmed him, drew him to her. Wordlessly Jon drew her into an embrace, the two of them simply holding each other for what seemed like hours. Slowly but surely, his soul put itself back together.

Eventually, he broke the embrace. "Goodbye, Daenerys." He moved to the doorway.

"Jon… wait." He stilled, turning around - secretly thankful he could glimpse her again. "I can't let you go until I give you something." Biting her lip, Daenerys moved to a chest in the corner of the room, drawing something swathed in linen and walking to him. "This belongs to you," she murmured, revealing the gleaming Valyrian steel of Longclaw to his eyes.

Watching in awe at the great sword, Jon took it in his hands. Handling it with instinctive ease. "Didn't think I'd ever get this back," he chuckled. "I could only hope. I remember wielding this blade with great honor."

A small smile formed on her lips. "It didn't belong to me… it wasn't my right. Only you have earned this sword, and I believe Jorah would have wanted someone as noble as you to have his ancestral blade… much as his father did."

An old man, words of endearment tumbling from him as he handed Jon the blade - grateful for his actions to save his life. The memory was unbidden, but Jon could see it as clear as day. He trembled slightly at the weight of it all. Gingerly maneuvering Longclaw to the side, he leaned in and pressed another kiss to Dany. The two of them enjoying one final moment, sweet and affectionate unlike their earlier mashing of teeth and tongue.

Both regretted pulling apart, for this was it. "Goodbye, Daenerys," Jon said, offering her one last smile. "Don't worry. We'll see each other again."

She reached her hand out to him. He took it, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "We better."

If Jon lingered any longer he wouldn't leave. So he simply nodded, letting her go. Then slipping out the room without another word.

Already, the room felt cold without him. Here she was, a mighty dragon, and an icy chill began to creep about the walls. Daenerys could almost feel it on her skin…

Crying out suddenly, she grabbed a glass and flung it against the wall. Watching the slivers of glass shatter upon the carpet. Her hands balled into fists, then she exhaled heavily. "Stay safe, Jon… stay safe." Dany collapsed on the couch, completely drained. Affording herself one lonely moment of weakness before the dragon would awake once more.

A/N: BRuh4: Lots of stuff happened. For starters, Jon is leaving Dany. At least y'all finally got that kiss. We thought it was finally time. I hope the wait was worth it. But Jon is leaving her. Lemme just go ahead and comment on this because surely a bunch of you have comments or concerns.

1. Jon is not returning to Stannis.

At least not in the way you think. He's not going back to be Stannis right hand man again. Jon is going to him because it makes the most sense to him. You might say, "Hey, if Jon has to leave, why doesn't he just go back to Winterfell?" Well, while he might get to speak to some siblings he barely remembers that is a lateral move. He wants to better understand who the person was the aligned himself with Stannis. Then got wrapped up in the Dragon Queen.

2. Why does Jon have to leave?

Well, for starters, he's kinda like a cow at new gate. We've explained the extent of his existence as he currently is. When Jon died, pieces of him left forever. While some are momentarily gone. But largely his identity is lacking. His name doesn't mean much to him. Thus is the result of dying and coming back to life. Dany up to this point has been his comfort zone. But he's not progressing. So, he needs to separate from her.

If there's something else feel free to ask in a calmly manner. We appreciate everyone who's stuck around with us.

Longclaw: BRuh pretty put it in perspective, but let me add this. Jon realizes that he's a bastard legitimized to a Stark, and largely that's the seminal moment of his life. The stuff of him being a bastard isn't as important to his identity than the moment he became a Stark and fought as one, because that's when someone saw something in him that made him worth raising up beyond his station. That's what Stannis is, and Jon needs to explore that or else risk never finding himself again. His love for Dany is still strong.

On Arya, we have her still bent on revenge, while the loss of Selyse has Stannis unknowingly getting manipulated by Littlefinger. Stay tuned for some of the little things in that.

Tell your friends.