She found Missandei in the courtyard outside the guards hall, flurries of snow drifting softly down into her dark hair. The girl wore a sweeping black coat over an elegant gown, the same color as fallen ash.

"How is he?" She demanded, and Missandei's eyes grew dark with grief. Once, Dany had taken her for a simple handmaiden.

Now, she knew her only as a friend.

"He sleeps, your Grace."

Missandei's tone was quiet and carefully measured. She lacked the callous nature of the Dothraki, as well as the inscrutable veneer of the Unsullied. She was soft as pond water, a creature of grace and peace.

Daenerys took her cold hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

"He will wake to the dawn," She said, with a fierceness that shook them both. "The dawn that follows the Long Night will paint the northern skies like dragon fire."

"My love will wake to the summer that never ends." Missandei agreed, the hope glimmering silver like tears in her lashes.

Neither of them spoke what they were thinking; that a second war loomed close on the horizon.

Greyworm had slept for weeks now. He was trapped in the induced comatose of the maester's draught. He needed to sleep. His wounds would never recover otherwise. Nor would his mind.

Dany hoped his slumber was deep and dark and most of all, dreamless. In the aftermath of the Long Night, nothing had proven more unsettling than the dreams.

She left the courtyard, tracing her own footsteps down the shadowy corridors of Winterfell. It was mostly deserted, save for the occasional chambermaid passing through. Anyone she encountered inclined their heads respectfully, but they never failed to divert their gazes, all the same. She wore their suspicions like a crown.