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Dany stayed with the body of Ser Jorah, long after he was gone, until the first light of dawn started creeping over the horizon. Wrapped in the leathery cocoon of Drogon’s wing, she had wept for the loss of her dearest and oldest friend. Only now in his death, did she truly appreciate him. She had never been able to love him in the way he wished for, he was after all, old enough to be her father and as handsome as he was, she was never attracted to him in that way. When she had first learnt of his affection for her, it had felt awkward, however he had never forced himself on her. She had banished him three times and every time, he had returned to her, a loyal subject. Recently, she had found herself, fondly wishing that he could find a wife who was worthy of him and could return his affection. Perhaps even in the court of Winterfell - now that could never be.
Eventually, when her tears had dried, her beautiful face and hair streaked with blood and dirt, she kissed her old Bear’s forehead and reluctantly staggered to her feet, using Drogon for balance. Exhausted, her breath coming in ragged gasps, she climbed onto his back. When she was settled into place, he flapped his wings and soared into the morning sky, carrying her to the castle gate. Dany almost stumbled as she stepped down. It was Ser Davos who she noticed first; preoccupied, though he was with something on the horizon, his gaze briefly flitted to Dany and he nodded. “Your Grace.”
She gave him the briefest nod in response, however, Dany could not trust herself to speak. As she staggered through the gate, she could see straggled groups of survivors standing around in the courtyard, all looking as shell-shocked as each other. Through the soiled, wispy veil of hair, she could make out Sam, Jaime, Brienne and Tormmund. When she spotted Greyworm and Missandei were both alive, it took all her willpower not to weep again. Missandei rushed towards her. “My queen, I was so worried.”
Dany collapsed into her friend’s arms and buried her head in Missandei’s shoulders. A pained roar made her glance up to the sky. Rhaegal was flying behind Drogon, but he seemed to be having trouble gaining altitude, most likely caused by the huge gash in his wing. Rhaegal, the emerald dragon, had been so happy to finally have a rider, now he just looked pitiful. She knew he would heal. The heart of the dragon is strong. But what of his rider?
Jon…Lifting her head, she glanced around, searching now for one face. He had survived, she knew it – felt it somehow deep down. Finally, she saw him, standing to the left, with those he had previously believed to be his siblings: Sansa, Arya and Bran Stark. The latter stared at her across the courtyard and it was as though his eyes could see through to her soul. She felt a shiver travel down her spine. Jon glanced up and for a moment, their gaze settled on each other, it appeared that he was going to speak, but whatever words he had intended to say, were left unspoken. He held her gaze for a moment longer, then he looked away and her heart broke even further. Without his support, she felt truly alone.
Missandei and Greyworm, helped her between them, to her chambers. Missandei removed Dany’s coat, the once pristine white fur, now matted and soiled. A bath was drawn but after Missandei had removed the many pins that held up Dany’s elaborate braids, she was dismissed to be with Greyworm, so they could comfort each other. The young queen wished to be alone with her grief. She had not learnt yet, how many of the Dothraki and Unsullied had fallen, but she knew that the losses were significant, and she felt every one of them.
Dany scrubbed and scrubbed at her skin, until it was pink and raw, the water no longer clear, but tinged pink from the blood that she had washed from her body and hair. The myriad of cuts she had obtained during the battle, stung, momentarily as she rubbed the cloth over them, but she welcomed the pain because anything was better than the cold, numbness that was seeping into her bones. For the first time, she wished she could feel pain from the scalding hot water. The battle was over, the living had won the battle of Winterfell, but it had cost her dearly.
*****
Jon surveyed the chaos around Winterfell, the air was thick with the stench of charred bodies, blood and death. As the living started to creep out, in stunned silence, he glanced around the courtyard. He rushed towards the Godswood, only to be met by the stoic face of Bran, pushed by a blood-spattered Arya.
He threw his arms around Arya, then repeated the action with Bran, who barely registered the gesture.
“How…?”
“Arya.”
Jon’s eyes grew wide. “Arya?” He gasped, his gaze flitting from Bran to his sister-cousin. “You – you killed the Night King?”
She shrugged. “Well I sure as hell wasn’t going to let it be the other way around.”
So many questions sprang in his mind, that he couldn’t even formulate a coherent sentence. “What did you…how did you?
Arya drew out the Catspaw dagger and handed it to Jon. “I stuck him with the pointy end.”
Jon turned the blade over in his hands and shook his head in disbelief. “Where did you get this?”
“Bran gave it to me, when I got back to Winterfell.”
His brows furrowed. “Bran?” It was on his lips to ask where Bran had obtained a Valyrian steel dagger, but then another thought occurred to him. “Theon?”
“He was a good man, right to the end. His story is complete, he is…home.”
Tears sprang to Jon’s eyes as he contemplated Bran’s words. He closed his eyes, trying to rein in his emotions. He had to remain strong, he was Warden of the North and had a duty to his people.
It was Arya who broke the silence. “What about your dragon queen?”
Jon’s eyes flew open. He hardly dared to even think of her. He regretted how they had left things in the crypt. There had been no time to explain in that he didn’t want the Iron Throne, didn’t want to press his claim, no matter how much Sam and Bran had tried to persuade him too. The last glimpse he had of her, was on Drogon, as she saved his life. A vision in white, she had been so brave, burning the wights, flying dangerously close to the ground.
“The Dragon Queen lives still,” Bran stated, simply.
Bran’s words were a catalyst. They shifted his focus, now he could only think of her. He should find her. Before Jon could even consider taking a step forward however, he suddenly found himself enveloped by a cloud of red hair and fur. Sansa hugged him then, then embraced her sister.
“Those…things…in the crypts!” Sansa gasped. They crawled out of the tombs!”
“Oh fuck!” Jon’s eyes grew wide as the implication hit him.
Sansa’s gaze flitted over Bran, Arya and Jon. “Where’s Theon?”
Jon placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry Sansa. He died, Sansa, protecting Bran.”
Sansa started tearing up. Jon took a moment to comfort her but happened to glance up as Dany staggered into the courtyard. His heart started racing as their eyes locked on to each other. He knew he should say something, but he found himself at a loss for words. Before he could even take a step towards her, she was intercepted by Missandei and Greyworm. He swallowed, as the space between them transformed into a yawning chasm. There was so much left unsaid after Jon had revealed the truth of his parentage, but now, Jon decided, was not the time. As she was led away, supported by her friend and adviser, he glanced over his shoulder and his gaze followed her. When he turned his head back round, the others were staring at him.
“I suppose you had better go and find her,” said Arya, coolly.
He paused, then nodded and strode off towards the castle.
“Well I didn’t think he would actually go!” He heard Sansa exclaim. He shook it off, she was grieving for her friend.
He threw open the door and took a moment to gather his jumbled thoughts, then started to hurry down the corridor, the flames from the wall sconces casting long shadows on the ground.
“Jon!”
He turned around to see Sam stood in the doorway, panting.
Jon sighed. “Sam, you…you’re ok? And Gilly? Little Sam?
Sam nodded, “Yes, yes they are fine. Scared, but fine.”
I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait, I had to save Bran.”
His friend shrugged. “Its…I Understand. The dejected look on his face suggested otherwise.
Jon shifted awkwardly, from one foot to the other. “Sam, can we speak later, I…there’s something I need to do?”
“Oh – alright, I…yeah of course!”
“Go be with your family," Jon called out. "They need you now."
“My family?” Sam blurted out. “What family, your bloody dragon queen executed them.”
Jon stopped dead. A muscle twitched under his eye. “I meant Gilly and Little Sam!” He turned around and had barely gone three paces, when Sam replied.
“Those dragons…it’s a good thing, you didn’t tell her already or she might have burned you with them!”
Jon clenched his fist together. “Those dragons…saved me, Sam. She…saved me, just like she did when we made that stupid mission beyond the wall.” He spun round, his ire rising.
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! Did she?”
Jon gritted his teeth. “Did you never stop to think Sam, how the Night King ended up with a bloody dragon?”
“Er…not really!”
“Well I’ll tell you, Daenerys loves those dragons. She sees them as her children and she flew them north to save us, she risked her own life and theirs to save us, and she lost one!”
Sam just stood, staring at him, dumbfounded. He was visibly trembling.Something in Jon, boiled over and exploded. “Go back to your family Sam. Enjoy those moments with someone you love, because,” he yelled. “I cannot! For once in this miserable fucking existence, I was happy, but the Gods must fucking hate me, because they saw fit to take that away! You! He bellowed, pointing a finger at Sam, “took that away from me!”
An understanding dawned on Sam’s face. “Oh, oh I get it. You and her eh? That’s why you were sticking up for her.”
Jon grabbed Sam by the shoulders and heaved him against the wall, spittle flying out of his mouth. His voice was gruff and dangerously low. “Sam, you are my brother from the Night’s Watch. But I swear, if you ever come between me and someone I love again, I will end you.”
Sam could only gulp as Jon released him with a look of disgust and strode off down the corridor in search of his queen. He reached her chambers and was surprised to see that none of the Unsullied were posted at her door. Jon dragged his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Only then did he realise what a sight he must look – hardly fit for an audience with the queen! He knocked on the door. “Daenerys.” There was no answer. “Dany!”
He pushed the door a crack, expecting it to be locked, only it wasn’t. He took a tentative step inside and scanned the room. He noticed the blood-soaked clothing discarded on the floor. He cocked his ears and heard nothing. He hesitated just for a moment, then…propriety be damned, he walked into the bath chamber.
The sight that greeted him, almost made his heart cease. Dany was fully submerged in the murky, water, perfectly still.
“Dany!” He rushed to her side, just as she surfaced. She gazed at him, eyes glassy and unfocused, her silver hair, damp ribbons cascading over her shoulders. The water hid most of her body from view and Jon was grateful for that.
He suddenly felt overwhelmingly self-conscious, being in the queen's private bathing chamber after their conversation in the crypt. “Sorry I, I wanted to make sure you were ok.”
She just gazed at him in response, with large watery eyes. “Jon! You killed him? The Night King?”
He shook his head. “I wish I could take the credit, but it was Arya.”
“Arya?” Her brows furrowed as she processed this information. “But how?”
“Valyrian steel dagger. I could not even get close – Viserion!”
She swallowed. It had been painful to see her child, the gentlest of her dragons, reduced to that terrifying, undead ghoul that had clawed and gnashed at Drogon and Rhaegal. How cruel, that he had been transformed into the Night King’s puppet and used to transport the harbinger of death to them all.
His eyes drifted to the blood-stained bath water. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “Cuts, but most of them are superficial.”
“You should still be seen by a maister.”
“Later perhaps.”
Jon raised his right hand and pointed to a spot on her scalp. “You still have…”
“Could you – wash my hair? Please?”
“Of course.” He moved behind her and crouched on the stone floor. He took her silver tresses in his hand and used a nearby urn to pour water over them, then added soap and began to massage her scalp. As he fingered her silver locks, gently easing out the last of the blood, he was reminded that the last time, he had his fingers entwined in this hair, he was buried deep inside her. He willed away the image that had formed in his mind.
“That feels good,” she murmured.
He became very aware of his own, blood-stained, sweaty and dishevelled self. “I need to bathe as well.”
She shifted forward to make room for him.
“I – don’t think I should…”
She sat up suddenly and twisted her body to look over her shoulder at him, Jon shifted his gaze to the floor at the right hand side of the bath, averting his eyes as her body was exposed to him. His face flushed, as though gazing at her raw beauty had become a forbidden thing.
She huffed. “You have seen and touched and tasted every inch of me. And I you, it is a little late for false modesty, or can you not bring yourself to look at me now?”
“What? No – that’s not it, you’re beautiful.”
“Then join me.”
He hesitated for a moment, desire warring with decency, then thought fuck it, before discarding his leathers and tunic. He climbed in behind her. She lay resting against him, her back to his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. He took hold of the washcloth and washed his face. The mud and blood, turning the water even darker. Then he held her against him, in the water. They remained like that until the water began to cool. Jon rose first, grabbing a drying cloth to wrap around his waist. He turned and offered Dany his hand. She stood, Slowly, Jon raised his head and allowed himself to drink in her beauty. Water droplets running in rivulets down her body. The perfect, porcelain skin, was now marred by cuts and bruises. The sight of her rosy nipples peeking out from the silky, silver curtain had an immediate effect on him. He felt ashamed for his arousal. Now was not the time for such matters.
As she stepped gracefully out of the tub, placing a dainty, but shaking foot on the floor, followed by the other, it afforded Jon a view that he thought he would never see again. His breath hitched, but Dany didn’t notice. He helped her into her robe, before his control failed him and she collapsed, sobbing, into his arms.
He rubbed her back in small circles, soothing her, until her sobs subsided, her long, silver tresses, damp against his hands. She leaned back slightly and studied his face. One glance into her beautiful blue-violet gaze and he was lost. He reached out and stroked her cheek, then gently scooped her into his arms and carried her into the bed chamber. He set her down in the chair by the fire and then took a seat on the floor in front of her, taking one of her hands in his.
“Dany listen to me. I don’t want the throne. I never wanted to be King of the North, let alone seven kingdoms. I support you.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, when your family find out, they will push you to accept it.”
He shuffled closer, now clasping both her hands. “They probably will, aye. Doesn’t mean I have to listen to them. I love you Dany and I believe in you.”
“Even after what I did to your best friend’s family.”
“His father was a despicable man. He ordered Sam to go to Castle Black, otherwise he would murder him and tell his mother that he died in a hunting accident! I don’t know much about his brother, but if he was there with Randyl Tarly, then who is to say that he wouldn’t follow in his footsteps?”
“I still executed the family of the man who cured Ser Jorah!” Her voice broke on the last word and Jon began to realise just why Dany might be grieving. He reached out and gathered her into his arms.
I’m so sorry Dany, I’m so very sorry. Tears sprang to his own eyes now as he remembered the journey, he and the old knight had shared beyond the wall.
“He was protecting me, right to the end. I would be dead if it wasn’t for him.”
Jon pushed a strand of hair back off her face, gazing into her eyes. His heart started thumping in his chest as he voiced the question, he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to. “You…loved him?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “He was more of a brother to me, than Viserys ever was!”
Jon let out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Oh!”
“You thought…?”
“I – I didn’t know.”
“I love you, Jon. Only you. I came north for you. I brought my armies, my dragons for you.”
Jon closed his eyes; all his resolve was wavering. “Even after – what this means. What we are to each other?”
She gave a bitter laugh. “I grew up expecting to marry my abusive brother, my parents were siblings.”
“That’s a bit fucked up.”
Dany pushed him away from her and switched her gaze to the floor. “Are you disgusted by me now?”
“Never!” He breathed, then he reached out and pulled he towards him, pressing his lips against hers. When they parted, Dany was breathless. Jon gazed at her swollen lips, slightly parted, eyes like shimmering amethysts, gazed back at him.
“Love me.”
Jon’s breath hitched. “I don’t know if that’s – “
Holding his gaze, she reached up and pushed her robe off her shoulders. “Am I still your queen?”
“Always!”
“Then your queen commands you to love her.”
“I don’t want to take advantage of your grief, Dany. It’s not right.”
“I need you Jon!” She took one of his hands and placed it on her breast. “Do you feel that? I am the blood of the dragon, yet all I feel is cold inside.” She blinked, trying to will the unshed tears away by sheer will power. “Help me to feel warm again.”
His resolve broke. He kissed her, hungry for the taste of her, devouring her mouth. His tongue slipped between her lips and duelled with hers. He yanked her robe off her shoulders as she began to tug at the cloth around his waist. He plucked her from the chair and carried her over to the bed, where he lay her down. She held his gaze, deliberately and provocatively whilst he allowed the drying cloth to drop where it pooled on the floor, then he stalked towards her, like the wolf, he was.
Joining her on the bed, they resumed their kissing, barely coming up for air. He sucked on her full lips as his tongue explored her mouth. She sighed beneath his lips. His hands roamed over her body, with featherlight touches he lightly stroked her skin, from her shoulders, over her breasts and stomach and down to her thighs. Oh gods how he had missed this.
His mouth broke away from hers and shifted to her throat, peppering small, hot kisses along her throat and neck. He continued down her body, over her collar bone, then lower until he took a pebbled nipple in his mouth, laving it with his tongue and sucking until the rosy peak grew stiff. Dany bit her lip and moaned. Pleased with the result of his ministrations, he moved on to give equal attention to the other breast.
He continued his path, downwards, his lips grazing the skin under her breasts, over her tummy and lower. As he reached her core, she gasped, allowing her knees to fall open. He fastened his mouth on her folds, his tongue exploring until, she opened to him like a flower, so he could taste the sweet nectar within. He started off slowly, teasing her with a featherlight touch, until she grasped the curls on his head, urging him to give her more. He relented, then, and built up the momentum, holding her thighs as he tasted her. Shuddered and trembled in her release, crying out his name and grasping the furs underneath her as she writhed. He loved to see her come undone like this beneath him.
He slowly crawled back up her body, as she came down from her high. Nestling between her legs, he positioned himself on top of her and entered her, gazing deep into her eyes, as he had on their first night together on the boat. The long night was for a sweet moment, forgotten as the two lovers joined together to become one, living entity. Dany wrapped her legs around Jon’s thighs, her arms around his broad shoulders, clinging to him, as though her life depended upon it. Jon felt his soul meld and mesh with hers, wolf and dragon, her fire was an inferno, all consuming, burning, melting his ice.
He took hold of her hands and pinned them behind her head, fingers entwined with hers as they both reached their climax. Their lovemaking took them to the brink and they crashed over it. Her body shook beneath him, as he spilled his seed, deep within her. He stayed, sheathed inside her, as they lay, limbs entwined, damp from their exertions. Panting and out of breath, neither of them wanted the spell to be broken.
As their bodies cooled and the room began to chill, they shifted to pull the furs over them. Dany lay resting her head upon Jon’s chest, her fingertips lazily tracing the scar above his heart.
“You were brought back for a reason, Jon Snow. You were brought back for me,” she whispered. He never heard her, having drifted off into an exhausted slumber, soon after his head had touched the pillow.
Tomorrow, there would be a lot to deal with – both those who had survived the long night and those who had fallen. It would be a long, arduous task, but at least they still had tomorrow. The sun had risen over the north.