Grey worm had returned to her, his kiss no longer tasted like goodbye. His duties as commander had called him away, cutting their reunion short. It had happened before and it would again, yet it is a truth no sweeter to swallow since the night outside Meereen.

The choices left to her following his parting were sorely unappealing. She was in no rush to face further contempt or rejection. Missandei would sooner venture into the land of corpses than spend another minute with those from the crypts. Their eyes followed her, but she couldn't find the need to care.

She had to find Daenerys. She couldn't let her starve, not even for one night.

Missandei had noticed the change as they sailed further north. Her touch growing lighter in response to the newfound tenderness in Daenerys' chest. There was no true privacy aboard the ship and less still in the frigid north, but in the solace of the royal chambers, Missandei had traced a finger down the faint line emerging on Dany's stomach, and knew it was the mark of the one who disturbed her sleep, with footsteps that fell too awkwardly to be that of the Queensguard.

'Let her return in her own time, you spoke for her before, your voice is better used here.' The perfumed eunuch tried to delay her, his smile too grim be true, as though he had forgotten that she would know what an order sounds like, regardless of how sweetly it was phrased. 'You know the her will, there is no better time to use it,' he said, gesturing to the separate clusters of soldiers, the divisions clear, even in the dark.

Did he think she had not noticed his silence in the crypt?

Missandei wondered when flattery could ever work from one so fickle, and declined him as politely as she was able. She could not speak for the Queen when she had not spoken with her.

If he wanted presumptions, he would be better off seeking the Hand.

She had more patience for the dead. Missandei walked carefully, treading only on dirt and snow, as she made her way toward the great mass of Drogon.

She was searching for her next stepping stone when she saw him. The golden clasp that held the twist of his beard was the only identifying factor not ruined by the battle. His face had a sickly pallor while the inky depths of his eyes had gone, a dull blue in its place.

It was too terrible to look at, and though she could sense greater eyes on her, she knelt to close his lids. Even the she could not pretend she had given him any semblance of peace. The warrior had protected her with only his presence and only by extension. She didn't truly know why his passing bothered her so much, or why it took the wind numbing her cheeks for her to move on.

There were more dead, dressed in furs that could only be found on the other side of the world. So many more and still Qhono troubled her mind.

The dragon was curled tightly about the Queen. A slither of silver hair peeked out above the slope of his wing. Missandei approached slowly, the bodies piled around them left so few gaps, that she struggled to find fresh ground. Drogon's eyes burned with the heat of a thousand fires. She was less troubled looking into his red and gold than the warrior's blue.

Drogon regarded her quietly, before shifting his wing a little, the heat that escaped warmed the air around her and returned feeling to her face.

Daenerys sat amongst the dead, cradling the worn body of her knight. His blood had dried and cracked.

Tears tracks streamed down her face and glisten slightly in the moonlight. If she were anyone else, they would have frozen.

The open hostility towards the Targaryen and her entourage had dissuaded Missandei from visiting their kitchens, favouring the supplies brought over from their time on Dragonstone.

When Daenerys made no move to eat, Missandei speared a piece and lift it to her mouth. Dany chewed slowly, coming back into herself with each mouthful.

'Forgive me?' Daenerys asked, her voice a croaky whisper, that prompted Missandei to retrieve the wineskin, only to find Dany looking at her.

'Forgive me.'