Author's Note: This is my first GoT fic and I don't have a beta reader, so I hope it's okay. This is based off the TV show canon but I was also influenced by some plot elements from the books. It's definitely not necessary to have read the books to understand this though!

Daenerys:

For a moment when she woke, she forgot where she was.

It had been months since she slept so soundly and so deeply, so when Daenerys bolted upright in bed she was disoriented for a moment. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the blanketing darkness inside the cabin. She could hear the sounds of waves beating against the ship, and that plus the warm body next to her brought her back to reality.

She glanced down and saw that Jon was still asleep. He stirred slightly, rolling further onto his stomach and emitting a soft snore from his nose, but the arm draped across her waist did not move. A smile came to Daenerys's face. Even though she had only known Jon Snow for a few months, there was something about him that felt so familiar, this intrinsic connection between them that Daenerys had never experienced before. She knew she could deny it no longer the moment she saw him with Drogon.

I dreamt of him, but then his face was only a shadow. Back when a sea still separated them she had dreamt of a faceless young lover too many times to count, but over time she lost hope she would find him. But I dreamt of Jon Snow. She knew now. And my dreams come true.

Still, she felt too restless to go back to sleep, so Daenerys carefully untangled herself from her lover's embrace, covering her nakedness with a robe before she quietly slipped from the room. The ship was quiet as its other occupants slept – they were just a few days from White Harbor now and then they would begin their procession towards Winterfell. She had never seen the North before, this frigid, vast land she aimed to rule, but the stories Jon told her made it seem so familiar. When they laid together afterwards, her head on his chest and her fingers tracing the scar above his heart, his words painted a picture of his childhood home and family so vividly she could see it before her. The tales entranced her. She'd never had a real home of her own – or a family, really.

Viserys had been her brother but he was foolish and stupid. She loved him once and he had returned her blind loyalty by selling her in marriage to Khal Drogo. She was nothing more to him than chattel to be bought and sold, more property than human. He was mad, like our father. He never loved me. My brother Rhaegar died on the Trident and my mother at Dragonstone, bringing me into the world…The thought filled her with sorrow. They were the last family I had, and I never got a chance to know them. Even Drogo, her sun and stars, only brought up mixed feelings now. She had loved him, but the beginning of their union had been far from ideal, as he would slip into her tent every night to ride her like a horse that needed to be broken, Dany crying into her pillow after he left her. She was a child then, forced into a desperate situation, and he was a man who should've known better. Thinking about it now, Daenerys realized that Jon Snow was the only man who had ever shown her nothing but goodness and tenderness. The only man she may be able to love not out of necessity, but because of his heart.

On the deck it was cold and the waves were rough, beating against the sides of the ship. Daenerys had to grab onto the rail for balance. She looked up at the black, starless sky and wondered where Drogon and Rhaegal had gone. They had likely flown off for the night and would return to her in the morning. There was no room for them on the ship but her sons still liked to remain close. After the loss of her Viserion – the sweetest of her dragons – she was more protective of them than before.

"Can't sleep, Your Grace?"

Daenerys jumped a little at the sound of Tyrion's voice, her Hand emerging from the shadows, flagon of wine in hand. She had not noticed him until now. Though her Hand hadn't been drinking much since they arrived at Dragonstone – to keep his mind clear and senses alert, perhaps – as he walked towards her he lurched and swayed. He was clearly drunk. "How much have you had?"

"Oh, quite a lot." Tyrion could barely lift the flagon to his lips and spilled red wine on the ground. "I saw something troubling."

"What?"

"Jon Snow coming to your room."

Daenerys's body stiffened and her hands clenched the railing tight enough to turn her knuckles white. They'd been careful, or so she thought, but it seemed there was little that Tyrion Lannister did not pick up on. "I don't see how that is any of your business."

"With all due respect, Your Grace, when you asked me to be your Hand your business became my business." He took another long sip of wine, his eyes softening. "This is a dangerous time to fall in love."

"You think I don't know that?" Her voice broke over the words, and Daenerys resented herself for sounding so weak.

Tyrion did not comment on it, however, and she was grateful to him for that. His Lannister green eyes turned towards the sea, studying the rough waters. "However, I will raise the same issue that I did on Dragonstone: succession." Daenerys opened her mouth to object, but Tyrion continued. "A marriage to Jon Snow would squash any Northern doubts, and guarantee that a child with blood of the Starks would one day sit the throne."

"I cannot do that."

"Why not? I can see in your eyes that you love him."

Her throat tightened. "That is why I cannot."

For a moment, neither of them said anything as the waves beat on. "Your Grace," Tyrion said finally. "I know you said you cannot have children, but have you seen a maester? Are you certain?"

"I'm certain." She said. "When I was with Daario, he was not the most…vigilant, about pulling out. Yet, in all those months, I never became pregnant by him."

"Yes, well, your old paramour didn't exactly keep to one bed. And some venereal diseases are known to cause infertility…"

Daenerys took the flagon from Tyrion's hands and drained it in one long gulp. "I'm barren. I'm sure of it. You weren't there, you didn't see…" She had to shut her eyes at the memory of Mirri Maz Duur and the shadows she danced with in her tent. That witch cursed me and killed my son, the only child who will ever be born of my body. She betrayed my trust. I will not make that mistake again.

Afterwards they parted and Daenerys pulled her robe tighter around her body, feeling chilled. Revisiting old ghosts never was a soothing thought to have before bed. She tried to slip quietly back into the cabin, but when a sliver of light from the torches in the hall entered the room, Jon stirred. "Dany?" He murmured, voice thick with sleep.

"I didn't mean to wake you." She whispered, slipping off her robe again and rejoining her lover under the furs. His arm instinctively wrapped back around her waist. "Go back to sleep, Jon Snow."

"Hmm." He pulled her closer to him and kissed the top of her head, his eyes fluttering shut again. "If my queen commands it."

He fell back asleep quickly but Daenerys remained awake until the wee hours of the morning, her head propped up on her arm as she watched the rising and falling of his chest. She tried to memorize every detail of his face, every scar that marked his body, every shard of proof that he was here and real and hers.

She knew when they arrived at Winterfell this behavior could not continue.

Davos:

Ever since he learned to write, Davos had developed a habit of penning his letters late at night. In the quiet with only the light of a single candle, there was nothing to distract him from his thoughts. Tonight, though, he couldn't seem to form the right words.

Dearest Marya,

I know I've been away from you for longer than we had planned –

He sighed. No, not right. He crumpled the paper in his good hand and threw it across the room, where it landed on top of the accumulating stack. After he learned to write, Davos began sending letters home to his wife at Cape Wrath. Their fifth son Devan – our eldest now, technically, he thought to himself – knew how to read and write from his days as Stannis's squire, so he would transcribe Lady Marya's responses back to Davos. Lately, however, he had not been receiving anything from home. It was possible that the ravens couldn't reach Cape Wrath in the winter, he supposed, though that was unlikely considering it hadn't snowed much in the south yet. Could his family be hurt or in danger, and that was why they did not reply?

Or perhaps she is just tired of my excuses. Davos thought bitterly. His wife was a warm and generous woman, but even she had her limits. She lost four sons at the Blackwater and I did not come then. Now winter is here and she is alone at our keep with nothing to do but wait for the husband she has not seen in years. Would I even recognize my Stannis and Steffon now, if I saw them again? They were boys when I left them and now they are half-grown.

Davos glanced over his shoulder at the berth opposite his own. He shared a cabin with Gendry and was trying not to wake the lad, but luckily he seemed to be asleep, eyes shut, chest rising and falling steadily. It was getting late and Davos knew he needed to go to sleep himself soon. He dipped his quill in ink and began again on a fresh piece of parchment.

Dearest Marya,

I owe you an apology and I know these words on paper only begin to cover the wrongs I have done you. I was a better smuggler than a knight, a better knight than a King's Hand, and a better King's Hand than a husband. I have been more focused on fulfilling my oaths to kings than my oath to you. I have loved you, Marya, every day of my life but these past few years I have been rotten at showing it. I hope that someday soon, when I can look into your eyes again, you will gift me with your forgiveness. Please kiss our sons for me and tell them their father misses them.

He was about to sign his name and blow out the candle when he heard the sound of rustling from Gendry's berth. Davos thought that he had woken him up but when he looked around he saw that he was still asleep, though now tossing and turning. Trapped in the throes of a nightmare, he called out barely loud enough for Davos to hear: "Arya…"

The Onion Knight dropped his quill in surprise, splattering an ink blot on the page. Did he say…? He crossed the room to grab Gendry by the shoulders and lightly shook him. "Wake up, lad. Wake up, you're having a nightmare…"

Gendry's eyes opened, but in his half-awake state he tried to sit up and wacked his head on the bunk above him. "Seven hells! Oy, Ser Davos, what time is it?"

"You were having a nightmare. I thought it best to wake ye…" Davos paused, wondering if he should leave it here, for clearly whatever Gendry had been dreaming of was something he didn't want Davos to know. But Davos cared for the boy, and if there was something that was plaguing him he wanted to help if he could. "In your sleep, you were calling out for His Grace's – err, the Warden of the North's sister." Davos still had to remind himself when speaking of Jon that he wasn't King in the North anymore.

Gendry's eyes widened and he propped himself up on one of his elbows, now wide awake. "Arya?"

"Well, yes. Unless there is some reason why you may be dreaming of Lady Sansa as well?" Gendry was unable to look at him now and Davos sighed to himself. I care about you, boy, but I can't help you if you don't tell me the truth. "Why did you not tell Jon that you knew his sister? You told him about your father, but not about her."

"No reason…"

Davos did not believe that for a second. "Did something happen between the two of you that you did not want him to know about?" He raised an eyebrow and Gendry's face blanched.

"No! No it was nothing like that. We were friends, and she was just a girl…" When he met Davos's eyes again, he looked as if he was remembering something he'd rather forget. Davos knew that look all too well. "She was just a girl and she needed me, but I left her. She didn't have anyone else and I was too selfish and stupid…"

"If you mean what happened with Melisandre, that wasn't your fault."

"No – no before that I was going to become a smith for the Brotherhood. I was going to abandon her and she was pissed at me. But I had this idea in my head that I needed to become something, that if I went to Winterfell with her they wouldn't let me see her anymore, not unless I could…" Gendry trailed off and shook his head. "I was stupid, just like she said I was. She died hating me…"

Oh, lad. Davos thought. You don't know, do you? "Gendry." He said gently. "Lady Arya isn't dead."

His words were clearly news to Gendry, and he could not mask the emotions that crossed his face – shock then confusion and then, most of all, elation. "She's not?"

"She's alive and home at Winterfell, Jon received a raven back on Dragonstone. She's alive and you'll see her again in just a few more weeks."

"She's alive…" Gendry murmured to himself, almost like he couldn't believe it, and then he laughed. "Seven hells, she's alive…"

Davos felt almost like he was intruding on a private moment somehow, so he got back up and went back to his letter. Part of him wanted to crumple this one up too and start again. But no words can properly take back these past few years. I'll find fault no matter what I write. With some reluctance, he signed his name and blew out the candle, sending the room into pitch blackness. "Go back to sleep, lad. We'll talk in the morning."

Jon:

He woke up shortly after dawn to light filtering in through the porthole. The bed was cold and he reached over, searching for Daenerys's warmth, but his hand touched only mattress. Jon opened his eyes and sat up – she'd gotten up in the middle of the night last night and left the bed before him, so clearly she hadn't slept much. Using the fur to cover his nakedness, he got out of bed and scoured the floor for his clothes, which had been disregarded haphazardly the night before. He redressed himself in his now-wrinkled clothes and pulled his messy curls out of his face. It was still early enough that he could slip back into his room and change before anyone else woke.

But as soon as Jon exited Daenerys's cabin, he ran – quite literally – into Missandei. The woman smiled politely and made no mention of his unruly appearance. "My lord," Clearly she knew what had transpired the night before, but she skirted around the issue and averted her eyes. "I was just sent to check up on you. The queen is in the dining hall and would like a word."

"Well, I…" He trailed off. Jon needed to make himself presentable, but he supposed there was no harm in speaking to Daenerys, since it was still early enough that he could have time before the others woke up. And after all, he thought. She saw me last night with a lot less…"Yes, of course. Lead the way."

Except when Missandei opened the doors to the dining hall, a dozen pairs of eyes were suddenly pointed in his direction. Daenerys sat at the head of the table, drinking a cup of tea, flanked by Tyrion on one side and Varys on the other. Davos and Jorah were engaged in a conversation and Gendry was standing by two of Daenerys's bloodriders, examining one of their arakhs while the Dothrakis were staring curiously at some Westerosi swords. Grey Worm was standing against the wall, back ramrod straight, but a slight smile toyed with his lips when his eyes met Missandei's. She blushed and looked away, returning loyally to Daenerys's side. "Would you like me to finish with your braids, Your Grace?"

Everyone turned away and got back to their work, but it was clear they had noticed Jon's disheveled state, even if they did not comment on it. Daenerys, however, looked him directly in the eyes and made no attempts to hide her staring. "Tell me Jon Snow, how is it that proper northern ladies wear their hair?"

Jon pulled out a chair and a serving girl appeared out of nowhere to pour him a cup of coffee. He gave her a nod of thanks. "Rather simply, Your Grace. Usually half-up, half-down, or with a side braid. Little girls sometimes use two braids."

"Northerners do not favor southron finery, Your Grace." Jorah added. "They cling steadfastly to their traditions and are loyal to their own. They don't take well to outsiders."

"Like me." Daenerys said. There was no anger in her voice. She said it matter-of-factly and, unbothered, took another sip of her tea.

"Your Grace – "

"No point in lying to me, Ser Jorah. I know the northerners will mistrust me, but I intend to earn their trust. Just like I've earned their king's." She looked to Missandei. "Do you think you could fix my hair as Jon Snow described?"

Missandei ran her slender fingers through Daenerys's silver hair. "Perhaps I could do it half-up, half-down, but form the bun out of a series of braids. What do you think?"

Daenerys smiled. "Perfect. Thank you, Missandei."

Missandei's fingers moved nimbly through Daenerys's hair, while the queen sat back in her chair listening to Tyrion and Varys as they pointed out spots on a map of the north, explaining the histories of the different houses. Jorah and Davos went back to conversing quietly while one of the bloodriders said something to Gendry in Dothraki, which he clearly didn't understand. "Ser Jorah," He said. "Do you mind?"

"He asked if you could make something like it out of dragonglass."

Gendry thought for a moment. "Tell him I'll try. I've never made one before, especially out of dragonglass, but the design seems straightforward enough." Jorah looked to the Dothraki and translated.

"But you believe you could?" Daenerys asked.

Gendry nodded, unable to meet her eyes. He always looked suddenly uncertain whenever the queen addressed him, like she was trying to catch him in a trap. "The weapon seems relatively simple to assemble, Your Grace, and if we can make dragonglass into spears I see no reason why I couldn't forge it into arakhs, arrowheads, or even swords."

"Tell me, who taught you your trade?"

"Tobho Mott, Your Grace. The greatest armorer in King's Landing."

Daenerys nodded slowly and drummed her fingers against the table top. "And who paid your apprentice fee with the greatest armorer in King's Landing?"

Varys sat up a little straighter in his chair – the eunuch had been oddly quiet until now. "Actually, I did, Your Grace."

Daenerys's violet eyes widened and when Jon glanced at Gendry, he also seemed surprised by this news. The queen smiled but there was no warmth behind it. "Why are you only mentioning this now, Lord Varys?"

Varys shrugged. "Never came up, Your Grace."

"How many of the Usurper's bastards have you helped?" Jon saw Gendry visibly flinch at the phrase Usurper's bastards, and even Davos looked bothered on his behalf.

"He was the only one, Your Grace. I knew of a few others, and there were many more I did not know of, but there was nothing I could do for them. I regret not helping the poor baby girl Janos Slynt killed – never did I think that Joffrey would be so cruel as to order the murder of an infant still at her mother's tit, oh no. But Gendry here was one of the first I found and caused me to realize the truth about Cersei Lannister's incest. I needed him alive if I wanted to destabilize Joffrey's claim."

"And would you have put him on the Iron Throne then?"

"Not at all, Your Grace. My heart has always been with the Targaryens, and a bastard – even a royal one – has no claims to his father's titles, anyhow." He glanced at Gendry. "No offense."

"A son should not be punished for the sins of his father." Tyrion piped up. "Don't you agree, Your Grace?"

Daenerys hesitated, then nodded. "Of course, Lord Tyrion. And Gendry, I mean you no harm. I thank you for your help with the weapons." But she still doesn't trust him. Jon thought. He could see it in her eyes. Daenerys doesn't trust easily, and she hates Baratheons. He supposed he couldn't blame her for that, not after the betrayals she had known, but Jon hoped that she would grow to like Gendry, as he did – and that she wouldn't regard his family and his people with the same suspicion.

The doors to the dining hall opened and the Hound walked in, still half-asleep, the last member of their party to arrive. He swiped a strip of bacon from a serving girl's passing tray. "Seven hells, why are you up so damn early? Don't any of you bloody sleep?" He bit into the bacon and his eyes roved the room, finally landing on Jon. He did not bother to hide his staring, openly looking Jon up and down, from his messy hair to his ensemble of last night's clothes. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

Jon's face grew hot and he glanced at Daenerys, who only laughed and took another sip of her tea. "The Warden of the North had a long night last night, I'm afraid."

And mayhaps he would have a long night again tonight, if he was lucky.

Jaime:

The snow looked beautiful as it fell.

The flakes were unadulterated white and perfect, dancing to the ground in their deliberate, rhythmic swirl, slow at first and then faster the further he rode away from King's Landing. They clumped in his lashes and accumulated on fabric of his cloak. Even underneath his glove, his golden hand felt chilled and the cold metal bit at the skin of his stump. Though the snowfall looked innocuous now, soon white would cover the earth as far as the eye could see, freezing the crops and chilling the air for years to come. The past spring had lasted ten years, the longest of any on record. This would be the worst winter yet.

Jaime pulled his hood tighter against his face. He had lived through many winters and never had he felt such uncertainty. Winter is here and I am alone, riding towards certain death. If the Mother of Dragons did not separate his head from his shoulders, then those damned undead soldiers would surely be the death of him. The moment he saw that wight emerge from its crate, it had scared the shit out of him like no man ever had. And yet Cersei could not even be bothered by it. He thought. She doesn't care who they kill, as long as she can become queen of the skeletons…

He hated himself for still caring about her after how she'd treated him. Cersei had meant everything to him and now he knew he was nothing to her. I would've died for her. I killed for her. I pushed a boy out of a tower for her…His stomach clenched at the memory of little Bran Stark, and how broken he looked when he reached the ground. Back then, the sight had bothered him not at all. What a fool I was. I ruined my life for her and what did she ever give me?

But yet he still couldn't let Cersei go, not when his child was growing in her womb. It still hurt him to think of the children he lost. He'd been happier than ever when Myrcella told him she was glad to be his daughter, only to plummet to devastating sorrow moments later when she collapsed into his arms, his beautiful girl cruelly ripped from the world. He never had the opportunity to grieve for Tommen, that sweet boy who had deserved so much more, and not once had Cersei wanted to speak about him, disregarding their little boy as if he never existed at all. He should've known then that she was too far gone, but he was too craven to leave her. He even mourned for Joffrey in a way, wondering if maybe things could've been different had Jaime been able to be a father to him, or if Cersei hadn't spoiled him so. But there was no point in wondering about what ifs when they were all dead now, and truthfully it would be best if he gave up hope about this new babe too. There were only three ways this war could play out: the dead could win and kill them all, the Dragon Queen could win and kill Cersei and the child within her, or Cersei could win and never let Jaime see his child, maybe even go through with her threat to murder him. None of these options ended with a happy life and family for him.

There are no happy endings, not for men like me. Jaime thought bitterly. Maybe there could've been one, but it's too late. His mind wandered to a certain woman with eyes the color of sapphires and a sword he gave her. She was his last chance at redemption, his last chance at happiness, and he fucked it all up. I may have saved her life once or twice, but she saved me more times than I can count. Surely she hates me now. She was brave and honorable, when Jaime knew he'd been the opposite…

He snapped out of his musings when he heard the sound of a branch snapping behind him. Jaime glanced over his shoulder, searching for any signs of rustling in the brush. He gave his horse a kick and rode faster down the road. It would be dark soon and maybe if he could ride far enough away from King's Landing, he could find shelter at an inn where no one would recognize his face…

But even at his quickened pace he heard the sound of hoofbeats behind him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He could not tell if it was one man or a dozen behind him, but he was being followed, surely. He kicked the horse again. "Faster."

The animal neighed and practically sprinted up the path, and Jaime narrowly avoided whacking his face on a tree branch. His pursuant was still behind him, and Jaime directed the horse to move in zigzags, hoping he could lose whoever it was. Then he heard someone shout out for him.

"Seven fucking hells Lannister, I'm not going to kill ya!"

Jaime looked over his shoulder and the horse lurched to a stop when its hoof got caught in a root, hidden under the accumulating dust of snow, nearly throwing Jaime off its back. "Bronn?"

The sellsword appeared from the brush and smirked at him. "I've been following you for a league and a half! And no, your sister didn't send me, if that's what you're wondering."

"Why are you here? How did you even know where I was going?"

"Well where the fuck else would you be going? Half of the bloody Red Keep knows about your argument with your sister-lover-queen-whatever. I know you like to think that you're a complicated man, Lannister, but you're really not. I'm coming with you to Winterfell."

Jaime narrowed his eyes at him. "You know this isn't going to be some leisurely trip. You could very well die. The Army of the Dead may kill you, if the Targaryen girl doesn't burn you alive with one of her dragons first. When we get there she may not want to hear what we have to say at all, once she sees my sister's army isn't with us."

"I can handle myself, thank you very much. And who's going to watch your arse if I'm not around?" Bronn chuckled to himself and pulled his horse around so that it trotted side by side with Jaime's. "Plus I was promised a castle and a wife by you and your little brother. What good will staying in King's Landing do me with you both gone? No, I'm not leaving your side until the debt is paid. And, you know what your people always say…"

Jaime rolled his eyes. "A Lannister always pays his debts."

Bronn laughed again and slugged him on the arm. "Atta boy, Lannister! Now come on, off we go. Winterfell's a long ways away and I want to look around so I can decide which castle I want…"