With the battle over, Daenerys was struck by the following silence. It was oddly almost as deafening as the gasping breaths of the dead, clang of metal, and screams of pain and fear. Exhaustion clung to the young woman. The single night felt like an age. Despite the cold, the Queen had clung to the knight who was responsible for saving her life--and not for the first time.
Blood had seeped from his wounds, but she had done everything in her power to stem it. With Drogon beside her, she had even cauterized some of the more serious wounds. Her sweet Bear may have attempted to sacrifice his life for her, but she wasn’t going to make it that easy on him. She had need of him yet.
Jorah had fallen unconscious at some point, and she’d needed the help of both Grey Worm and Jon to carry him into the castle. Despite being worn to the bone, she followed them to Jorah’s room to ensure that he received the best care. There were a great deal of men and women wounded, she knew, but this one was especially important to the Queen.
Despite her own bruises and small wounds, she sat with the knight while the remaining healers tended to him. It was only when she was assured that the knight would live that she allowed Missandei to sweep her back to her own chambers. The loss had been substantial. Daenerys wasn’t even sure of her numbers.
It was too much information for the young Queen to handle at the moment. For now, she could allow the relief of her oldest friend’s survival to ease her into sleep. Dany stripped into her nightclothes, drank some wine, nibbled food, and then collapsed into bed. She rested heavily, if not fitfully.
Her dreams were filled with the eyes and hoarse screams of the dead. The stench followed her even into her sleep. When she woke, it was in a cold sweat. Panting, she blinked, looked around wildly and only relaxed when she saw the stone walls around her. The battle was over. The dead had been put to rest. Dany rested in her bed a few moments longer. Seemingly out of nowhere, though it was a long time coming, tears burst from her eyes.
Though she didn’t know the names of the fallen, she mourned them in that moment. She knew the number was large, at least. Far too large. Larger than it should have been. Cersei would have to answer for that. In the privacy of her room, the Queen wept.
But once she heard the knock at her door, she wiped at her face. Missandei appeared with another handmaiden. A bath was drawn. One aspect of Winterfell that she had grown to enjoy was the hot springs that filled their baths. It was quite a convenient luxury.
The bath was healing. Dirt and blood was scrubbed away. Her tears as well. Once she was scrubbed raw, Dany dried and slipped on another gown of furs. A part of her hoped with the ending of the Night King, winter would be broken. The idea of an eternal summer wasn’t exactly an unpleasant one. She was having her hair brushed when Missandei drew her attention to the door. “Your Grace, Ser Jorah is here.”
What in the name of the Seven was her Bear doing out of bed? “Show him in and leave us, please,” she said, rising from her chair. Missandei opened the door wider to reveal the haggard man and slipped out of the room with the other handmaiden. Dany remained still until the door was closed. Only then did she rush forward and take the knight into her arms. She wasn’t mindful in her embrace, squeezing him tightly.
Too close had his life come into question. Never again. “What are you doing out of bed, Ser Knight?” she scolded, slowly releasing him. “Sit. I lost my first husband due to foolishness. I shall not lose my great protector for the same reason.”
