Spoiler Warning: If you have not watched HBO's Game of Thrones to completion then please get off this page and go do so immediately. The gods demand it.

This is a piece I wrote that takes place after the events of the Season 7 finale. It is told from Daenerys perspective while she, Jon, and others are sailing north. It follows the events/plot of the show but contains elements of the Daenerys of the books.

…

Daenerys stared into the darkness before her. The small covered brazier they had kept burning at night had gone out hours ago, as had the candles affixed to the walls. The ship's cabin was lit only by the pale moonlight that streamed through the opaque glass windows. Its ghostly glow felt as a cold as the night air around her. Dany wondered about the hour and willed the dawn to come, willed the sun's rays to burn away the eerie white light before her, but even a queen did not have such power. Trying to make herself more comfortable, she pulled the furs higher over her and moved closer to Jon. He slept silently beside her, scarred chest rising and falling slowly. He had warmed her bed these past eight nights. Dany hoped that would continue when they made port. She had seen the looks from Tyrion, Jorah, and others, but she did not care. The hours spent lying in Jon's arms were pleasant, almost as pleasant as their other activities in the cabin. Almost.

She had known other men, of course. Drogo had been her first, when her brother had sold her to the Dothraki horse lord in exchange for the promise of an army. To call her first months with him enjoyable would have been a lie. The Khal had approached lovemaking with the same violent enthusiasm as he did riding and killing. Daenerys had been just another conquest. There was little pleasure in it for her. She still remembered the fear of being taken by Drogo and the pains when mounting her silver mare to ride alongside Ser Jorah the following mornings. It had gotten better over time. She learned to ride her horse as well as her husband and, in time, she had learned to love him as well.

Daario Naharis, the sellsword captain whom she had taken as a lover in Meereen, was more passionate than Drogo. With the Khal it was ride or be ridden. With Daario, every night was an adventure. His roguish charm and experience in bed had kept her pleased. He had shown her things that were better suited to the brothels below Meereen's Great Pyramid than the Queen's bedchambers. Still, something had always seemed wrong. Where Drogo had sought to take his pleasure, Daario was too eager to surrender his needs for hers. Their lovemaking was never between equals. It had always felt off.

Jon Snow was different. The first time he had come to her cabin at night, they had made love with a slow but desperate passion that made her nights with Daario feel empty. Thereafter, when he called at her door after supper or later in the evening, she had given herself to his touch. He had kissed her on her lips, her neck, and between her thighs. He was a man of few words, but his tongue had made her shudder with pleasure as he tasted her womanhood. Where she had once been focused with her lovers' bodies, Daenerys now found herself lost in Jon Snow's dark grey eyes. Love comes in at the eyes. Still, there was something more she felt when she was with him, something even greater than that perfect fullness she felt with him inside her. The words escaped her. Does this feeling even have a word for it? She just felt right.

During their first few nights together, Dany had surrendered to Jon's kisses and caresses. It felt good to have him on top of her; to have someone else take charge, to make decisions, to lead. Yet last night had been different. The evening began as a regular affair. They had taken their supper with Ser Davos, Tyrion, and other attendants and advisors in the large cabin adjacent to the captain's quarters. The discussion ranged from production of arms to transporting the necessary winter provisions for the southern armies making their ways north. Both she and Jon had remained cordial, but a knowing glance from Tyrion let the Queen know her façade was a farce.

Perhaps it was the supper's accompanying strong Dornish wine that had so emboldened Dany. Perhaps it was simply a Queen's confidence. It made no matter. When the pair had retired to the Queen's quarters and latched the door behind them, Daenerys took control. Their usually slow and loving ritual of undress was replaced with a frantic pace. She had stripped Jon of his garments, pushed him against the soft tapestry that adorned the cabin's wall, and kissed him with a fiery passion. When Jon had tried to move to the bed she had pushed him back. Last night, he was hers.

Jon seemed to melt in response to her touch. Dany felt his muscles tense and breath quicken as she pressed herself against him, kissing his neck, then the curved scar over his heart, then the deep scars on his abdomen. She made her way down between his legs and slowly looked up into his dark grey eyes, giving him a devious smile before taking him in her mouth. Jon gasped in surprise and let out a slow moan of pleasure.

She had learned the proper techniques with Drogo and Daario, but seemed to perfect them here. Jon lost his composure as Dany pleasured him. She watched with satisfaction as his knees began to buckle and he started frantically thrusting and breathing raggedly. His moans grew louder and she quickened the pace. Then, suddenly, she pulled away and rose from her position between his legs. Jon had exhaled quickly, visibly frustrated by the interruption, but Dany did not let it last. She pulled him away from the wall, pushed him onto the furs of the bed, and mounted him. The rest was a blur. Dany lost herself in his eyes as she climaxed and felt Jon's release inside her.

Afterwards, they laid in each other's arms, enjoying a moment of blissful silence while listening to the creaking timbers of the ship and the faint footsteps of the crew on the deck above. The burning candles cast them in a soft, warm light. Dany rested her head on his chest, her undone silver hair falling across his bare skin and her fingers tracing small circles on his breast. Soon enough, felt his breathing slow. I must have tired him out. She smiled softly as she turned over and tried to get some rest herself.

Only sleep did not come. She remained next to Jon, watching the pale moonlight break through the clouds outside and begin to cast soft shadows across the cabin. The silence from the decks above told her most of the crew had gone to bed as well. It must be later than I thought. Sleep had not come easy since her venture beyond The Wall. In truth, it had not come easy to her for years. Dark rooms in foreign lands had brought a loneliness that never seemed to leave her side, even with Drogo or Daario sharing her bed. She often found herself staring into the night, just as she was doing now, thinking of somewhere else. Thinking of home.

Daenerys had never known any one place as home. Not truly. As children, she and Viserys had lived in Braavos in a house with a red door. When the servants had stolen their remaining gold, they had wandered the Free Cities and stayed as guests of princes and magisters. Magister Illyrio had hosted them in Pentos for a time, before her marriage to Drogo. She had accepted her fate and even learned to enjoy the open sky and vast plains of the Dothraki Sea, but she lacked the copper skin and dark hair of her adopted people. She would never be a true Khaleesi in the eyes of the Khalassar. She had been a foreigner among the Dothraki, a foreigner in Qarth, and a foreigner in Meereen. She was of Westeros and would always be foreign to the people she ruled as Queen. Some small part of her hoped arriving at Dragonstone would fill that longing at last, but she had been wrong even then. Tearing down the Baratheon banners and replacing them with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen had not suddenly made her feel at home. If home wasn't a place, what was it? Her Targaryen ancestors may have built the fortress, but the Targaryens were gone. Her family was gone. Or will be, once I am no more.

Dany knew she was barren. Her nights spent with Daario had proven that to be true. The Lhazareen witch's curse had stripped her family of a future. The dragons are my children. That's what she always told herself. She loved them dearly. She had hatched them, fed them, and watched them grow, but they were not of her body. The son she might have had with Drogo was stolen from her. What would he look like now? Sometimes, on sleepless nights like these, Dany would think about her family, not the mother or older brother she had never known, but of the husband and children she could never have. Laying there, Dany watched as the streams of pale moonlight and long shadows of the cabin seemed to dissolve around her. The darkness was gone. The ship was gone. Warm sunlight filled the room. And then she saw herself standing in the middle of a large room with small but ornate columns wrapped in intricately wrought metal vines. One on side, she glimpsed a large window of colored glass through which sunlight shone in a variety of bright hues. Across from the window she saw a heavy oak door painted in a deep red. She did not recognize the setting, but it felt familiar. Dany looked at the women before her, recognizing herself not as she was but as she would never be. She wore a stunning gown of deep violet that brushed the white marble floors. In her arms she held an infant boy. He looked up at his mother with bright amethyst eyes. My son? She watched as she rocked the babe to sleep while softly humming a sweet tune. Her sons eyes began to close slowly, soothed by his mother's music, but opened again in shock as a playful shriek echoed through the room. She watched herself turn to the door as a young girl ran into the room, laughing and running from some unseen pursuer. She was barefoot and garbed in a simple black dress that matched her jet-black hair. She clutched at the ends of her mother's gown, demanding attention or perhaps an ally to defend her in the chase at hand. Her mother laughed softly. Dany laughed too. The vision seemed to shimmer before her as the girl turned and looked at Daenerys. She had dark grey eyes. Jon's eyes. Daenerys blinked and looked back, but the vision had disappeared before her, leaving her back in the darkness of the ship's cabin.

No. It was a fantasy. A lie. They are the children I can never have. She had told Jon as much, yet here he was, sleeping beside her. Does he truly understand? It was strange. That lingering loneliness she had always felt was not present in this cabin. She looked at him, an odd tightness seizing her chest. Her throat felt dry and her hands weak. What had she just seen? Those grey eyes... Those were his eyes. Her mind raced. Here, beside him, could this be home? She felt vulnerable around him as she had around no one else. No. It was something different. Something more, like that feeling she had when staring at herself in that vision just now. Here she lay, naked in body and spirit, but she felt no fear. She felt comfortable. She felt safe. She felt loved.

Thinking about this won't help you sleep. Dany swept the thoughts from her mind, turned on her side, and closed her eyes. It did not do any good. Taking care not to disturb Jon, Dany rose from the bed and walked to the small table near the window. A glass of wine will set me right. She poured herself a generous measure from the flagon, the Arbor wine glowed a pale shade of gold in the winter moonlight. Taking a sip, she looked out the window, hoping for the dawn. She opened the closest pane slightly. The sky remained black, but the air outside smelled clean. Fresh air might help too. She set her silver cup down for a moment and dressed herself one of the thin silken nightdresses she had brought from the east. Lovely, but not suitable for a Westerosi winter. She looked around for one of her woolen winter dresses, but her eyes stopped Jon's thick fur cape, emblazoned with the direwolf of House Stark. She picked it up and wrapped it around herself. It was heavier than she expected. This will do. No one will be awake to see me anyway. The fur smelled of earth and pinewood. It smelled like him.

She carefully unlatched the door and, wine in hand, made her way through the narrow halls to the top deck of the ship. She and Jon enjoyed spending time on ship's bow, looking out over the prow. That's where she went. One of her Unsullied stood sentry by the stairs, illuminated by a lantern shinning dimly beside him. Ever vigilant, he looked up at the sound of her soft footsteps. He gave a curt bow and stepped aside for his Queen. The upper deck was empty. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of the sea and the cold evening air.

"Beautiful night," a voice proclaimed behind her. She turned and saw Tyrion lowering himself from the crate where he had sat with a wineskin clutched in his left hand. She had neither seen nor heard him on her way up. The subtle light from the lantern by the stairs cast her Hand in shadow. "I see you've adopted the northern garb." She could not see his smirk but knew it was there. Perhaps it was not proper for the Queen to walk about the ship dressed as she was, but it was late and the cloak kept her warm. And keeps him close.

"Better winter furs than a wineskin to keep me warm" Dany retorted, annoyed. She enjoyed sparring wits with Tyrion under the right circumstances. Right now was not among them. She had come up here to find some peace of mind.

"I would have thought Jon provided enough warmth without need of his cloak." Tyrion stepped out of the shadows and looked up at her. His left eye drifted slightly and he hiccupped between breathes. Drunk again. Daenerys swallowed her rising temper. She had tried to limit the man's proclivity for wine, but he always seemed to find a way.

"I couldn't sleep," she responded in a muted tone, looking off to the side.

"Nor me," Tyrion said, "it would seem that sailing to the edge of the world to battle an army of dead men troubles the mind with thoughts so dark even a Dornish sour cannot dispel them." He raised his wineskin in a sort of mock salute before drinking deeply. Playing along, Dany raised her silver cup and took a sip as well. "Still, here we are. Three armies. Four if you count my sister's, two dragons, a fleet of ships, and a 700-foot-high wall of ice to hide behind. I like our chances."

Dany starred at him. She understood. Even after seeing the wight uncaged in the capital, Tyrion was reluctant to abandon the south to his sister. He did not trust her. Truth be told, she did not either. Yet, with Tyrion's counsel, the Lannister queen had pledged herself and her men to the task at hand. Dany had seen what was out there and had flown beyond The Wall, rescued Jon and Jorah, and watched her child sink beneath the ice. She had seen the true threat. She had sacrificed Viserion for her kingdom, for her people, for him. Sacrifice. Isn't that what a queen needs to do?

As if reading her thoughts, Tyrion stated "you love him, don't you."

Did she? She sighed softly, looking up at the moon. They had discussed this before, in the council chambers at Dragonstone. She had thought Jon harbored no feelings for her when he had wished her good fortune before leaving for the North; but, when he had grasped her hand on their way south, she knew. She could not say when she had first felt something for him. In that cave? When he announced his intentions to go beyond The Wall? When he left? She was not sure of the exact moment, only that when the raven had arrived begging for aid she had stormed off to find Drogon before she had even finished reading the scroll. He needed help and she needed to help him. Is that what love is?

Of course, by now her association with Jon was obvious. He had spent near every night in her bed. And here she was, wrapped in his cloak. She looked as Tyrion, her amethyst eyes meeting his mismatched pair. "I…" The words escaped her. "I don't know," she responded meekly. She was a queen, his queen, yet at the moment she felt like a shy child.

Tyrion took a long pull from the skin and looked at her. "He's a good man. Brave, smart… handsome," the shadow of a grin crossed his face, "a fine match for the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms." Was it the wine speaking or her Hand? It would be a lie to say the thought had not crossed her mind. Had she not intended to make a marriage alliance when she sailed for Westeros? What better way to unite the North and South? What better way to keep him safe and by her side? "And he loves you." Dany nodded. Silence loomed over the pair for a moment before Tyrion spoke again, the grin sliding from his face, "still… it's dangerous." The words almost sounded like a threat.

"What is?" Dany asked. What is he talking about now?

"Love." The man stated darkly. Their eyes met again. Speak your mind Tyrion. I won't play these games with you, not now. "One way or another, it ends in disappointment. Death or desertion or betrayal." He lifted the wineskin to his lips and took another drink, wringing the soft leather pouch in order to squeeze every last drop of sour red. Enough. Swift as a dragon in flight, Dany stepped forward and ripped the empty wineskin from Tyrion's hands and threw it aside. He looked at her, his face contorted in a mix of shock and confusion.

"I know," she said, feeling a fire rising in her chest once again. "I burned Drogo's body. I lost my first child. I saw Viserion slain beyond The Wall. I know what it feels like. I know the risks." What was it? What does he know of love? Why should he care who shares my bed?

"Do you?" The words came softly, cautiously. "You love him. An imbecile could see as much. And you two are more alike than you care to admit. It makes sense. It does. But…" he let the word linger in the cold night air, "if the day should come when you have to choose between your king and your kingdom, what will you do?"

"I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I will fight to protect those kingdoms and the people in them. All of them." She proclaimed. The words rang hollow in her ears and, seeing the look on Tyrion's face, she could tell he was not swayed either. Her Hand was a clever man and challenged her in almost every conversation. How did it always come to this?

"You already made that choice once. You took three dragons north to aid Jon and returned with two." Tyrion had not spoken of Viserion's death, not to her at least. The wine had emboldened him.

"You should get some rest, Tyrion. We'll need with a clear head in the coming days," her response was curt and formal as she turned away from him.

"Your Grace" he bowed slowly, retrieved the wineskin, and waddled away toward his cabin. She exhaled slowly as she heard his footsteps fade. She could see her breath in the air. A chill wind had picked up, coming in from the north, making the night air colder than Dany would have liked. She wrapped herself ever more tightly in Jon's cloak and looked out over the sea, resolved to stand sentry for the dawn. Yet the winds would not abate and the sun would not rise for hours to come. The days were too short now. As she thought of Jon and her warm bed below deck, her resolve faltered. There will be other sunrises to watch.

Dany made her way down the steps and through the dimly lit corridors of the ship, her fingers brushing the dark wood of the hull beside her for guidance. She reached the entrance to her quarters, undid the latch, and stepped over the threshold, softly closing the door behind her. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the lack of light in the room. Jon had not moved. She smiled softly at the sight while taking off his cloak and draping it over a chair. Taking care to make no noise, Dany slipped out of her silken dress and slipped into bed beside her lover. Thoughts swirled in her head. The half-dream of a family. Her conversation with Tyrion. What awaited them in the North…

As her thoughts drifted, she felt herself grow warm. A soft and subtle tingling sensation that delightfully crept from her fingers up her arms to her heart. Her eyes grew heavy and she yawned. The pale colors of the cabin began to fade before her as she reached out and softly grasped Jon's hand, giving it a weak squeeze. Her breathing slowed, chest rising slowly in tandem with Jon's. She glimpsed him through half shut eyes, and for that brief moment before sleep at last overtook her, Daenerys Targaryen was home.