Work Text:
Everything is red. Sansa’s hands are dripping, her dress is stained. Cersei’s blood is everywhere. It’s only then, when she looks at Cersei’s paling corpse that Sansa starts to shake. The tremors start in her hands and suddenly her entire body is vibrating. She feels like a sob is stifling itself in her throat, but she cannot bring herself to cry.
Not for this woman. Not for this tormentor. Not this woman she loathed. But something rings in the back of her head. In another life, another world, only a few choices away. This is you. And Sansa knows, knows that it is not that simple. But her and Cersei, there had always been something connecting them. There always would be. And now she is dead. Sansa had killed her. And did that make her any better than Cersei, or only more of the same?
In her distress she hardly registers Arya’s hands on her shoulders.
“Sansa.” Arya says softly, “Sansa please. We have to go. The whole castle is coming down.”
Sansa snaps back. She takes one last glance at Cersei. A crumbling Queen. To be buried in the castle she yearned for. Will they sing of her? One day, years from now? It’s too hard to say now. Cersei’s eyes are closed and Sansa is glad for it. At least in death she has found peace.
Sansa starts to stand up and Arya keeps a steadying hand on her back. As she turns around she realizes that Arya is right. The roof is demolished. All around them fire and debris rains down like a shower of stars. An incredibly dangerous display that they need to get away from right away.
Sansa takes in the rest of the room slowly. The guards lay slain unceremoniously by the door, casualties of Cersei’s court. In the middle of the room a seemingly huge body is piled on the ground. The Mountain, slain by his own brother with help from Arya. Sansa doesn’t spare him any mind for more than a few seconds. It was a long time since he was anything resembling a human, if he ever was.
A few feet from the body stands The Hound. He looks a bit worse for wear but he manages some acknowledgement to Sansa while he tends to his own wounds.
“Well done, little dove,” She hears him say with a nod to Cersei’s body and she feels strange, being congratulated on ending someone’s life is not something that she has ever been accustomed to.
Off to the left is Missandei. Gendry has helped her up and she would guess shielded her from the end of the fight. Sansa is relieved to see she looks relatively unscathed still and any damage done from The Mountain storming her was only temporary.
Missandei’s face tells a different story though. And then she realizes that Arya is giving Missandei quite the appraising look, not altogether friendly. As if she is ready to jump in and slit her throat open if necessary.
“Arya,” Sansa says, her voice hard as she pushes down the events of the last several minutes to be processed at a later date, “Missandei is safe. She’s with us, stop shooting daggers at her.”
Arya shoots a skeptical look at Sansa instead. And then the sisters seem to share a thousand conversations in the space of a few heartbeats, communicating with only their eyes.
She was there for me when nobody else was. Sansa’s steely gaze.
And Daenerys? Arya’s quirked eyebrow.
Sansa’s mouth sets itself into a firm line. I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect her moving forward. I trust her.
That settles it and Arya tosses her head back in Missandei’s direction, a curt nod of approval which Missandei returns with a hesitant smile.
The group converges towards the door as the room continues to deteriorate around them, there seems to be a sudden urgency radiating between all of them. As they reach the door Sansa sidles up beside Missandei and takes her arm.
“It’ll be okay. We’re going to make it out of here,” Sansa assures her.
Missandei nods but then looks up to the sky pouring in from the missing ceiling.
“I didn’t realize it would be like this… Daenerys did this. It’s not liberation, there are people out there Sansa. Innocent people and she is destroying their city.”
Missandei looks around in horror as they exit out into the hallway. Sansa gulps, she doesn’t know what to say. But then Missandei turns to her instead.
“We need to find her and make her stop,” Missandei’s voice is as hard as Sansa has ever heard it.
She wished they could. She doubts that anything would stop the Dragon Queen now. She doubts whether there is anything that could be said, that could get through the veneer of power Daenerys is chasing so desperately. But she promises Missandei anyway.
“We will.”
She lets Missandei’s arm go and tells her she needs to speak to her sister, who is trailing just behind The Hound. He is mercifully leading the charge to get them out before the building collapses. Missandei nods and Sansa leaves her in the rear with Gendry, who gives Sansa a look of pure sincerity. She will be safe with me.
Sansa catches up to Arya and yanks her arm so they are trailing a few more steps behind The Hound. Out of earshot. They make their way quickly through the halls but Sansa’s abrupt disorientation makes Arya scowl.
“ What! ” Arya says, exasperated.
“I just wanted to thank you,” Sansa rolls her eyes, “I haven’t even gotten to speak to you since you appeared out of nowhere in Qyburn’s face. I didn’t know if anyone would come.”
Arya’s face turns as red as Sansa’s hair and she stares resolutely ahead at The Hound’s back. Her brow furrows.
“Yeah well. Jon wanted to do it himself but he has Daenerys to contend with, though he’s not doing a good job on that apparently,” Arya rambles, never one good with expressing her emotions.
But Sansa’s heart stops. She hasn’t heard news of anyone. She had seen people when they’d had the meeting from the ramparts.
“Jon…” Sansa’s voice comes out raspy and she starts to slow her pace.
Arya meets her eye then and her expression softens.
“He really did want to be here. But he is supposed to be on dragon back right now, hopefully not burning the city mind you. He knows what he’s doing. He’ll be okay Sansa,” Arya says hurriedly when she sees the fears crossing Sansa’s face.
Jon’s alive. On a dragon likely, but alive. She takes a few hard blinks and dries her eyes. There will be time for all of this later, for now they continue to trudge on. She knows they must almost be outside.
“Bran is back in Winterfell, Sam and Gilly stayed with him. Brienne, Podrick, and Davos are here with us. We’re all alright Sansa,” Arya continues, updating Sansa on all those she holds dear.
But Sansa senses something. Arya doesn’t waver in her gaze but she seems to catch herself on her last words. There’s one name she is avoiding.
At that moment The Hound stops a few feet ahead of them as another wall crumbles at the end of the passage. Sansa and Arya glue themselves to the wall to their right to stay back from the debris. She looks behind them to see Missandei and Gendry doing the same thing. Dust is everywhere but Sansa finds Arya’s eyes through the clouds.
“Theon.”
Her sister can’t hide it this time. Her face falls at once and her eyes plead for forgiveness, they don’t try to hide this loss from Sansa. They’ve both lost enough to know that there is no use running from it. So as the dust settles she gives herself just five seconds. A few moments to remember Theon, to thank him silently for all he has done for them, for the Starks. For her specifically. And she promises herself that when this is over she will mourn him properly. She even envisions herself going to the Iron Islands. To meet Yara and grieve the man they had loved and lost. Their brother.
Sansa opens her eyes and Arya is still watching her. The Hound is starting to move again.
“Sansa, I’m so sorry.” And her voice catches.
She steps forward and grips Sansa’s hands in her own. Sansa is immobilized, it feels as if her grief is rooting her to the spot.
“Theon wanted you to know. He wanted to thank you, for everything you’d done for him. He wished you happiness and love, they were his dying words Sansa. He died protecting Bran. He was happy and surrounded by me and Jon. He went in peace, I promise Sansa.”
Arya’s words steady her and she embraces her sister swiftly. They cling to each other for a few seconds and Sansa breathes in Arya’s scent. She hadn’t quite realized how much she had missed her family. How much she needs them. Theon’s loss will stay with her for the rest of her life, but now she needs to take Arya’s strength and plough ahead. The day is far from over.
They take off at once, after The Hound who has gotten quite far ahead while they paused. She hears Missandei and Gendry trailing behind them when they finally catch up to The Hound. Only he is bent over, wheezing.
It is only then that Sansa realizes his wounds are more severe than she initially judged them to be. A pool of blood is forming on the floor. And Sansa’s heart sinks. She has never much cared for the man. But he has saved her multiple times now, only to die here in this place he loathes. And she knows he will die, as surely as she knew it when Cersei died.
Sandor Clegane, as Sansa thinks of him now, falls to his knees, slowly succumbing to his wounds as Missandei and Gendry come to a stop behind them. The four of them stand there, speechless, for several seconds. This great warrior, brought to his knees on the brink of death seems to be too much for any of them to fully comprehend.
Just as Sandor falls from his knees to the ground with a great groan, Arya and Sansa go to their own knees, having the same thought at the same time. They decide that regardless of their past with him, they will offer him peace in his final moments.
He lets out a garbled chuckle when he looks up and sees them both.
“At least I got you to the door,” Sandor says and inclines his head to the entryway which Sansa realizes will lead them out of the rapidly deteriorating castle. He saved them one last time.
“You Stark girls,” he manages as his eyes flutter open and closed and his face contorts in pain, the blood comes faster now, “Made of harder stuff than most of the bastards I ever fought.”
Sansa lays one hand on his calf in comfort and Arya just continues to stare at him. He doesn’t have long now.
“Took out the fucking Night King and the cunt Cersei. I never thought I’d see it. But I did. And I even got to take out my fucking brother. I can go now… It’s time.”
Sandor lets out several more gasps and he dies. Unceremoniously, and quick. Sansa watches him for a few seconds. She removes her hand from where it rests on his calf and Arya leans forward, closes his eyes. They say no words, but she imagines they are both having several conflicting thoughts.
They rise together. Sansa watches as Gendry rubs a soothing circle on Arya’s back. Missandei comes to Sansa’s side. Pats her arm and offers her a small comfort.
Together, the four of them head to the door. Gendry is the one who opens it. The light blinds them momentarily. But as their eyes adjust and the noise blares in, Sansa realizes that there is more chaos waiting for them than she ever could have imagined.
As Jon prepares to mount Rhaegal he cannot help but feel that they have already failed. That everything they wanted to accomplish was for naught. Wasn’t this what they had ultimately wanted to avoid?
Daenerys had raged when she had discovered that Arya was gone. She knew it was obvious that Arya hoped to free Sansa. Jon hadn’t even attempted to convince her that he hadn’t known about the plan beforehand. But Jon wouldn’t forget what Daenerys had said to him at the end of that terse conversation. Not for a long time.
“If she alerts Cersei to what the plans are, this will all be for nothing!” Daenerys screamed, throwing her hands up in one final frustration.
“She won’t! It will be fine and if we can get both of them out then it will all be worth it, tell me you understand that!” Jon rose to her level.
Daenerys huffed. She knew the fight was useless.
“You’d have done anything, to protect her. I should’ve known that,” Daenerys said, she almost sounded bitter.
And Jon, not for the first time was struck by the thought that Daenerys knew more than she let on to him.
He remained silent.
Daenerys narrowed her eyes and took a step closer to him.
“If I didn’t need you to ride Rhaegal I would have you chained tonight,” Daenerys said without emotion and left the room.
The expression she had worn. It was so disdainful, so different from how she regarded him on Dragonstone. He had gone from a prize, from something she had hoped to control to something entirely uncontrollable. She knew that Jon was lost to her and she would never forgive him for the distance between them.
Jon, for his part, felt like he could breathe easier.
But they had still failed. He and Varys had tried relentlessly to get her to reconsider storming the city but she wouldn’t be stopped. Varys had eventually backed down. Jon thought they were still making a mistake.
Varys had tried to persuade him, to get him to see how this would work to their advantage. After Daenerys showed her cruelty to the rest of the realm, stopping her rule became so much easier. Jon had fought back. How many lives would be forfeit in that endeavour?
But as Jon crawls up onto Rhaegal and watches Daenerys mount Drogon some hundred feet away he only has one plan coursing through his veins. It had come to him that night Arya had left. He thinks he always knew it would come to this, that Varys’ schemes would fall short and it would come down to him.
Targaryens are dragon riders, but Jon knows the histories. The fiercest of the Targaryens had not been impervious to the freefall. He only hopes it will be quick, that he will have enough control over Rhaegal to carry it out. He feels… something with the dragon. Not the comfort he feels with Ghost. But something akin to camaraderie. They are on the same side, he thinks. And he thinks that maybe it’s a cruel irony, some twisted intervention by the gods that made Daenerys name the dragon Jon was fated to ride after her brother. Jon’s father. Rhaegar Targaryen.
(He won’t think of that now. Not when he needs the love of the man who truly was his father. He will always have Ned Stark with him. Blood be damned).
Jon clears his mind. The dragons start to rise and Jon has time to steady his thoughts and remind himself of what he is fighting for. He needs to try and prevent the slaughter of as many people in King’s Landing as he can. If he can save those lives he will be able to forgive himself for his other failings if he makes it out of this alive.
He’s fighting for his siblings. For Bran and Arya, to get back to them. To make sure Arya makes it out of King’s Landing and to make sure that Bran isn’t left alone in the North unprotected. Their continued survival up to this point gives him hope, but he needs to protect them anyways. They’re his family, all he has left, and the most important factor in all of this. He has to survive, if not for himself than for them. Not another Rickon. The mantra hums in his brain.
And then Sansa. Rhaegal flaps his giant wings and they fly off towards the city. Far below he sees the armies moving and he sees King’s Landing in the distance. The Red Keep. He thinks of her now, of Arya showing up unexpectedly in another’s face. Don’t be too late. Because, more and more Jon cannot help but think what he will do if he makes it out of this but Sansa isn’t there to hold him at the end of it. How will it have all been worth it, their pain and suffering, if they don’t find each other in the aftermath? If Cersei kills her… if she takes Sansa from him. Jon doesn’t know what he will do. He hopes to never find out.
And so while they approach the city Jon allows Sansa’s strength, her kindness, her belief in him, her love, her devotion to their family and the North, to wash over him. It comes in waves. Behind his eyes he sees her smiling, one last time. And when he opens his eyes they’re over the city.
Jon breathes out, slow and steady.
Below them the armies are pouring in. Rhaegal and Drogon circle the perimeter several times. Jon cannot see Daenerys from his vantage point, only the great beast she has tamed.
The wind whips around them fiercely and Jon is suddenly aware of how cold he is, even the cold of the North hasn’t prepared him for the winds of winter that lash out when you are hundreds of feet above the ground. A shiver shakes him from head to toe. It distracts him.
He realizes a split second before it happens, and while it is not unexpected, it still makes him seethe. Daenerys maneuvers Drogon down, the dragon roars and opens his mouth. He takes out an entire street in a great stream of dragon fire. It happens from one second to the next. Jon nearly vomits.
He pushes Rhaegal forward, propelling him as quickly as possible as Daenerys rises up from the wake of her destruction, the scent of smoke and corpses charred by the flames.
But the street was a warmup and Daenerys has set her sights on the Red Keep. Drogon is faster and Jon falls behind with Rhaegal. He tries not to think about how Sansa and Arya might both be in the building that Daenerys is incinerating as he catches up. When he finally does half the roof is gone. The entire castle is on fire, it’s falling and it seems too fast, so Jon doesn’t think.
For the first time he leans into that unidentifiable thing inside him that draws him to Rhaegal, that let him know despite his desires there is dragon blood pumping in his heart right now. He pushes forward and they collide.
Rhaegal launches straight into Drogon’s side and there are great roars filling the skies as the dragons circle each other in confusion. But Drogon doesn’t retaliate. For the moment Daenerys and Drogon both seem to think it was a mistake. And so they circle for a few more seconds while Jon recovers from the collision.
But then Drogon is rearing up to burn down another street, this time close to the already burning castle. And Jon lets the fire fill him again as he pushes Rhaegal forward. This time when they collide Rhaegal must bear his teeth because he rips a great chunk from Drogon’s belly. And there is no mistaking it this time, Daenerys knows.
Drogon stops his assault on the city. And this is good. It’s what Jon wants. And so he braces himself, with all Drogon’s attentions on him. He sees blood falling from Drogon’s wound when he peaks out but it’s far from a mortal wound. So he focuses on dodging Drogon’s attacks, looking for an opening.
Drogon has Rhaegal beat on size and speed, but they are both in their prime. And Rhaegal’s strength lies in his smaller size. Avoiding the dragon fire starts to come easily and his tail only gets singed two or three times. This further incenses Rhaegal and the attacks become more intense and instinctive as Rhaegal comes to see his once brother as a new found enemy.
In the middle of it, Jon thinks it is never going to end. What is probably mere minutes stretches into days and even though he is only clinging to the dragon’s back he feels exhaustion creeping in. And then, as he feels the climax approaching, while both dragons are lashing out viciously and growing increasingly agitated, he sees her.
On Drogon’s back, they see each other in passing and their eyes lock. Daenerys’ face is set in a hard line, she is furious, it’s clear even from the distance. Her white hair is wild in the wind behind her, untamed. She has one goal in mind, and it’s destruction. Somehow, Jon thinks she has never looked more at home than she has in that moment, on dragon back. A thought crosses him as he reads the fury in her purple eyes. She was born for this.
The realization comes quickly then. Daenerys Targaryen should have been born during the height of the Targaryen’s power. Surrounded by family, riches, and adoration she would’ve thrived. But here, alone and broken at the end of a centuries long dynasty she is fragile. She is going to break, Jon knows this suddenly. And it propels him in for the kill.
Rhaegal nosedives as Jon has the idea himself. It’s as if they have become one in that moment. Jon doesn’t have time to let it frighten him. Daenerys’ white tresses are lost as Jon takes the descent. Drogon hovers in confusion and then Rhaegal rockets back upwards, right into Drogon’s exposed underside. There is a great ripping, roars of agony. And then pools of blood rain down, right over Jon. But he knows he has struck true.
Drogon sputters above, struggling to stay up in the air when Jon feels Rhaegal jolt beneath him. Rhaegal starts jerking erratically and it takes Jon a few moments to understand what is happening. But when he realizes Rhaegal is spiralling, slowly descending, he puts the pieces together.
The turrets around the castle walls, equipped with archers and huge bolts. Big enough to take out a dragon. Tyrion was right about that in the end. Sansa had always warned him not to underestimate their enemies. Cersei Lannister. She is the one who did this, prepared her soldiers with weapons fit to take out a dragon. And while he had been so busy taking out Drogon, they had taken out Rhaegal.
As they fall, slowly, towards the ground, Jon slips out of consciousness. Fire flicks behind his eyes.
Sansa can’t think clearly, not while she has to take each step with care and constantly making sure she isn’t stepping into the path of a sword. They’d made it off the front steps of the Red Keep only to descend into further madness. There were Targaryen forces, unsullied, everywhere, clashing with Lannister soldiers and Cersei’s golden company. But there was no logical way to tell who was winning. Not when the city had also been run over by small folk trying to find safety.
The four of them had been making their way through the crowds, dodging blows and staying far away from the smoke they can see in the sky. They’re looking for a way out, for an escape. A way to end the fighting, to let people know that Cersei is dead, the war is over.
Daenerys has to know, unless she thinks that Cersei wasn’t in the Red Keep then there’s no reason to continue. Though she doubts if it has come to this that Daenerys cares in the slightest. The building has fallen, Sansa can see where it stood far in the distance, but it’s been completely destroyed by flames in the last thirty minutes since they made their escape.
Sansa has also noticed that no dragons have been spotted roaming the sky, not since they’ve been outside at least. And she doesn’t know what to make of that.
There’s been little chance for talk, they just all keep forging onwards. They keep grabbing at one another, linking arms only to be torn apart and then finding each other once again. Gendry and Arya have been taking the front while Sansa tries to keep Missandei at her side but it’s been difficult and she thinks they’re all feeling rather hopeless at this point.
Sansa watches Gendry grab Arya and tug her into an alcove just ahead of them so she holds tight to Missandei and follows right behind them.
The sound is deafened a bit off the main street and nobody can see the four of them squished into the small corner they’ve found.
“It’s stupid out there. We’re going to get separated at some point. We need to find a place for you all to stay and I’ll go ahead to find a way out–”
Gendry doesn’t even finish his thought before Arya is cutting across him.
“We are not splitting up. I’m not letting you go alone!”
Arya’s voice might come out more incensed than she intended because Sansa notices the blush creeping in on her temples. Gendry lets out a long sigh.
“It’s either split up willingly or be forced apart in the crowd!” Gendry says.
Sansa looks at Missandei and she sees fear in her friend’s eyes. Fear but resolve to do whatever is necessary to get them out of here. Having Missandei by her side calms her, she’s not the only one here frightened by combat, she is out of her element but not alone.
“We haven’t seen the dragons, do you think they’re calling the forces off?” Missandei wonders.
Sansa watches Arya and Gendry exchange a quick glance and is instantly suspicious.
“What?” Sansa demands and narrows her eyes.
Gendry instantly looks guilty while Arya smooths her expression into a neutral nonchalance.
“Jon might have been thinking of trying to take Daenerys and her dragon out while he rode Rhaegal. So if we aren’t seeing them…” Arya trails off, an apology in her eyes.
Everything drones out around Sansa into a dull thrum. Jon. Fighting Daenerys. On dragonback. Arya had failed to mention that as part of the plan when she’d mentioned the dragons earlier. She closes her eyes for the briefest moment and decides to ignore that implication. She opens them and speaks calmly.
“We just need to focus on getting out and having the fighting stop so people can stop dying. We don’t have time for anything else,” she decides.
Sansa is determined to get them out of the city, but she doesn’t know how to accomplish that goal with all the destruction taking place around every turn.
She can tell that Gendry still thinks he should go ahead alone, but Arya is too stubborn for that. She is about to say that maybe the two of them should go, just leaving Missandei and Sansa safely tucked away, though she doubts Arya would want to leave her unprotected anymore than she wanted to leave Gendry, when a shriek interrupts their deliberations.
Sansa turns at once only to see Missandei being hoisted over some man's shoulder, already somehow ten feet away from them and retreating quicker and quicker. Missandei struggles in his grasp but she is a small woman. Her mouth is frozen open in a scream but Sansa can’t hear it any longer over the rest of the battle.
Their eyes meet for one horrific moment and Sansa rages for her friend, for this woman who came into her life unexpectedly, who has been by her side over the last weeks of hardships. And she is stepping forward, preparing to launch herself into the crowd but Arya is already pulling her back. She hears Gendry unsheathing a weapon.
“Sansa you can’t–” Arya says and pulls her sister back, “We’ll go together.”
Sansa doesn’t even respond, just breaks free from Arya’s grasp. How had they not noticed Missandei being taken from right beside them? She must have been right on the fringe of their group, and the rest of them too absorbed in their own selves to notice. Sansa feels sick.
The three of them move in sync and come out of the alcove, purposeful strides that take them out to the street. Sansa can see Missandei still hoisted over the shoulder of that man, disappearing around a corner. Before she can shout to the others, they’re under attack.
She turns around to see Arya and Gendry are being bombarded by a group of three Lannister soldiers. They must think they’re someone they’re not. And Gendry and Arya are using everything they have to fight back, to keep them at bay. But the soldiers haven’t noticed Sansa. She decides her course in that second. She can’t help Arya and Gendry, she’s useless in battle and she is needed elsewhere.
Arya’s eyes pierce her for one long moment and Sansa opens her mouth. She mouths the only words she can. I’m sorry. And sees the agony cross Arya’s face, still locked in combat and helpless to stop her.
And then Sansa is running, running through the battle. She largely goes unnoticed, she just avoids the thickest fighting. She’s coming up to the corner she saw Missandei getting taken down when she starts to hear the screams, miraculously, over the deafening noise. She knows it has to be Missandei so she moves faster, she gets jostled between people but she doesn’t stop moving.
She takes the turn and comes to a small square that is deserted, a deadend. She continues follows the screams, still coming from the left. They lead her to a nondescript looking building and she bursts in through the door.
For a few seconds she freezes.
The scene before her drags up old memories. Too familiar. Too tangible. Too much. A sweat breaks out across her forehead and her hands clam up. Missandei is pinned to the floor, squirming under the brute who grabbed her. She screams loudly but he only laughs darkly from on top of her while he works on getting his clothes off, one dirty hand pinning her down.
And Sansa stands there in the doorway. Somehow he hasn’t heard her throw the door open, too consumed in his own wicked desires. But then she starts to panic. He’s huge and Missandei can’t see Sansa from where she is trapped under him. Even if she could they are still not strong enough together to overtake them. Suddenly leaving Arya and Gendry feels like a supremely bad idea.
Her eyes travel around the room quickly looking for a solution for something to save them. And she finds it not a hop’s distance from her feet. The soldier had discarded his sword and sheath when he got Missandei here, no need for it with what he had in mind.
Sansa moves, quietly now, towards it and picks up the sword. It feels heavy and wrong in her hands but she holds it firmly. She thinks of everything she felt when she had been dragged by those men into that room when she was only a girl. Every fear she had, every scream they elicited from her lips and she finds her resolve. She takes several steps forward and stands right behind the man.
She raises the sword. He still hasn’t noticed her. And right before she strikes she sees Missandei’s eyes peek out from behind his shoulder. Her screams die the second before Sansa gathers all of her strength and thrusts the flat side of the blade down right over the back of the man’s skull.
He doesn’t even let out a cry of distress. He is just instantly struck unconscious and he falls hard to the ground. Half of his body still covers Missandei’s. Sansa instantly drops the sword and rushes to the ground to help Missandei extricate herself. Together they work to pull her out and then they sit there on the ground for a few seconds catching their breath.
And then Missandei starts to cry. She sobs freely and Sansa pulls her close. She envelopes Missandei in her arms and just lets her feel what she needs to. She rubs her arms down Missandei’s back trying to soothe her and whispers into her hair. After several minutes like that her sobs subside and she lets out a sniffle. She pulls back.
“Thank you Sansa. Thank you so much, I thought… ” Missandei says and her eyes are still glistening.
Sansa squeezes Missandei’s hands tight and lets her unfinished thought hang between them. No need to voice it, they both know too well what Missandei thought.
“You would’ve done the same for me. I’m sorry we didn’t see that you were taken. Stupid of us, I should’ve got here sooner,” Sansa says with a small smile.
She’s relieved Missandei is okay while still being horror-struck that the incident even occurred. She starts to stand up and pulls Missandei up with her. She helps her to straighten her clothes which had been mussed in the struggle.
Then she hears a deep groan from behind them and her heart starts to pound again. Her breath gets a bit quicker and she realizes the man must be coming around. She grabs Missandei’s hand tight and pulls her to the door. They get outside and she slams it shut behind them, hoping they can move fast enough to put some distance between them, hopefully finding their way back to Arya and Gendry sooner rather than later.
Together, her and Missandei move swiftly out of the square and make their way to the main street again. She thinks that maybe the battle is slowing down, that it seems quieter than before. She can only hope.
Missandei grips her arm tight though when not ten feet in front of them a man is speared straight through the stomach.
Sansa pants heavily and tries to calm her heaving chest. Around them chaos still reigns. Over the roar she thinks she hears something, faint and unsure, but it catches her attention.
“Sansa.” She makes it out now over the cacophony of the war.
She turns slowly and any attempt to catch her breath is nullified, she stops breathing altogether.
There, in the ruins of the city, dirty and bloodied, looking like a long lost knight out of a song from her childhood, stands Jon.
Her lips part and she raises a hand to her mouth, a strangled sob escapes her.
“Jon.”
If it weren’t for Missandei’s grounding hand on her arm she thinks she might have crumpled to her knees right there in the street.
Everything blurs in her vision as Jon comes into startling focus. Time slows down and they’re suspended. She doesn’t feel it when Missandei’s hand drops from her arm. She doesn’t think about it when she takes a few hesitant steps forward. But she sees Jon crashing towards her, parting the crowd of fighting all around them to reach her. His steps become more urgent and then he’s there. And she’s in his arms.
Jon lifts her up, crushes her tight to his chest and Sansa brings their foreheads together. She closes her eyes at the feeling while the tears start to come, quickly and quietly they stream down her face.
“You’re alive,” Sansa laughs and opens her eyes into Jon’s stormy grey ones.
She sees tears there too, unexpectedly. He can’t break his gaze. Her feet touch the ground again and they stand there holding each other for what feels like a lifetime.
“Cersei didn’t kill you,” Jon says, the same tone of disbelief that Sansa had.
They can’t help but smile despite the circumstances because they’re lucky. So lucky. And Sansa will never stop feeling like maybe the gods are looking out for them.
“I killed her,” Sansa actually giggles, inappropriately, but she’s giddy at Jon appearing and she knows she will face that trauma later. For now she has an unbridled joy raging in her chest. It can’t be dimmed.
Jon raises his eyebrows at her, “The dragons are dead.”
Sansa’s mind spins. So much has happened, there is so much left to be done.
“I took out Drogon and then Rhaegal got speared with a bolt. He protected me on the way down, caught me lightly in his wings before he died. I don’t understand. It was…” Jon just looks amazed and then seems to take Sansa in all over again.
“Arya and everyone were distracted. I had to charge Cersei and… I watched her die Jon. She can’t hurt me anymore. Can’t hurt us,” this time Sansa’s voice is more solemn, matching the weight of her actions.
Jon looks at her then and she realizes they’re still holding each other for dear life. Jon’s eyes flicker to her lips and she knows it’s going to happen a second before it does.
Jon kisses her, right in the open. On this street in the middle of the battle. His lips are firm against hers, warm and chapped but they taste like home. Like the comfort of a warm fire after a day in the cold. It’s a kiss that holds a thousand promises and Sansa intends to see everyone through. When they break apart they’re smiling again.
“I love you,” Sansa says, and finds she’s relieved. They’ve said it before but she thought for so long that they wouldn’t have the chance to say it again.
Jon sniffles, “I love you too Sansa. I have thought of little else since you were taken.”
And Sansa beams. She lets Jon hold her for a few more moments. Something brings her back though. She remembers that Missandei is there and she breaks away from Jon in an instant. To her relief when she turns she sees Missandei still standing not ten feet away. And the battle is really dissipating now. Missandei doesn’t look surprised at their display but Sansa feels instantly a bit uncomfortable for what it will mean going forward. Missandei seems unconcerned.
“I thought it best not to interrupt,” she says as they approach and Jon comes to stand right behind her, leaving a hand on the small of Sansa’s back.
Missandei’s smile is a little mischievous and something in her eyes tells Sansa there will be questions later when this is over.
And then a yell.
“Thank god!”
The three of them turn to see quite an amusing picture. Arya is being carried towards them in Gendry’s arms. Sansa assumes she’s mostly fine from the grin on her face, she probably twisted her ankle in the battle.
As they get closer though Arya’s expression turns disproving.
“ Never do that again Sansa. But I’m glad to see you safe Missandei. I’m sorry we let you get taken like that,” Arya admits and looks apologetically at Missandei.
“I’ve found Missandei and Jon, Arya. Surely that warrants my actions forgivable,” Sansa quips.
Arya looks at Jon, she doesn’t seem at all impressed. She hears Jon and Missandei both stifling laughs beside her while Arya scowls from Gendry’s arms. Gendry for his part just shakes his head in exasperation.
“The battle is over, everyone is calling off their forces. Someone said they found the Queen,” Gendry says gruffly and Arya nods in confirmation.
They all exchange looks. The question now is which Queen did they find, because Sansa assumes that Cersei’s body is long charred in the rubble of the Red Keep.
Sansa looks at Missandei and sees that a furrow is making itself at home between her brows and her mouth is set into a hard line.
Water breaks under her. She is soaring over the open sea. And Drogon’s tail drags lightly, just skimming the surface. Water splashes lightly on her face. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. Just endless blue. The sun is bright, warming her all over. She takes a moment to bask in the beauty of the day.
She’s never felt so content. But here, far from anyone, alone on the open sea with only her dragons, she feels serene. The smile comes easily, and she closes her eyes in contentment for a few moments.
When she opens them though the image breaks apart. On the horizon she sees storm clouds gathering. The sky starts to change, quickly darkening. The water below her turns choppy and she watches it churn in apprehension. Something feels not quite right and she grips onto Drogon harder trying to tell him to get them to safety. But she can’t see land anywhere.
Rain starts to pour, a heavy stream that drenches her almost instantly and blurs her vision. Her teeth start to chatter. And it elevates quickly from there, the progression from bad to worse takes a matter of seconds. Her grip loosens and she is falling, falling into the dark water below. She breaks the surface and breathes in icy gulps. But she feels heavy and against her will she is pulled under, sinking, until it is only black.
As Daenerys comes to, she cannot figure out where she is. Her body feels contorted, twisted, and as if something has been dislodged but she can’t tell where. Everything is dark. Everything hurts. And her head is pounding.
It comes back slowly and then all at once. Jon. Jon Snow. And her mind spins.
She’d let Tyrion convince her to invite him to Dragonstone. Insisted that he would be a valuable ally. Insisted that they needed the Starks on their side. But they’d brought her nothing but pain. She was here, shattered and in pain, because of Jon fucking Snow.
She’d let herself get distracted. She’d played games with him on Dragonstone. She thought she had him but he’d played with her so easily, without hesitations. She could see that now. He’d used her, used her dragons. Stolen Rhaegal from her. And all while knowing his claim would supersede her own. Her head pounds harder, that she can feel.
And then the harrowing truth. She had loved him, truly. She could remember standing on the lookout at the Wall, her heart had flooded with fear. She had thought she would never see him again. She’d been ready to mourn him, more than ever she was ready to fight the Night King, to avenge Jon’s death. She couldn’t remember feeling like that since Drogo died. But Jon. Jon had done that to her. Yet he’d arrived, despite everything against him. And she’d known then she was in love, they were fated. It was what she told herself.
And she thinks that is the crux of the whole situation. They could’ve ruled Westeros. They could’ve been unstoppable together, even with his true parentage. Especially with his parentage. But he hadn’t cared. He’d scorned her. And it all came back to Sansa Stark. To Arya and Bran as well, the stupid fucking North and his wildlings. But always Sansa. Sansa first. When he’d been healing on that boat, Sansa had been a non-entity, a complete non-factor for Daenerys. If she could go back and tell herself that it was already over before it began she would.
Daenerys could see that now, see what had never been perfectly clear before. She’d never had Jon Snow because he had belonged to someone else. And somehow, even after all that had passed, Daenerys still managed to find a cruel heartbreak in that fact.
She continues to fade in and out of consciousness for a while. She can’t gain control of her body, she feels like she is swimming through mud. Everything is literally muddled. There is sound all around her, she can hear it. But she can’t make out what people might be saying, if it's even voices. She isn’t certain.
She tries to open her eyes, but everything stays black. Her body resists any attempt for her to take control of herself. She could lay in the rubble for hours. But finally, finally someone comes for her.
“Aye! She’s over here, knew it was that white hair. Half of it’s singed off though. Fuck, do you think she’s dead?”
I’m not dead! Daenerys wants to scream. Instead her eyes finally fly open. And she sees stars. The sudden onslaught of light is enough to blind her. She can’t find her voice. Her eyes try to focus but she can’t get them to stay fixed on one spot long enough. Vaguely she’s aware of people talking over her. And she sees a huge man with messy red hair. She swears she knows who he is but she can’t place his name. He was the one who thought she was dead though.
He scoops her up and the motion makes her nauseous. Against her will she puts her head into his chest. He laughs, deeply.
“She’s delirious. Can hardly believe she survived the fucking fall. Look at the great bloody beast. Took out four buildings and she was thrown only twenty some feet? Unbelievable.”
This catches Daenerys’ attention and she removes her face from his chest. She whips around to the direction they are walking away from. It makes her vision blurry, she’s still coming to her senses but she sees him. Drogon. Dead. Mangled by his own brother on Jon Snow’s command. His entrails spill out. Blood is everywhere.
Daenerys’ heart splinters one last time.