He tossed more kindling to stoke the dying flames, the crackling only enhancing the silence and solitude of the shadowy room. After prodding the charred logs back to life and watching the shadows dance on the walls, he found himself slouching in the rigid wooden chair. He expelled a wistful breath drawing his eyes over the accumulation of crumpled parchment strewn haphazardly across his desk. The discarded letters were full of blotchy, stygian fingerprints and harsh lines drawn through insipid words. The tale of hours spent trying to write words that would never come easily.

He'd trudged down the corridors to find consolation in his solar after trying, and failing, to succumb to his overwhelming exhaustion. The frigid temperatures and severe darkness that came with the depths of winter did nothing to stave off his restlessness. Leaving Dany's side with precious few hours left pained his heart, but he found there was only one thing he could do to ease his distress.

Not two days before, the first wave of dead had come to Winterfell's walls. Thousands of azure eyes gained advantage, clawing over Dothraki, Unsullied and Northern troops alike. The tight formations of the living's armies wilted under their enemies indiscriminate attack. Their defenses were nearly overwhelmed before Brienne felled a White Walker causing a significant portion of their army to collapse. The remaining wights turned tail as their overseers regressed. Walking away as if they'd left a tourney instead of a battle. Suffering heavy losses, their council realized that should the Night King send his full might, their forces would be decimated and the castle would be lost.

Retreat was imminent. Abandoning Winterfell and fleeing to Dragonstone was their only option. There they could strategize and regroup, here they'd only find death. Sansa's steeled reserve faltered briefly at the thought of losing her home again.

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. We must stand firm against them or the North will fall, our home will fall, she pleaded.

Her eyes sought Jon's for support, their shared memory of retaking their home no doubt fresh in her mind. Words escaped him as he looked to Dany and Davos, but it was Arya who answered.

The north is its people, Winterfell is our family. We will find another home, sister.

In the end, they decided to divide into two groups. Dany would lead the most vulnerable to White Harbor with Sam, Bran, and Sansa. Jon would stay behind leading the rear guard with Arya, Jaime, Brienne, and Jorah. With the Golden Company advancing north along the Kings Road and the dead pressing south, no where would be safe. Dany reassured them that this strategy would safeguard both groups with Drogon and the Unsullied protecting against the sellswords and Rhaegal, the Dothraki and the northern soldiers to stand against the dead. What other option did they have? The council reluctantly agreed and the clock began to count the hours before they went their separate ways.

They found themselves cuddled beneath the heavy furs in their chambers shortly after, savoring their final moments together. He had lain across her chest caressing her supple belly where their daughter grew. It'd only been a few weeks since he learned he would be a father. It still felt surreal but he knew deep inside it was true. And in that truth he found fear.

In a rush of panic, he clambered from her embrace glancing his thumbs across the hollows of her cheeks, unshed tears flooding his eyes. He had begged her to let him sweep them away. Fly all of the people they loved away from this wretched land. At her word, they could escape to Essos and live long enough to see their daughter born safely into the world. Her words bobbed in her throat before she guided his eyes to meet her own. Tears tracked down her cheeks, pooling in his palms as anguish creeped in her voice. She denied him with a stiff shake of her head, her eyes closing before spoke.

We must choose duty my love, it is greater than our deepest desires. But there is no force in this world stronger than the will of a dragon and I will not be kept from you. We will not be kept from you. She dragged their hands to smooth against her naked belly, silken and warm with the life growing inside. I command you, Jon Snow, to live and return to us. Promise me.

He wanted to promise her, he wanted to promise them both, but he knew the words would be false. Instead, he tangled their bodies together in a rapturous fury. His lips and hands spared no inch of her body. Teasing and biting and licking her in a fit of anguish. He needed to remember the weight of her supple body, the fragrance of her essence, the deep grooves of her curves, the pitch of her voice as she shattered beneath him. His senses thrumming at a fever pitch, he found his release not long after.

He'd enveloped her in his arms until he heard her breath even and light snores fell from her lips. He could spend a lifetime telling her how much he loved her and how she'd brought purpose into his life, but his words never seemed to hold the weight of what he felt within.

He found himself staring at the imperfections in the ceiling wondering what kept him awake. Arya fighting beside him on the battlefield? Surely, he was worried for her, but he knew she could hold her own. Dany and their daughter being separated from him. He stole a glance at her, her stomach moving up and down in time with her breath. Momentary distress creasing his forehead with worry.

No. Whatever happens to me, she will survive. She can make impossible things happen.

He returned his gaze to the ceiling, looking past the wooden beams straining to find the answers in his mind. His thoughts drifted to those he'd already lost.

Father.

Robb.

Rickon.

Lyanna.

Rhaegar.

The ones he never knew. The ones who held the secrets. The ones who never said goodbye.

Facing the Night King was certain and if he were honest, he held little faith that he would survive. And if he were to fall, he would be just like them, leaving family behind to contemplate the words left unsaid. And his daughter. His daughter would never know his own words. She would never know how much he loved her. How much he wanted to see her grow.

Dany would make sure she knew. But…

The lingering doubt clouded his mind as his brow furrowed at the realization. The answer to what had kept him awake this night staring him right in the face. He'd never gotten the chance to say goodbye. Not to his father, not to Robb. Not to Rickon, who was just outside his reach. And Lyanna and Rhaegar? They were his parents but he held his doubts.

Did they even want me? Did they even love me?

How could he know for sure? Horror struck him at the thought of his daughter being haunted by the same questions.

Throwing on a tunic, trousers, and slippers, he placed a wispy kiss upon Dany's brow and left the warmth of their chambers to seek out a peace of mind. And so he found himself in his solar, parchment and inkwell at the ready.

His fingertips danced over the five small scrolls that lay completed before him. No one could accuse him of being verbose but the concise words held within were written truly. Each waxed with his seal, a name scrawled in his clumsy script.

Sam.

Bran.

Sansa.

Arya.

Dany.

He had found the words simple enough to produce knowing who they were written for. But the one scroll he had come here for, the scroll that kept him up at night, remained elusive. He'd wasted several trees attempting to convince his daughter, who he'd never met, that he loved her. They all started the same...My dearest daughter...but he found no words sufficient enough to unburden his heart.

Dipping his pen into the inkwell, he laid out another sheet of parchment, he began once more.

My dearest daughter,

I was never good with words and I find I'm even less so when writing to you.

For nearly my entire life, I've asked myself the same questions that are probably spindling in your head now as you read this. Whether I wanted you, whether I loved you, why I left.

Again and again these questions would churn in my mind. When I was just a boy, a voice would always be there to convince me that it was possible that my parents might've wanted me, that they could've loved me, that they didn't mean to leave me. But as I grew older and the world grew harsher, I eventually gave way to the doubts. Any happiness I found in this world, I didn't deserve. Because who could ever love a bastard born, motherless child, discarded for the world to see?

These feelings defined me for so long. I tried to be a good person, be a good leader. But I didn't realize how broken I was until I met your mother. The strongest woman I'd ever known believed in me, trusted me, loved me. And who was I, that she should feel this way? I didn't deserve her. My name alone would dishonor her. So I pushed her away, tried to make it impossible for us to fall in love. But your mother makes impossible things happen.

I never want you to wonder if I wanted you, if I loved you. Because I did, and I do.

I don't want you to wait until you're a woman grown to know how proud of you make me. Because I am and I'll always be.

Even now, while you are still growing within your mother, I long for the sight of you. To cradle you in my arms, to soothe your tears, to protect you from a world crumbling all around us.

But I know you'll survive. I know you'll be fierce, yet honorable. Determined, yet humble. Tough, yet fair. You'll be all these thing because you're a Targaryen and you're a Stark. Nothing can ever change that, my darling.

Remember my words my sweet child, I love you. Farewell until we meet.

Sincerely,

Your Papa

Contented, he blew a breath over the entire parchment, sealing the words into the pulp. He rolled the paper carefully between his fingers then dribbled beads of hot wax at the edge. He lowered the stamp firmly, enclosing his first and final words to his daughter. He brought the pen to the paper once more and gingerly wrote, My Daughter, next to his sigil.

Looking at the scroll in his hands, he felt unburdened. He smiled gently, thinking of how she would feel reading it, the reverie a pleasant one.

He gathered the other scrolls, stood up from his desk, and extinguished the fire in the hearth. Closing the door to his solar for the last time, he made his way back to his two loves.