She had run away after the boy had woken. Had turned around and sprinted back, to the khalasar, to the tent that she and Drogon shared. She had fallen to the ground, where her blankets lay. Tears had fallen, and she had cried as much as when they had left the house with the red door, because she had been given hope again, and as every other time, it had been ripped from her grasp and burned away.

Dany had thought she knew loss before, but this was worse. At least when Drogo had died, her dragons had been born. She had seen and held hope, had known that she still had a fighting chance.

And what does she have now? Three untamed dragons? A priestess that cannot not be trusted? Some mysterious boy she has never met before? She sits in the middle of a thousand warriors that would kill her if not for Drogon. Meereen is leagues away, Westeros further.

Perhaps I do belong with the dosh khaleen. What else is there for me? I cannot bear a child. I cannot rule a city, much less King's Landing. Is this all the gods have planned for me?

The flap of wings breaks her from her thoughts, and she lifts her head to stare at the back of the tent. Drogon lands outside with a thud, and Dany hears the horses going wild at the sight of such a beast. Slowly, the back of the tent is pushed up and Drogon's head slinks inside. He holds charred meat between his teeth and drops it beside her.

The Dothraki give her food her, yet sometimes Drogon will return from hunting and leave a scrap of what he had eaten for her. He feeds his mother, when it should be the other way around.

Dany has not ridden him since Khal Jhaqo found her. If she did, she thinks he would take her back to Dragonstone. Unless she could show him the true Dragonstone, he may remain even as Daenerys returns to Meereen. If she returns to Meereen.

A better city than it was before she arrived, but who ruled in her absence? Is it Hizdar? Has he taken the power, and ordered her army and people dead? The Sons of the Harpy? Have they become bold enough to commit such an act? Have they killed her men now that their queen and her dragon are gone? She has no way to know, not while she sits here.

If she had not trusted Mirri Maz Duur, her husband would still be alive. There would have been no need for the Unsullied or Meereen. They could have bought ships for Westeros, and the Iron Throne could be hers now.

She could have had a son and a husband. She could have had ten thousand Dothraki warriors at her command. And she wold have no dragons.

If I look back, I am lost.

Nearly an entire day passes before the priestess returns to her. Dany has eaten and slept and walked with the khalasar. Nightmares plague her dreams. She sees Khal Drogo, and her son Rhaego, and her brothers, Viserys and Rhaegar. She sees the boy on the pyre, lying in red snow, his dark eyes sightless and dead. She sees a fire that consumes all.

Dany doesn't hear Melisandre enter, but Drogon snarls the moment she does. The sound does not surprise Daenerys, and she turns slowly to face the maegi. She glares at the other woman, enraged by the sight of her.

"What do you want, priestess?" she growls. "Have you taken enough from me, or is there still more you desire?"

Melisandre tilts her head to the side. Daenerys recognizes the curiosity. She looks at Dany as if she were an unusual child, making little and no sense as she babbles on.

"Is this not what you wanted, my queen? I promised you your lost love. I have given you that. Yet you would curse me and the gift the Lord of Light has provided."

"I do not love him!" she screams, her anger - at herself, at the priestess, at this boy she supposedly loves - as fierce as the fire in her dreams. "I do not even know him!"

"You may not know him yet, but he knows you, Your Grace. The Lord of Light has given him visions of all that is to come. He knows you, and he loves you. You will too. The Lord of Light shows me in the fires.

Dany shakes her head vehemently. "It is impossible for him to know me. We have never met. I do not know him, and he does not know me."

"You do not know each other because you do not allow yourself to know him. He knows your name, knows your appearance and your voice. He knows your love, and the love he holds for you." The priestess lowers herself to where she is eye level with Daenerys. She takes Dany's chin in her hand, grips surprisingly powerful, keeping her from turning away.

"The Lord of Light has given you something that you could never have otherwise. Take it, and be happy, for the Long Night comes, Your Grace. The night is dark and full of terrors." She releases Dany and rises from the ground. "He awaits you where we camp, my queen."

Despite the hatred and the rage that courses through her veins, Dany finds herself becoming curious. She hates it, nearly more than anything else in the world, but she cannot stop the questions that continue to enter her mind. Who is this boy? Where did he come from? Why was he dead? Who killed him? Why was he brought here?

Even Drogon begins to sense her distress, and becomes agitated because of it. After some time, he flies off. Dany does not know if he simply wishes to get away, or if he is truly hungry. Strangely enough, she has found he only ever leaves when he wants food. She wants to believe it is a good sign, but does not think on it much.

She tries to banish the thoughts, the questions, the curiosity. She lasts a little while longer before she cannot take it, and the burning need to know and understand wins out.

Again, they stay a distance from the khalasar. The tent the priestess and her companions have set up is small, barely large enough for a two people, much less three. The other man from that night sits outside, a sword across his lap. He runs a stone along the blade as she approaches, and lifts his head to watch her.

Daenerys wishes she could simply walk into the tent, confront the strange boy that knew her name, and leave. But she cannot make her feet move anymore, and instead she stands before the entrance, trying to find the courage that had allowed her to get this far.

Truthfully, she fears what she may find in that tent. The boy had not been alive before she had gotten to him, she knows that. How had the priestess brought him back, and for what reason?

"You may go in if you like, my lady." She startles, having forgotten the other man. She looks to him in surprise, unsure how to respond.

Eventually, she manages to ask, "What is your name, ser?" Her voice is hoarse and quiet, and she clears her throat before she speaks again.

He chuckles, turning back to his work. "I am no knight, Queen Daenerys. Merely Satin Flowers."

A bastard. "Satin. That is an unusual name," she says.

"Not for a whore, it isn't." He does not look at her, but she can see the way his face darkens.

She did not expect such an answer, but it does not surprise her as much as she might have thought. She can see the way his face had held softness once, now hardened. His eyes, too, once much brighter, are now darker. Strangely, he reminds Daenerys of herself. After she had married Khal Drogo. After she had lost him. The man knows pain and loss, the same as her.

"How did you come to be in service to a Priestess of R'hllor?" She knows the religion is not a popular one in Westeros, with very few priests or priestesses living there. Her brother and her knights had told her of the Seven and the old gods of the North.

"It is a long story, Your Grace, one I'm sure he could tell you."

"You will not tell me?"

"It is not my story to tell."

Their conversation over, the man - Satin - turns his full attention back to his work. A clear dismissal. An open invitation for her to move on, to enter the tent.

There is not much more for her to do. She spoke to Satin to stall, and now there is nothing left for her to say or do. Of course, she could always leave. Walk away and forget about his boy and the priestess. Unfortunately, for all she may want to, she cannot. She braces herself for what she will find, and moves the flap to the entrance aside.

It is darker inside, though not by much. Several candles are laid on the ground, unlit while the sun outside provides enough light. There is little room, not nearly as spacious as those the Dothraki live in. Three bedrolls lay on the ground, one messier than the others.

The boy from the fire sits in a corner, a book settled on his lap. He seems to know it is her before he even looks up. "Dany," he breathes. It is a sigh of relief, as much as it is a greeting.

"Queen Daenerys," she corrects harshly. She does not intend to be cruel, but she does not wish to be friendly either.

"Of course." He stands, setting the books down carefully, and crossing the small space between them. He stares at her in wonder. Instinctively, he raises a hand to her face, cupping her cheek.

Daenerys gasps in surprise, and finds herself leaning into the touch as thoughtlessly as he had. His palm is warm against her skin, the touch familiar in a way she does not understand, and comforting.

All too soon, she remembers the reason why she was here, everything that had occurred for them to be here. She pulls away, sees the flash of hurt on the boy's face before it is hidden behind a mask. "Of course," he mutters darkly.

"I-do not think to touch me like that again." Her words stumble out, clumsy from the shock she feels. How can this stranger reduce her to such a state? Who is he?

He bows his head in shame. "Apologies, Queen Daenerys. I had not realized-it will not happen again. The Lady Melisandre has mislead me. I am sorry."

Shaking her head vehemently, she says, "I don't even know your name."

"Jon Snow," is the immediate reply.

Another bastard? she thinks, but does not say. Instead, what comes out is, "How did you come to be in the service of the priestess?"

At first, Jon Snow merely stares at her. Then he answers in a melancholy voice. "That... it is a long story, Queen Daenerys."

"So I was told by Satin Flowers. But he said that it was your story to tell. So you will tell me this story, of how you died and were brought back to life. Of how you know me," she adds as an afterthought.

Jon Snow nods his head, and gestures for her to sit on one of the bedrolls. She does and he follows suit. He sits close to her, close enough that their legs nearly touch, and she can feel the warmth from his body. It makes her suddenly cold, but she ignores it as best she can.

"I assume you know of the Night's Watch?" She tells him she does, remembers Ser Jorah mentioning it once or twice before. She hates thinking of his name, focuses her attention solely on Jon to rid her mind of the memories and thoughts surrounding her bear.

As though he understands, he smiles sympathetically before continuing. "I was the Lo-a brother of the Night's Watch. Lady Melisandre had come with Stannis Baratheon, and remained after he had left."

Daenerys wants to ask him about Stannis Baratheon, and what he was doing at the Wall, but she does not interrupt him.

"I broke my vows, and my brothers executed me for it," he says, and she does not miss the hint of bitterness in his tone. "Melisandre and Satin recovered my body, and they brought me across the Narrow Sea, in search of you."

"The way you speak and act, it is as if you know me. But that cannot be possible. We have never met before today." Dany rises to her feet, and begins to pace in the small area she has to move. "Melisandre tells me that you have seen vision of me, us. Of our future. But that cannot be... can it?" She trails off, stopping to look at him.

Jon takes a moment to think before he replies. "I do not know how I came to see what I saw, whether it was from the Lord of Light, or the old gods, or if it was simply magic. But I do know what I saw. And Dany," he says, surging up and taking hold of her hands, "we may never have met before, may never have even heard of one another before. I don't care. I know I have never loved someone the way I love you.

"I know, despite how much he hurt you, you still loved Viserys when he died, and you still do. I know that the only home you can ever picture when you try to is the house with the red door. I know that you care for your dragons, but you fear what they are and what they may become. I know you doubt whether you will ever be able to reach Westeros."

He hands had moved to her waist. So entranced she had been by his eyes and words, she did not notice. And as before, she does not fight him. Their bodies, she realizes, pressed closely together.

Moving one of his hands from her waist, he takes her hand in his and presses it to his lips.

"Dany," he says again with such passion, and never has someone said her name so beautifully, "I know you. And I love you."

Immediately following his words, he leans his head down and seals her mouth with a kiss.