Welcome. What began as a meditational writing on my feelings and personal theories about the end of Game of Thrones has morphed into something much more. Please enjoy as we delve into the world of what could have been.

The fire made a new fissure in a log, crackling quietly. While this sound usually went unnoticed, it was the only thing Daenerys Targaryen was paying attention to at the moment. The light of the flames danced before her eyes, artificially brightening what had been dull since she stood before the wall at King's Landing, beckoning her.

Come, it seemed to say, come make more cracks. The fissure grew deeper, flames licking around the log in a desperate attempt to split it in two.

Another crackle, louder, and the log -

"Dany."

She hadn't heard the door open, but wished it hadn't. A door opening, any sound that wrenched her out of this room, was just more pain. Please leave, she thought, don't make this any worse.

A strong hand gripped her shoulder. At first, she thought he was going to restrain her, that he would just end it all with a final act, but then his thumb slowly moved back and forth. Her shoulders unwittingly dropped with his touch. Don't look. She felt her body begin to lean back. Don't look, I command you not to. Her body didn't listen to her mind, further seeking out his ghosting touch of hand upon shoulder. I can't. I can't. Please.

Of course she didn't listen. Slowly, she turned from the fire to look at the man behind her. Her gaze traveled upwards, from stomach to chest to neck and to...face. A face knit in an expression of concern. Was it real concern? Or fallacy? His hand moved up from her shoulder, as he walked around to face her, brushing hanging silver hair away to cup her face. Jon kneeled in front of her, blocking the raging battle of fire and logs. Daenerys's gaze moved past him, trying to look at the fireplace again. She wondered if the cracked log had been defeated yet, as was inevitable and expected when faced with fire.

"Dany," Jon said again, hand still on her face. His hands were cold. She shivered once, realizing that she felt cold as well. When had that happened?

Abandoning her attempt to see how the fire battle ended, she looked back at him. Rather, she looked at his mouth as she continued to wage the war between her mind and her mutinous body.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm so sorry." For betraying me? She scoffed at the thought. He come to say that he, indeed, would take the throne from her now that so many knew the truth and so many loved him, while fearing her. And yet he felt "honorable" enough to apologize.

His face still held an expression of concern. Dany had learned what felt like eons ago that Jon Snow's face never lied. But now, here he was, gloating and yet concerned. Had he learned lying as well as betrayal?

"I know how much you loved Missandei," he continued. Dany felt her stomach drop sickeningly.

Missandei. She shivered again, but the shiver did not stop after one. It set into her body, into her very core and she felt as if her body was made of lead. Viserion, Qhono, Jorah, Rhaegal, Missandei - oh, Missandei. How could I have done this to you?

Jon was sincere and here she was thinking about a throne. Here she was consumed by anger and forgetting her only friend. Her only friend who was gone.

It was too much for her. Too much for one person to hold. She collapsed forward, Jon's arms opening in time to catch her as she slipped from the chair and onto the floor, body wracked with violent sobs.

"He - she - she - kil - she - they're - Jon, Jon, I c-can't, I - I can't," she cried loudly into his neck between hitched breaths. Her arms reciprocated the embrace he currently had her in, pulling him closer and willing him to hold her tighter as her mind lost the battle with her body.

Jon stayed silent, teeth grit, eyes focused on a wall, holding her tightly and brushing her lank hair as her sobs slowed from ragged to a labored quiet breathing. She had melted further and further into him. Her tears that had run onto his shoulder and neck had begun to dry. The fire no longer fought the logs, but smoldered over their scant remains, dying.

"Jon," she said, voice cracking as she looked up from his shoulder. Their arms stayed around each other.

Her voice broke Jon from his focus on the wall and he looked down, locking eyes with her. They were newly red and puffy, but it looked as if she had been ill as well as crying.

"Tyrion said you plan to have Varys…" he trailed off. If he spoke it, it would be true.

"He went too far," Dany said, though her attempt at a controlled voice merely ended with it breaking again, "He betrayed me." You betrayed me. She wanted to add it, but his face stopped her. Concern, still, and glassy eyes. Jon's face never lied.

"You don't have to do it," he said.

"What happens if I don't?" she asked, pushing back from their embrace to look at him properly. "He threatens my rule. He's making me lose. If I lose, she died for-" she paused, breathing hitching again. She died for nothing. She left Essos for nothing. I brought her here. For nothing.

Dany dropped her arms from embrace, her eyes stinging as she talked to his shoulder. "She's gone, Jon. She's gone for nothing," she said quietly, "There's nobody left. They died for me. Anyone who loved me died for me. Me. Nothing. The Queen of Nothing."

She searched Jon's face in desperation for a sign that what she said wasn't true. Her eyes locked with his once more and she felt her lip tremble as she fought back more tears threatening to spill over as the weight of what she said crashed upon her already leaden and overtaxed body. How did this happen?

Dany placed her hands on Jon's shoulders and breathed in as deeply as she could muster, praying to the gods that Jon Snow's face did not lie about its concern. "What else can I do now?"

"What else can we do?" Jon answered, taking her hands.

Varys walked impassively down the hall, flanked by several of the Unsullied. The only indication that this was not, simply, a guarded stroll was the tight wringing of his hands together, which were bare as he had removed his rings when summoned from his chambers.

Grey Worm led him and the rest of the Unsullied down stairs onto the shores of Dragonstone. The night was an inky black, with the last vestiges of rain still thickening the cold air from the sea. Waves crashed upon shore in the uninterrupted pattern that had gone on since before the First Men.

Not everything will change, thought Varys. The party halted and Unsullied soldiers parted the way for Varys to see what lay ahead.

Tyrion, alone against the black of night, stood before him. His look was grim as he scanned the people who had arrived before him. A faint flash crossed his face. Puzzlement? Varys wondered briefly. Perhaps I was supposed to have already been dead. Whatever Tyrion had thought, he settled back into his grim position with his hands folded and looked towards the castle again.

Each minute felt like a century as they stood and waited. Was execution this suspenseful for others? Varys wondered after what felt like a millenium. Grey Worm mirrored what Tyrion had done in scanning the land for something more than darkness, breaking his steely concentration and leading the other soldiers to do the same.

Tyrion broke the silent search. "Not that I wouldn't much prefer a nighttime chat on the rainy shore with my dear friend and some faithful soldiers," his voice shook with the attempt at humor as he looked helplessly at Varys and then back at Grey Worm, "but where is our Queen?"

Grey Worm shared a split-second glance with Tyrion and then headed for the castle, barking orders for a few of Varys's guard to follow him.

More millenia seemed to pass by, suspense abated, Varys still felt a growing sense of dread as he stared past Tyrion at the blackness concealing the sea behind him. He heard punctuated shouts above the shore, mixing in with the waves. The Unsullied stayed still in their positions, but Tyrion began to react to each shout.

Suddenly, after fourteen millenia or so, Varys thought he saw figures move behind Tyrion towards the shoreline. Had the Lannister army taken up the offensive and attacked? Varys wildly wondered if he would prefer a Targaryen or Lannister execution, having beared witness to both. Just as he shook off the thoughts as part of his dread, he could have sworn two figures moved behind Tyrion again. He could have sworn he heard soft running mixing in with the shouts and the waves.

Then the running came closer. It came from behind him and he flinched, knowing this was his end. Does it hurt? Please don't let it -

No end came, only an Unsullied soldier moving past him to address Tyrion.

"The Queen is missing."

There we are. If you feel inclined to review, please do so! I always appreciate feedback. Until next time.