1. High in the Halls of the Kings Who Are Gone

Grey.

From the alcoves, the stone faces stared back at her, grey as death and cold and immovable as winter. The dim torchlight made the statues come to eerie life, twitching over their cheeks and sword hands. Every one of them was chiselled after the likeness of a former lord or king, and not one of them looked friendly to her. Be gone, they seemed to say. You don't belong here.

Dany reciprocated their stare almost petulantly. Maybe it was a stupid thing to be angry at statues, but they didn't seem to have a problem with being angry at her even though she was here to save all their descendants from death itself, so. It wasn't like anyone would notice even if she were to yell at them; aside from Jon, she had never seen anybody down here. Most people weren't allowed in the crypt, Dany figured. Either that or they simply avoided them.

Dany really couldn't blame them. This wasn't a friendly place, and she could not imagine burying someone she loved here, let alone be buried here herself. A final resting place belonged somewhere under the sun, somewhere where life still had a place and where death wasn't all around you. Dany had seen the Night King, felt the cold dread that accompanied him, and this crypt felt like he had already been here and spread his influence. The chill that went down her spine at the thought had nothing to do with the cold.

Still, this place was the only one in the castle not bustling with hectic activity, and she needed to gather her thoughts. Badly.

Nothing was going the way she had imagined it. Bit by bit, the optimism Dany had felt as they had ridden towards Winterfell had vanished – from the looks of the commoners outside, as stone-faced as these statues, to the less than warm welcome by the Lady of Winterfell, to the sudden distance Jon seemed to be keeping from her (Why?), it had all amounted to the question what she was doing here. Nobody seemed to really want her here, after all. They didn't even realize they needed her to defeat the death that was marching towards them.

Dany knew that circumstances like this had a tendency to make her doubt herself, and she couldn't allow herself to be doubtful now. She needed to have her wits about her if she was to lead her people to victory in this battle. Otherwise, the Night King would kill her – or worse, another of her dragons. She wouldn't be able to bear that; losing Viserion already felt like a part of her had been torn away. And Jon's brother claimed that he was with the dead now.

Dany didn't want to see that, but in her heart she already knew that Bran was right. She would have to face Viserion, and Drogon would have to fight his brother. She knew that.

"I've lost him for you." she told the statue of the dead Stark in front of her. King, lord, she didn't even know what he was. "All I want is to protect all of you; why is that so hard to understand?! I'm paying every price to be a good queen. I just want…"

Acceptance. That was what she wanted. Love. It sounded pathetic, she knew, but after all she had been through, hadn't she deserved that much?

She thought she had found it with Jon. With him, it had come quickly and suddenly; nothing like the slow, careful process she had experienced with Drogo. Dany sometimes wondered if the newness of it all made her reckless. Why else would she allow him to ride her dragons so soon, if at all? Leaving aside how jealously she would have guarded them from anyone else, he could have died so very easily in the attempt, and it still amazed her how well he had taken to flying. It was a small miracle he had returned to the ground without any bruises at all.

But the fact that he had attempted it at all spoke of how much he was willing to do for her, didn't it? As Dany would for him at this point. Even this crypt: she wouldn't have come down here in the first place if it hadn't been for Jon. A small scoff flew from her lips and into the damp air: She wouldn't have come north if it hadn't been for Jon. Its people were sour and distrustful, whereas he seemed to be the opposite. Maybe that was part of what she loved about him.

What she loved about him.

Danerys pondered on that thought. She hadn't wanted to fall in love again. No matter how happy it made her, there was risk involved. Caithe's prophecy was still with her every night: one to betray you for gold, one for power, one for love. She thought two of those had already occurred, but even there she wasn't sure. She refused to dwell on it too much.

Jon wouldn't betray her. He couldn't. He had surrendered his crown to her, despite knowing that it wouldn't go over well with his people. All to protect them; to help her protect them. Dany nodded to herself: whatever troubled him now, together they would beat it. She only had to talk to him first, maybe take a few more steps towards him, as he had taken so many for her. She had to learn to trust again. She was a khaleesi, and the thought of a conversation with her – what, lover; love; Warden of the North? – shouldn't trouble her this much.

After all, it could only go better than the talk with his sister.

Above her, a roar echoed down through the stone, making dust drizzle down from the ceiling. Dany couldn't help but smile: Drogon, probably playing with his brother. His battle roar was as loud as her husband's had ever been, matched only by his raw strength. She had chosen the name well.

She wondered whether she had doomed Viserion from the start.

The Night King. Just thinking about the tall, pale figure made Daenerys' blood run as hot as her dragon's. He would pay for what he did. This wasn't just about the North. This was about her children. They would destroy him.

And yet, there was also fear. Dany didn't want to admit it, but the Night King scared her in a way none of her previous adversaries had. For the first time, there was a power that could single-handedly match her dragons in a fight, and would do so without any hesitation whatsoever.

Over the years, she had come to realize that the awe with which people looked at her dragons was in large part because they resembled nothing else in their world. If they could die like any other creature, that would vanish. And, after how she had been greeted in the North, Dany didn't doubt that with it the respect for her would vanish, too.

Of all the battles she had fought, this coming one she could not afford to lose. If she did, everything would be gone. If she won, the road to the Iron Throne would still not have gotten a step shorter, but at least there would be a road left to travel.

Dany only hoped the people she cared about – there were far too many now; when had she allowed this to happen? – would survive to travel it with her.