Ever since that hug after he'd woken up they found Jon quick to hold them or grasp at them. He never said anything, but both suspected it was brought about by moments of need. A need to to feel warmth, to remind himself he was alive, that it wasn't some dream he was having as he sank into the depths of the Bay of Seals.
When they laid together he found himself shifting between tender and aggressive, wanting to feel them cling to him and quiver as he found release, wanting them to feel as alive as he felt with them.
They never complained when he'd sit up in a panic in the middle of the night. Once he'd grabbed them as if protecting them from some phantom, startling them awake until they heard his harsh breaths and saw his eyes frantically searching the room. Both had held him until he calmed down and drifted to sleep clinging to them protectively until they woke.
Daenerys hadn't left him much at all, though they all understood her fear. She'd lost her first husband to an infected cut so spent her days caring for his shoulder wound, obsessively making sure it was clean.
She'd left to meet with Tyrion and returned to find him sat near the edge of his bed when he looked up to see her enter. With a smile he pushed his furs aside, making space on his right for her to join him before holding out his arm.
He saw her hesitance as she sat beside him, making sure not to put any weight on his shoulder as she leaned her head against it. A smirk flickered across his lips before he pulled her into his shoulder as tight as he could. Daenerys gasped and turned, smacking his chest as she pushed off it to pull herself away. The moment she could she lifted his tunic and checked his stitches.
"Dany," he sighed, grasping her cheek to make her look at him. "I'm fine, I swear. It's not infected. It probably got washed right away in the bay. I feel stronger today than I did yesterday."
Looking into his eyes she frowned. "I don't need a hero, Jon. I don't care if you're brave or strong, it won't impress me half as much as you being here and healthy. Do you understand?"
Jon nodded. "I do. If something is wrong I'll tell you. I promise."
"You're our only chance," she said grimly. "You need to be here to make sure our house doesn't end with us. I don't want to be the last Targaryen anymore."
"You're not," Jon said brushing a hand through her hair. He gave her a sly smile as he told her, "You won't be."
Daenerys wore a somber smile, shaking her head. "It's fine. I'm… I've been so lucky. I thought I was alone, that the Targaryens would die out with me. Even when I heard of you and we decided to wed, part of me feared I'd end up your Visenya, but you've never let me feel lesser."
Seeing this was a fear she'd been holding from him, Jon frowned, guilt swelling within him. "I'm sorry if I ever made you think you would be."
Dany sniffed, shaking her head. "You didn't. But I know I can't avoid it here. The future of our house will go to you, and the only part of me left will be whatever blood we share from my parents." She added with a wet laugh, "That and whichever of your children inherits my sword."
Jon hated this. He couldn't convince her to believe like he did that they'd have children. He couldn't do anything to really help her feel better. He felt as weak as he did watching the Night King snap Longclaw.
His arm slipped beneath hers, pulling her to him and holding her against him. He wanted to say something, but didn't know what would help, if anything even could. So he just held her. After a moment her arms tightened around him, feeling almost as if she were trying to crush him in her small arms if not for her pressing her face into his neck.
Sansa entered the room later to find Jon sat with Daenerys' head in his lap, stroking his fingers through her hair as she slept. Seeing the streaks across her cheeks, Sansa frowned and approached the bed.
"Did something happen?" She asked quietly.
Jon shook his head. "She's not Visenya," he said looking to Sansa. "Neither of you is."
Sansa nodded with understanding, frowning at the sleeping Daenerys before offering an almost thankful smile to Jon. "You're not Aegon either." She carefully sat on the edge of the bed, placing a hand over his beside him. "When this is all finished we'll leave a better world for them. There won't be a Maegor the Cruel or a Dance of Dragons. Our children will love each other. No matter who their mother they'll have wolf's blood in them. They'll be a pack of dragons."
Jon smiled, glad to hear she believed as he did. He was also relieved to think she would care for his and Daenerys' child better than her own mother did him, thinking him the child of her husband and another woman. She was a better person than her mother ever worse. Stronger than the woman who had been so terrified of a baby. So afraid of a boy giving up his family for her sake she still wished him to suffer. Sansa would never be as weak as her mother was the entire time Jon knew her.
For all people spoke of her Tully looks, Sansa was a Stark with a wolf's heart. For all the whispers of her being a specter of Catelyn, she put the woman to shame in every aspect. He'd been so angry at Eddard Stark for not telling them the truth, but maybe he knew better. Maybe he saw that weakness in his wife. Maybe he knew the woman she was better than the one Jon wished she could have been, the one he found in her daughter.
With a glance to the sheath hanging from the chair near the foot of the bed, Sansa asked, "Have you decided what to do with Longclaw?"
"We're about to march," Jon sighed. "I can't ask Gendry to stop making armor just to reforge it for me and it's too damaged to use properly now, so I'll leave it with Rickon." After a moment he gave a weak laugh. "Maybe when we return I'll have him reforge it into a dagger. Name it Shortclaw."
Sansa smirked, reaching down to shake Daenerys. When the woman's eyes opened she took a breath and sat up, looking to them both.
"It's ready," Sansa told her. The sleep left Daenerys' face as she smiled. Sansa looked to Jon as she slid off the bed and Daenerys got to her feet. "Come," Sansa beckoned, waving for him to follow.
They moved to Sansa's solar where Sam and Gendry stood at a table with two swords in front of them. Jon looked confused as Sam smiled. "I know we can't really replace Longclaw, but you can't go without, and Heartsbane does no good sitting on a mantle…"
"Sam," Jon started, shaking his head.
"It's already done," said Sam. He turned and picked up the sword with red and gray ripples through the blade. The cross guard was a bow curved toward the blade while the pommel was a black stone arrowhead that might have looked like dragonglass if it was a bit glossier. "I've called it Bravemind, since it's what I hope to pass on to Little Sam."
Jon smiled. "He'd be lucky to have half as much of either from you."
"No need to lie," Sam said with a sheepish laugh, sheathing the sword and stepping aside. "I've been calling this one Nightbane."
Jon stepped past him to look on the blade on the table. It was darker with red and black ripples through it. The silver cross guard had a curved wolf head opposite a similarly arched dragon head with small rubies at the center on either side. The grip was black, leading to the pommel where wolf and dragon claws grasped an azure stone as blue as the sky they hadn't seen in days.
"This is…"
"The least I could do," said Sam. "I'd give you Bravemind as well if you asked, but your wives have made it clear I'm to keep it."
Jon looked from Sam to his wives, smiling at his side. Turning to the table he picked up the sword, smiling at the hand and a half hilt. Another bastard sword.
"The balance alright?" Gendry asked, watching Jon turn and shift his hand, turning the blade.
"I thought the hilt might be a bit off with all the gems, but it's perfect."
"We'll send out groups ahead of us to meet with those coming from the Wall," Jon said looking out at the lords filling the great hall, "and the rest will march in two days."
Sansa thought he looked a lot better now that he was back on his feet, dressed with Nightbane on his waist. Word spread quickly of it's origin and Sam garnered more respect from the lords, few willing to sacrifice their own valyrian steel even for their king, even when new valyrian steel had been given to lords only days earlier.
As the lords murmured and moved to leave she noticed Jon glance to Sam, who nodded quickly. Jon turned to the room and called out, "My lords!" That made them all stop and turn back to him, watching Jon walk around the high table. "There is one more matter I wish to take care of, and I ask you all bear witness." The curiosity grew as Jon turned and called out, "Brienne of House Tarth!"
Brienne blinked, looking to Sansa who seemed as confused as she did. When she approached Jon she felt some of her concern melt when she found he greeted her with a smile before he took a breath and drew Nightbane. Her eyes shifted slightly before she started smothering the hope in her heart. The hope of a dream made reality as Jon told her, "Kneel."
A few gasps filled the room, Brienne staring at him in shock, tears pricking her eyes until Jon gave her a small smile and a slight nod, asking her to move. She quickly fell to one knee and sucked in a breath as he pressed the flat of Nigthbane against her right shoulder.
"Brienne. Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all men, women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"
She was sure her throat was too tight to speak and yet she did. "I swear, your grace."
Jon moved the flat of the blade to her left shoulder. "Rise, Ser Brienne."