Jon's mood is, suddenly, about as good as it ever is. For the moment, he casts aside the worries of the past few days: what the mask had done to Dany, Robb's disappearance, all the fighting with the Anubian Regency troops. He'd had his own small wounds patched up while the mask was taken off of her, and there's nothing to be done for Robb right now.

He'd left Ghost at Winterfell when he made for Dragonstone with Davos and some men-at-arms. A ship on the sea for a moon's worth of days is no place for a direwolf: that much had been plain. But he also hadn't expected to be gone for so long. They'd been separated for months once in the past, when he'd climbed the Wall with Ygritte, so long that he thought he'd lost his friend to the wilderness. This time, they've been apart for most of a year.

His fingers curl in the thick, soft white fur, and he smiles and rubs behind the wolf's ears, not minding the chicken grease getting on his face.

"I missed you, boy." Then, "Someone for you to meet."

But he notices that Daenerys is hanging back, so he turns his head to look up at her.

"Come in." He's all encouragement. "I didn't think you'd get to see each other so soon."