It was the cold that woke her, silent and silver as it coiled around her limbs and chilled her bones. Her breath was a cloud before her, a phantom that lingered as a reminder of the choice she had made. She rose slowly, wincing as she saw the fresh set of bruises that covered her pale limbs.

The journey had not been kind to her. She could no longer remember how long she had been aboard, the memory swept from her as the merchant ship had rocked incessantly upon the proud waves. Vomiting nearly incessantly for the first few days, she had lost weight she had no way of regaining and as a result, her bones felt frail and the splotches of purple that greeted her each morning supported her fear. The first time she had truly caught glimpse of herself she very nearly laughed out loud.

Selmy had been right to cut her hair, she realized instantly. A trembling hand rose to stroke the cheek of the figure that stared back at her from the looking-glass, brushing aside short strands of black hair that once had been silver. Gone was the proud Queen and in her place was Moira, the serving girl that looked a baby bird, all skinny angles and wide eyes. Daenerys had trembled as Selmy raised the dagger, a hand reaching out to catch her beautiful hair, gleaming in the moonlight, but it had slipped from her fingers and fallen into the pile that grew steadily larger around her feet. It was still there, of course, between her thighs, but ser Barristan had dyed what remained atop her head a black so deep it glistened oily. Her soft lips were cracked by the salty air and it would have hurt her to smile, if she did. Her eyes were so very large, dulled by hunger, and were framed by cheekbones painfully prominent. There was so much dirt and grime upon her skin that for a brief moment, she wondered that if she could rip off it, could tear away the layer of skin she might find a reflection she knew awaiting her, the reflection of the girl that once had, for so fleeting a moment, had been Queen.

A cry rose from the deck and she slowly rose to her feet, a hand reaching out to rest against a barrel as she struggled. Keeping her gaze down, she slipped like a shadow through the sailors as they hoisted their wares from beneath the deck, crates and barrels and chests no doubt meant to entice prospective buyers in the market. When she reached the deck, Dany found tears spring to her eyes, the cold biting at her. Wrapping her threadbare shawl tightly over her thin shoulders, she stared at Bear Island.

The harbor was small, more a village than a town, and there were only a few lanes available for ships to dock. Merchants and sailors and shopkeepers moved swiftly along the boardwalk as the grey sea before them toiled and lept. A harsh wind had picked up, blown from the ocean and she shivered again, her gaze trailing along the simple wooden homes that lie on either side of a path, what appeared to be a simple square before her. It was green, Bear Island, and she saw endless trees stretched before her, rising and falling over proud hills and cliffs. It was feral, the isle, but the air was fresh and she saw the sun peek through the thick clouds above and she feared she would weep for the sight of it.

A sailor shoved her roughly, snarling for her to get out of the way, and she quickly obliged him. Her hands clutched the ladder fiercely as she reached the dock, nervously looking back and forth, unsure of where to begin or what to do. Deciding she might find food she could scavenge from the square, for whatever coin she had had been spent upon the journey, she clutched her parcel of clothing close. The dock swayed beneath her feet slowly as the waves brushed against the wooden beams that rested against the sand, increasing her nausea as her head ached for want of food and water.

As she reached the main path and felt solid land beneath her feet, the weeks at sea proved too much for her and she swayed, unused to the still of land, reaching out a hand to steady herself. A merchant bumped roughly against her, growling as he pushed her aside, and her balance was lost. She fell roughly to the ground, nearly passing out as her stomach heaved and her head pounded. Dany tried to get up and fell again, the darkness at the edges of her vision increasing, but was steadied as a hand came to rest upon her shoulder.

Strong arms pulled her slowly but gently to her feet, catching her as she nearly toppled again. Blinking slowly in her confusion, hunger eating away at her senses, she heard a deep voice ask if she was alright and when she did not reply, it asked again, more gently. In her utter exhaustion, it sounded familiar and she smiled briefly, wincing at the pain in her cracked lips. Dany looked up into the face of them man and bit back a cry, recoiling as she found herself staring into the face of a demon, feral and terrible as it gazed at her. But, the hands did not leave her shoulders and as she blinked, she realized it was naught but a tattoo, etched into a face.

They met eyes for a brief moment before she looked away, her cheeks burning as the man sighed. She wondered briefly whatever had possessed him to undergo such, for his eyes and his hands were kind. He repeated his question and she was immediately aware of the pain in his voice, loathing herself for her instinctive reaction. Still blushing furiously, she adjusted her shawl and kept her eyes low to the ground, attempting a small laugh as way of apology, but it was a dry, brittle sound and she cringed for it. "I…I am well, good ser," Dany whispered, "I am sorry for my rudeness and would thank you for aiding me."

Her voice was like fallen leaves, hinting at what once had been beautiful. The voice of the Queen was gone and for all her want, she could not find it. The power, the strength in her voice had died when Viserion had, her beautiful child cut down before her eyes. She had been silent, struggling against the strong arms that held her and bit her watch, determined not to show weakness, but as the swords had cut into his proud neck, she had screamed. There had been so much blood she thought it would sweep over her and drown her, her son screaming as the swords had hacked again and again and again. A cry had been torn from her throat, as feral as the dying shrieks of the dragon before her, and it had echoed over the parapets of King's Landing. The memory brought tears to her eyes and she trembled, blinking them away as she heard the kind voice once more, "Are you sure, m'lady?"

Lady? How long had it been since she had been called that? She offered a little smile in return, brushing her skirt off, "I…I am, ser, and I thank you again." Dany walked away swiftly, uneager to draw too much attention to herself. She ran a hand through her short hair and sighed as her hand came away slick with grime and grease and a quick glance at her filthy clothes made her burn with humiliation. Still, she glanced up to the afternoon sun , she had no choice. Perhaps she might find a stream along the way to wash herself in, or at least do her best, for she was altogether unsure if a single bathing would rid her of the dirt and salt that soaked her, but this was nonetheless how she would go to the Mormonts.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was night when she reached the great hall, the path light by torches that illuminated the trees around her and burned bright against the moonlight. She had traded the last of her spare clothes for an apple and to rest against the back of a guide she had hired. The horse beneath them had been slow and stubborn and the man whom she clung to had been just as welcoming, answering what questions she had with a gruff yes or no, but he had no questioned why she had come and for that she was thankful. He had set her down outside the great earthen palisade and given her a brief nod before turning and riding back to the village.

It was bitter cold and she shivered violently, clutching her thin clothes tightly around herself as she began to walk. The torchlight flickered and guided her, but the darkness of the forest was so enveloping it frightened her. Dany could hear the occasional animal scurry through the underbrush, cracking twigs and pawing the earth, and trembled when they grew louder. She heard the quiet gurgle of a stream and was comforted slightly, the wind stirring her dark hair around her face as the looming Hall grew closer and closer. It was a quiet hall and she heard no noise of feasting from within.

Dany finally reached the great door, staring up at it with wide eyes. It was just as ser Jorah had told her, so very long ago. There was the maid, her babe at her breast, and there also was the axe in her hand. It seemed to glint as the torchlight fell upon it and she shuddered, unsure of what would await her within, axe or babe. She knew not who would greet her. There had not been time for her to seek word of him nor his kin as she had fled King's Landing. If ser Jorah lived, which itself was unlikely, would he greet her kindly, which she knew she did not deserve, or would he turn her aside, send her away as she had once done unto him?

She had missed him terribly, had longed for not only his wisdom but for his strong arms and broad chest. As her world had crumbled and shattered, broken by betrayal, Dany had longed for her bear, her sweet bear who had wanted his home more than anything else. Except for her, she remembered bitterly, he had loved and wanted her. She prayed he would remind the great kindness he had showed her, were he to await her beyond the great doors. She prayed that he might live, as well, even if he should turn her away. The memory of him formed a rough lump in her throat and she coughed it away, her frail shoulders shaking as she became aware once more of her hunger. If nothing else, she thought darkly, perhaps he would been kind enough to feed her before exiling her from his isle.

Steeling herself, she opened the doors and stepped into the light, a rush of warmth flooding over her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, the hall lit by a great hearth that roared from the back of the wide room. Simple, proud tapestries hung from the wall, images of great bears and mountains and streams etched into thread. Torches hung from the wall and a candelabra light bright with candles hung from the high roof. Tables built from broad limbs of a dark tree were lined through the hall, a small space between the rows creating a path that led towards a table elevated higher than the rest. A great chair was there, made of oak and inscribed with swirling designs that contrasted the simplicity of the room, smaller ones set beside it, no doubt intended for the lord and his family.

There were not many in the room, a few laughing or talking quietly over ale or bread, but they quieted as she walked silently past them, the rich smell of mead and meat assaulting her senses. Her hands trembled violently and she hid them in her sleeves, willing herself to be strong as she scanned the room, searching desperately for her knight long lost to her. Her heart fell when she did not see him and at the head of the hall, sat an old woman. She was proud, fierce and resplendent as her grey hair fell over the mail that adorned her. This was Maege, Dany instantly knew, the mother of warrior maids. A young woman was at her side, dark hair tumbling over wide shoulders and around a pretty face. The girl paused as the room watched Dany grow closer and closer, Maege perking a brow slowly as she finally reached them and knelt down.

"And just who might you be?" Maege asked, her voice firm but amused as Dany felt her gaze sweep over her. The hall was silent now and she feared they could hear her heart beat, pounding furiously in her slender chest as she paused, biting back the name Moira. It frightened her, that her false identity had been the first to leap to her tongue, but she swallowed hard, lowering her head in respect, "I would ask your permission, my lady, to speak to you in private, for I fear my answer is not what many would care to hear."

She glanced up through the dark locks that fell over her eyes and saw Maege set her chalice down, looking slowly around the room before replying sternly, "I see no reason why you should not speak truthfully, little one, for all of us to hear."

Gods be damned. Dany nodded after a moment, drawing a deep breath and willing herself to keep her voice strong, as strong as she could. "I am Daenerys Targaryen, my lady, rightful Queen of the Seven Realms and last of the true dragons," Bitterness slid into her voice and she made no attempt to hide it.

Dany heard the girl gasp from beside Maege, no doubt silenced by a glare as the proud woman responded slowly, "Tell me, your Grace, for it seems I should address you as such, why you honor me with your presence?"

"I come as an exile, my lady," She conceded, her cheeks burning with shame, "To ask shelter of you. My enemies, and they are great, wish me dead and no doubt hunt for me even now. I fled my Throne for I was betrayed by one who claimed to be an ally, my child slaughtered before my eyes as I was made bid to watch. " Her voice trembled and she drew a slow breath, daring now to look up and meet the woman's bold gaze, "I will see your House honored, my lady, should you grant me this boon, I swear it unto you. I swear to you I shall see this debt repaid once my Throne is returned unto me."

"It says much of you," Maege mused, taking a sip from her pint, "to claim a Throne many would say you had no right to at all and then to lose it so swiftly, yet continue to promise for it."

Dany bit back a reply, her fists curling beneath her sleeves as she countered softly, "I was born to rule, Lady Mormont, your nephew himself told me. My fate is bound to the Throne."

"Ah," Maege nodded, leaning back in her great chair, waving a hand for Dany to rise, "you are the Khaleesi, my little bear spoke of when he-"

Her eyes widened and she stammered, interrupting as her heart leapt with hope, "ser Jorah lives?"

Maege's brow rose in return and Dany felt the crimson rise up in her cheeks as she replied sternly, "Now is not the time to speak of such, Lady Daenerys. Instead, we need speak of what exactly to do with you." She took a slow sip of her ale, setting the pint down beside her with a tired sigh. Dany briefly met eyes with the girl at her side and was comforted by the brief, gentle smile she flashed.

"You must remember, dragon," Maege continued grimly, her eyes growing dark, "My kin and I desire no promises nor rewards offered by the damned Throne. I lost a daughter for because of it, I lost one who should have been king and friends that should be at my side now, feasting and living. The North has grown tired of war and politics, of the plots and usurpations of the southrons who deem themselves above their station." Dany bit back another retort, shame twisting her stomach into a knot as the bear matron continued, "We wish no part in your dealings. We wish peace. We want to see our children grow and our homes rebuilt, crops replanted and wounds healed."

"And they will be, my lady," Dany could not stop herself from speaking, rage briefly flashing across Maege's face as she interjected, "I will bring peace to the Realms, I swear it to you. We would have peace now, were I not betrayed, and the North would be free to do as it wished. I know you and your people have suffered, I have heard of your King in the North and the bear maid that served at his side, I know of their bravery and their nobility. I will give you peace, my lady, once I have my Throne, I swear it on my life and the blood that flows in my veins, I swear it to you."

Her chest heaved as she grew quiet, for her voice has risen with the passion, the pride and strength of the Mother of Dragons returning to her as her words had rung through the hall. She spied tears briefly in the eyes of the daughter beside Maege, flickering in the brown depths as the girl nodded in agreement. Maege was silent, her knuckles white as her fingers clenched around her drink. She rose slowly, the light glinting off her mail and the silver streaks in her dark hair. "Knowing this, Daenerys Targaryen," She spoke coldly, "Knowing how I, how we have suffered because of the gods damned Throne and the fool that sat upon it, you dare to come here? I know of how you turned my nephew away and I suspect that you encouraged that which you desired not before you bid him leave. The North bled as your father tore the Realms apart and you would have us bleed again for a Queen that spurned the aid of one of our own?"

She had been a fool to come here, Dany realized instantly as Maege's dark gaze met her own, her mere presence was an insult. All her life, she had tried to free herself of the Mad King's shadow, but the North remembered, rightly so. She had turned away one of them, the rightful lord of their hall and their isle, humiliated him and scorned him. She had been wrong to turn him away.

She had been wrong to come here.

Dany opened her mouth to speak but stopped as tears pricked her eyes and burned her throat, lowering her gaze as she grew silent. Maege leaned to whisper to her daughter, who nodded and slipped away a moment later, her bright gaze briefly meeting her own. Finally, Maege broke the silence of the hall and spoke, her voice ringing against the wooden beams as she questioned with an unexpected gentleness, "Where will you go, little dragon, should we turn you away?"

"I have nowhere else to go," Dany whispered, kneeling once more. "I have no home, no kin nor allies that would shelter me, Lady Mormont. That is why I come before you now," She wanted to add that the only one she had ever truly trusted had been her nephew, had been ser Jorah, her sweet bear that had not been here to greet her as she had so desperately hoped. He had been her last hope when all was lost and her heart ached for him. As her fury had faded and the grey sea had toiled beneath her feet during her journey, she had prayed for his peace. She had prayed for his life and that he might have happiness without her. He deserved happiness, he deserved a wife that loved him, that would smile at him and bare him strong songs and gentle daughters to fill his hall. A lump rose in her throat as the bitter pain of his absence washed over her and she swallowed hard, her voice soft, "I am here because I have nowhere else."

"And what will become of you, should I deny your plea?" Maege continued and Dany lifted her eyes, her voice simple in its honesty. "I will die, my lady, as many wish and as perhaps I deserve."

The warrior bear stared at her, her hands by her side and Dany saw a brief glimmer in her bold gaze, a flicker of something she could not identify. A hint of a smile crept across her face and Dany blinked, certain that in her hunger and exhaustion her vision betrayed her, but it lingered as she sat, leaning back in her chair and drawing a slow sip from her ale before laughing, "I had thought you a liar, when you first declared yourself a dragon, little one, for you look more a starved beggarboy than even a maid, but I see I was wrong. You are a dragon, even if not in looks, it is in your eyes. Your eyes betray your blood, Targaryen, for better or for worse you are a dragon."

Dany stammered a brief thank you, confused by the sudden change in temperament of the Lady of Bear Island, inclining her head respectfully as Maege continued, "You are also lucky, my dear, that the choice of whether to aid you is rests not upon my shoulders. Were it up to me, I would turn you away for your stupidity in coming here and in turn, risking all of our lives, but alas, such a choice is not mine."

Daenerys blinked in absolute confusion, watching as Maege's daughter suddenly reappeared, leaning with a wide grin upon a doorway to her right. A man stood beside her, but in the flickering torchlight she could not make out his features, save his tall, strong form. She looked back to Maege, her eyes wide as the woman smiled faintly, waving a hand for her to rise. She did so and stared with wide eyes as the figure stepped forward from the shadows.

It was the man from the harbor, his chest rising and falling swiftly as he stared at her, the confusion visible even through the lines that marked his hideous face. Dany nearly took a step back, glancing in fear to Maege, who only smirked at her, then moved tentatively forward towards the man. He blinked at her, shaking his head as if she were a dream and whispered, "Khaleesi?"

She froze. It could not be, but gods, oh gods, it was. Tears, raw and unashamed, sprang to her eyes as her voice cracked, "ser Jorah?"

He ran to her then and she wept as she fell into his strong arms, her knees cracking against the wooden floor as she sobbed into his broad chest. "You will be safe here, Khaleesi," His voice cracked as he held her tightly but carefully, as if she might break in his arms and the dream might shatter. Ser Jorah's lips pressed into her hair, his calloused hands brushing through the greasy, tattered strands as he nodded, his voice lowering to a whisper, "You will be safe, Khaleesi, I swear it."

"My bear," She wept helplessly, falling to pieces as he tightened his hold on her protectively, his strong chest pressed against her cheek, "My bear, I-"

He interrupted her, kissing her hair once more as he shushed her, his fingers brushing her chin to look up at him. Of course it was him, she smiled through her tears as his bright gaze met her own, how had she been so blind? "I swear it to you, Daenerys, I will let none harm you. On my life, you will be safe." And as ser Jorah whispered to her, she did not see the demon that was etched into his face. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came as her exhaustion flooded over her like a great wave, her vision growing hazy as she smiled to him. Daenerys said his name once more and then gave readily into the darkness, knowing nothing more.