章 2391: 26
Chapter 26: Desperate MeasuresNotes:
With the last chapter I think things got a bit heated in the comments. Remember this is just fanfiction, if you don't like it go look for an alternative, I mean there are more than 5000 options to choose from, don't come here bitching about not getting from me what you can't do for yourself.
And to the comments showing support, as I always say you guys are the best. I appreciate it from the heart.
TW: From Winterfell onwards in Sansa's PoV, rape is implied in the form of a nightmare.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
26.
Desperate measures
Dragonstone
Daenerys' gaze was fixed on the glowing fire burning in the fireplace, her eyelids already heavy when three knocks on the antechamber's door startled her, making her prop up in bed with a scowling face.
Who could it be at this hour?
Wearing her overcoat over her nightgown, which contained a dagger in her pocket, Daenerys moved toward the door and opened it.
Her lips parted with a silent gasp.
Jon was standing there on the other side with his arms folded behind his back and a familiar expression on his face that brought back memories of a night lost in time.
She saw it again — the unspoken yearning in his warm eyes.
"Come with me," he spoke, with a vehemence that she never knew, "Come with me to the North."
"I beg your pardon?" she answered, too stunned. Her right sense got lost in the mist in her mind.
Jon shifted closer.
"You care about the North," he stated, "I believe that, wholeheartedly."
What was he thinking?
"And what makes you think I'd do that? What do I gain by risking my time and sake going North, where I'm not wanted?"
"You don't know that," he stated very plainly.
"I know."
He lowered his head, dangerously closed, his eyes so dark they seemed black, and reiterated, "You don't."
He doesn't have a clue, she thought, and he doesn't have a way to know.
"Daenerys, look up to me," she heard him beg, and so she did, breathing sharply and holding the door with a hard grip.
"Are you refusing the North or are you refusing me?" he asked.
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You don't have to have to want me to save the North. I'll spare you the trouble."
"I don't—"
"I retire my marriage proposal," he said, and her heart leaped out. "I retire my marriage proposal so you are free to ally with Lord Edmund—"
"Desmond..."
Jon continued, "For the purpose of your convenience and I'll take your terms of truce for as long as the war against the dead rages." He made a pause and stared with utmost openness. "When I tell my people that the Queen Daenerys Targaryen has offered her aid, I want them to know that you offer comes unconditionally, as it's been when you told me so."
Dany swallowed hard, still taken aback by this sudden change.
"What about your independence? What about the Iron Throne?"
She would realize later of her error, for Jon didn't know that she knew already, but the mist that was their minds at the moment wouldn't catch up with the current situation.
"All I care about is their safety," he softly said, "What kind of king I am if I don't draw the line between what their interest is and what is in their best interest."
She was not certain. What she did know was that there was a patron, clearly repeating itself or better put, trying to force its way around. She had to resist it.
She had to be resolute and stronger.
Yet said resolve was coming apart.
"Alright," Dany accepted.
"Alright?"
"Yes."
Jon remained still, as if fazed by her seemingly all-quick, objection-free agreement.
"Will you come with me?"
Dany nodded. "I'll visit the North."
"And you will marry Lord Desmond. Make him your King and your husband."
Dany steadied her breath.
"I need his gold," she explained in a whispering voice. Her mind was so clouded that she could not discern between her thoughts and her feelings. What should she explain that to him?
Jon moved closer, almost past the doorframe into her chamber. He looked tired too, in need of a good night's sleep.
"One would think a woman with three dragons would simply take what she wants," he lowly countered, his piercing yet gentle eyes found anchorage in her lips.
Dany shook her head.
"My dragons cannot give me what I want."
"And what do you want?"
What she wants?
"Jon," she whispered, almost with her eyes closed, her head tilted, "It's late and I'm cold."
"Alright," he said, breathing sharply, slowly receding, "Alright," he repeated, perhaps trying to convince himself to move away.
It happened finally that they move apart and she closed the door, charging her weight on it at the second she was alone, breaking into silent tears and muffled sobs as the realization settled, completely and unequivocally.
She was in love with him.
Still.
Again.
***
The Dothraki and the Northmen engaged in a game of sorts that consisted of throwing an ax to try and get it to land on top of a piece of chopped wood. The Unsullied, though more reserved, also participated.
Arya was looking at the horselords in awe, gulping from the strange beverage they had handled them that was awful but terribly strong.
"That thing you did back there could have had horrific consequences for me," Gendry continued to complain about her small exchange with the Dragon Queen.
"What the fuck was this whining cunt doing up there with the Dragon Queen?" the Hound meddled in.
"Sandor, shut the fuck up; Gendry stop whining, I got your back, I told you," Arya rebuked them.
She was more interested in hearing the conversations of the Dothraki and the Unsullied. She even managed to snatch some bits like their names and salutations.
Her short sojourn in Essos had not allowed her to explore further than Braavos and now she felt a sudden need to venture out again to discover what lay beyond those horizons.
A thought that inevitably made guilt festered within her, for it had been a goal of her to return home and to her family for so long, just to feel that now, she wanted to leave again.
"This place is beautiful when you're not running for your life," Gendry observed, sitting on the sand with his knees pulled in. "It will be a pity when those evil goblins of ice take over."
"Yeah," Sandor agreed, breathing heavily and pensive, "We are all just fucked."
Arya looked at them tersely. They took it for granted that the war was lost and that the undead was unbeatable. She didn't blame them, she believed the same, or so she told herself, but the truth was that she had spent the last fortnight dwelling on her own misery about not being able to kill Cersei. That she just...escaped her.
But she still had a family. She still had a home.
These people that she came to care for, also were something important, and worth fighting for.
The dead wouldn't steal that from her.
***
Winterfell
She was in the Godswood, frolicking and collecting the first flowers that bloomed in the fields. The sky above her stretched, bright and blue, infinite...how she wished she could touch it with her hands. Old Nan said the sky was blue because they lived in a giant's eye, which Sansa found silly but enticing.
Septa Mordane said that she exceeded all expectations and was so beautiful that she was the rose of winter. One day, perhaps she would even travel south and marry a prince. Maybe even be the Queen.
Suddenly the sky turned cloudy and a storm tinged her blue skies with grey.
She ran down the muddy path, soiling her dress, thinking about how angry her mother would be.
In the distance, she saw the entrance to the castle, but instead of being in the Godswood, she was facing Winterfell, watching thick black smoke rise from its walls.
Father? Robb? Jon?
All of them were dead, their bodies charred and dismembered.
Above her, a shriek tore the heavens in two.
A dragon descended upon her and devoured her.
Sansa awoke back in her chamber at Winterfell, sweating with a raging fever. The crackling fire still burned in the hearth, lightening the chamber. She took a deep breath and pulled the covers away from her.
Another wave of shock made her heart skip a beat when she saw the blood between her legs.
A sinister presence rustled the bed and her arm was seized by Ramsey, whose bloodshot face torn from his nose and chin, still retained those cruel blue eyes.
"Shall we play, beautiful Sansa?"
He lunged at her and Sansa began to scream and writhe, seeking to escape or die in the attempt.
When she woke up this time, Sansa jumped out of bed and hit something hard.
Lady Brienne held her back from plummeting to the ground.
"My lady! My lady!" her guardian took her by the arms and shook her. "Are you all right? Has someone hurt you?"
Sansa dismayed and shaken could not utter a word.
"Lady Sansa!" Brienne shouted out of her stupor.
"I'm fine, I'm fine!" replied Sansa, slipping out of Brienne's grip and leaning against her bed's post. "It was just a bad dream, Lady Brienne. There was no need for your presence."
Brienne pursed her lips and frowned at her.
"I am sorry, my lady, but your cries alarmed me. If you wish, I will let you rest..."
"Wait, Brienne..." Sansa took a deep breath, calming her racing heart. "Forgive me, I did not mean to belittle your concern."
"It's all right, Lady Sansa. I am here to protect you."
Sansa did not know how to put into words how grateful she was for Lady Brienne so she just nodded and gave her a heartfelt smile.
Sansa went back to bed and tried to fall asleep, but the thoughts and memories came back to her like a breath of wind. As she gazed up at the rough stone ceiling above her head, tears welled up in her eyes and she wondered how long the pain would last.
The fear and misgivings she accumulated were compounded by the resentment she still felt at not having fought harder...to avoid being hurt in such a way.
Would she ever feel safe again? Or was she condemned to feel herself a stranger inside a body that is foreign to her?
***
Dragonstone
A few days after his unannounced visit to her chambers, Daenerys and Jon agreed on the final details of their deal. As a show of good faith on both parties, Lord Varys would march North with him, — which she saw as a burden off her shoulders — while Arya Stark would stay behind, on her own accord.
"Her idea, not mine," Jon had explained, "I can only say that I'm not happy about it."
Daenerys did not know what to make of it. The sole thought of having to deal with Arya Stark and her unpredictable nature made her a headache.
The departure came and she leaned against the stone railing of the bridge landing, observing from that distance where Jon, Arya, and Missandei were engaged in a conversation.
Their distant voices weren't indistinguishable.
The exchange came to end with a rather formal farewell holding hands. But Missandei being Missandei did not leave it at that, and in a heartbeat, she embraced them each, quickly but with what Dany imagined must've been real heartfelt gratitude.
That was Missandei.
"Are you sure about this, Khaleesi?" Ser Jorah, her new Hand of the Queen, asked her, with an edge to his voice that compelled her to reconsider. Daenerys had done that. It was the only way.
"It's for the best," she only said, curt and concise, not wanting to delve into the matter for she risked breaking down.
First, she had to send Jon Snow off.
Trembling and uneasy, Daenerys climbed off the stone steps to the beach.
"Your Grace," said Jon, once she approached them, still surrounded by guards and bloodriders. She dismissed them.
"Do you carry the necessary dragonglass?"
"Enough," he replied tersely, crossing his arms behind him. "Will you also make use of it?"
"Of course. Do you think I would be so reckless as to send my men into this war without the most precious weapon?"
Jon looked up to where the dragons rested. Dany followed his gaze.
"Perhaps they are the most precious weapon," he said.
Cruel images of Viserion falling into the frozen lake came back to her memory and Dany inadvertently winced.
"The Night King will want to hurt my children to join them in his ranks. I will not give him that chance. It would only take one distraction for one of his spears to embed itself in one of my children."
Jon frowned and looked at her quizzically. He did not speak for a long moment as though he was conflicted with something she said.
Dany took a few steps back, feeling herself fighting the wind that pushed her the other way.
"Have you already told Lord Edmure of your decision?" Jon asked.
She didn't know if laugh or lash out at him.
"It's Desmond. And not, I haven't," she confessed, looking around.
Silence.
"If..." he started to say, but stumbled over his words.
"If what?" Daenerys urged him.
His stance shifted, he drew in a deep breath and shook himself as if puffing out his chest.
"It doesn't matter," Jon took back, "I wish you fortune in the wars to come."
A lonely hand stretched out to her. Daenerys looked down and unhurriedly, clasped his hand in hers.
Strangely warm, his skin sent a sense of relief through his touch and for a moment Dany felt the need to cling to it even if it was the last thing she did.
But there was no time for that.
She let go of his hand.
"It's been an experience meeting you Jon Snow," again, she added in her mind.
Jon nodded. His face, solemn.
"Likewise, Daenerys Targaryen."
***
The cool night heralded a swift shift. Winter was upon them. Soon even King's Landing would suffer the ravages of the change in the weather, the coming of the cold, and perhaps with it, the dead.
Daenerys could no longer risk her chances.
"Is this all you have brought with you? Why?" Dany asked Missandei, catching her off guard on the beach at Dragonstone. In her hand was the black necklace she once wore as a symbol of her status.
A slave.
Missandei cocked her head to one side in surprise.
"I have no things that really belong to me except that, your Grace."
She paused, thoughtful, taking the object from Dany's hands and observing it intently. "It's a token, I suppose, signifying both horror and hope."
Dany's lower lip wobbled. "How?"
Missandei frowned.
"This necklace represents my story. Who I was and who I became. Perhaps it all led to this."
It wasn't what Daenerys thought as she sat by the fireplace in Dragonstone, mourning over her loss.
It wasn't a token of hope, as she said.
"You must go, Missandei," Daenerys declared sharply. "You must leave now," Daenerys reiterated, noticing that she rendered her friend, her most true ally and sister, speechless.
"I-I don't understand."
"There is nothing to understand, Missandei," Daenerys cut her off. "Your services are no longer required."
She never thought she would cause herself such pain again as when she hurt those she loved for her own safety — as when she locked her children in those catacombs.
"Missandei, my enemies know what you mean to me. By my side, you are a liability. A burden."
These last words hit Missandei, causing her body to stagger backward and tears to stream down her beautiful, innocent face.
"I am sorry, my friend, but we must part."
Missandei's face contracted with anger.
"Have I betrayed you? Have I failed you?"
Daenerys' heart was pounding in her chest.
"No," she stated flatly. "But you don't belong here. This is not your home. I will give you a small fleet, gold, and order my best men to guard you unconditionally." Dany swallowed hard. "Grey Worm will leave with you."
"My home is wherever you are," Missandei pleaded, striding forward and taking Daenerys' hand.
Daenerys pulled away before she could see the truth in her eyes, turning away so that she did not see on her face how her soul was breaking.
"My home is the Iron Throne, Missandei."
And with that Dany left her there, no more words, no more farewells.
It was better this way, she tried to convince herself. Better than hearing her shout Dracarys from a wall at the mercy of enemies who would follow her in this and other lives.
Far from her, Missandei would live.
***
Pentos
It is agony every day, making time run dimly, confusing her mind with its dazzling passing. It isn't necessarily a miserable existence but it isn't a life worth fighting for either.
Some days are more difficult, the simplest days she just doesn't remember. All this seems to Dany to be rather a matter of perspective; If she doesn't think too much about it, she could enjoy some calm and move on.
Even if she has to battle her own stoicism, at the end of the day she is still alive, climbing out of bed and facing the day ahead just to reward herself with the promise of crawling back into it to drift into another quiet night of dreamless sleep.
It all will come to pass, she says to herself.
Daenerys opens her eyes and she is back in Pent os, right where she was when she closed her eyes.
"Before you came I was happy," she says as she sits up and looks at Brandon.
"That was you just a week ago," Brandon responds, having pried into her deepest thoughts.
"Alright. Not happy then. Content."
"And it is contentment all that you care about?"
Daenerys does not reply.
"I am more human than you think I am, Daenerys," he says, "I understand what you are feeling."
"You don't."
"I do. I've been there too. Stuck up. Dwelling on an old desire to feel happy and safe."
She laughs wryly.
"I have never felt happy and safe. The closer I've been to that it's been...expectancy. Hope."
He blinks intently.
"And when was that?"
Daenerys thinks about it and tries to convey the feeling. The answer comes to her in the form of a clear memory.
"The night before we arrive at Dragonstone."
Their entire quest is reduced to this.
Closing her eyes once more, and lying back, Daenerys lets herself be carried away by the whispers of his low, still voice, until she walks back down the dark corridors of her mind, through doors that lead to places of infinite pain and bliss, to a dark and stormy night, where she awakens to Missandei's voice calling to her.
Home.
Notes:
I had intended to use this space to discuss my conflicting feelings regarding the latest wave of news of the "snow" sequel but I feel like there is another matter of utmost importance to be addressed.
I am so sorry to hear about the current situation in the United States regarding the recent reversal in human rights, and specifically, in women's and reproductive rights. These are dark times and it is now when we must most hold on to our convictions and hope that the fighting can lead us to a better place. Do not give up.
Here in Argentina, we have a saying: no right has ever been conquered without a fight.
Make your voices be heard throughout the country, make the streets your own.
My heartfelt wish for you is that your rights are protected, today and always.
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