The True Enemy

by wordsandswords

"The true enemy of humanity is disorder." - - - Mere days after the Night King's lethal attack on Winterfell, the survivors struggle to mend both physical and emotional wounds. The army of the dead may have been conquered, but the threat of the living is more grave than ever before. [This will follow all main characters and existing/new relationships].

"Jon, wake up. Jon," Daenerys pleaded as she gently shook her beloved's tense shoulder.

His bloodshot eyes opened brusquely as his lungs flooded with a cold inhale followed by the release of a warm gasp.

Daenerys allowed Jon a moment to adjust. She grasped his right hand, nearly purple from the frigid air, though his tunic was damp with sweat.

She knew exactly what had startled him in his sleep. She knew what he had come face-to-face with in the night, though it was a threat that existed no longer.

"Dany," Jon gripped her warm hand tightly as his eyes adjusted to the light reflecting off the snow outside the chamber windows.

"I'm here," she reassured him with a smile, though her eyebrows still conveyed concern.

"Have the armies been fed? Have the wagons been packed?" He sat up without hesitation, disregarding the pain he'd felt so vividly in his sleep.

Jon was humiliated by the lack of control he had for his own mind. Every living soul at Winterfell experienced the battle against the dead eight nights prior—why was the Night King still haunting his subconscious? He had to be stronger than this.

"Everything is in order. Lord Tyrion has consulted the council, and Sir Davos is meeting with Sir Brienne and Grey Worm as we speak."

Daenerys spoke softly to the man she admired and loved deeply as to not undermine his expertise, though she knew all too well that he had emerged from battle a different man.

A man, a rightful King, born from powerful Targaryen and Stark blood, that would not disclose this truth to a single soul that did not already know of his lineage.

Before the dead had come, Dany felt the warmth of the dragon within her ignite into flames. The love she felt for Jon and the promises she had made to her loyal followers became secondary to her desire for power. She was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

Then the dead came. She watched as her armies crumbled beneath the hordes of wights like grass beneath a horse's hoof. She relived the loss of Viserion as the Night King rode him savagely into battle, gnashing one child's teeth into another. She stood helpless as her most loyal advisor risked his life yet again for her—this time sacrificing it entirely. But the feeling that lingered most vividly was that of Jon's hand on her arm as she turned to ride Drogon into the chaos.