Hi !
Finally the new chapter! Sorry! I'm pretty busy ^^'
And sorry if there are some mistakes, I'm really sick and not really focused.
Anyway, I hope you'll like this chapter with Danny ;)
Let a little review as always!
A FIGURE OF SPEECH
Taking a knife in the heart.
This phrase could be as much a figure of speech as a more literal description of her physical condition.
Two meanings – literal or figurative – that Daenerys was enduring at the same time.
There was no injury, strictly speaking. No bloody wound staining her white coat. Nothing. Nothing so obvious. No literal version of this expression of the common language. However, the pain that was piercing her chest was too real, too strong to fully accept the figurative meaning of this sentence.
Figure of speech or not, the young queen's pain was right there. Tangible in her mind, in her body leaning on her biggest and more robust child's one.
She had taken a knife in the heart.
No matter what interpretation could be given to this sensation which hadn't left her since what seemed to be an eternity to her.
Since that howl that had suspended time, which had torn her heart and mind. A howl of distress truly horrifying to hear. This distress, from her child's one. From Viserion.
A scream. Lengthy. Violent. And definitive.
Daenerys looked to her left, Rhaegal following the strong flight of his brother to the Wall, screaming from time to time in the icy air a complaint that make the queen's heart bleed more. Their mother's heart. The latter stopped looking at Rhaegal to look to her right, then seeing only below a white and wild landscape as far as the eye can see. A lifeless landscape. Devoid of her child's presence.
Of Viserion's presence.
Viserion.
Leaning against Drogon's rough and dark scales, Daenerys couldn't help her mind – and her heart, invariably – from turning this scene over. Again. And again, and again...
This scream, again.
This death throes, again.
This helplessness, again.
This fall on that frozen stretch, over and over again.
Fire annihilated by Ice.
Annihilated.
Daenerys tightened her grip around Drogon's back spines, holding to it to avoid sinking with the implication of that single thought. Of that single word.
Annihilation. Disappearance. Extinction. Death...
Death.
Viserion was...dead. Her child was gone.
The young woman would never again hear his howling pierce the sky as easily as a sword pierced the flesh. She would no longer stroke his scaly skin with magnificent green shades. She would never see him flying in the heavens alongside his brothers.
That was how death went.
Valar morghulis.
Every man must die.
But Viserion wasn't a man. Viserion was a dragon. Her child. A child couldn't die. His mother definitely shouldn't survive him. This situation, this reality seemed beyond belief. For her.
For a mother.
Not any parent could imagine and accept, when the time came, their child's loss. Regardless of the undeniable reality that hit them body and soul. The love that a parent unconditionally had to their own flesh and blood stopped this simple notion. For a time. A time too short. Then all hope disappeared, buried beneath a mountain of pain more devastating than anything they could have endured during their existence.
Impaled by this knife in the heart. Her heart.
A lethal knife held by this icy creature, devoid of compassion or even a mere emotion apart from destruction. Held by The Knight King. A terrifying physical realization of Death itself, encircled by its servants. The Night King had hit Viserion without the slightest hesitation, striking consequently Daenerys's heart at the same time. Tearing life away from one of her children. Tearing implacably a part of her own life away from her.
And making grow, inside her heart, something she hadn't felt for a very long time.
Fear.
Daenerys, beyond this shooting pain in her chest, could sense the fear running from her wounded heart, surrounding her muscles, partially petrifying her limbs, inch by inch. Slowly, fear joined pain, trying to bend the young queen's will and strength. Striving to stifle all light, all fire running in her veins. All hope persisting in her.
Yes, Daenerys was afraid.
She feared what was gaining ground beyond the Wall, in the Real North. She feared this Night King, these White Walkers and the army of the dead.
She greatly feared all this. This danger that this vile and indifferent being represented to her, to the men, to her dragons ,…
She feared this defeat. More than all the others she had lived so far. Only this defeat really mattered. Only the Night King mattered.
This King, whose she still denied the existence a few weeks ago. A time of ignorance she nearly regretted. An ignorance spared by this actual pain. This loss. She could no longer feign ignorance, now. The danger was real. Just as was the Night King and Death behind his frozen path.
All this was real. As real as the pain tormenting her body. As real as Viserion's demise or Jon's.
Jon...
" Go! "
He was missing, too.
" Go! Leave! Now! "
Anger mingled with fear, her hands tensing around Drogon's dorsal spines, her face leaving the sweetness of despair for a much more definite expression. Why had Jon had to move away? Why had he so much desired to annihilate with his sword all the dead present on the frozen lake? It was stupid. And an attitude most likely predictable to the hero he was.
" Heroes do stupid things and they die. "
Jon Snow...dead.
Was he?
Dead?
Daenerys had seen it and couldn't accept what her eyes had seen then. She'd seen him running to join them, the flames dancing furiously on the ice and tirelessly lapping the putrid flesh of the dead who stood in his way. Who stood between her and him. She had seen him fall, disappearing into the murky waters without being able to try anything to help him. Daenerys had seen the Night King, threatening once more her children's lives and theirs.
She'd seen a choice.
Leaving as Jon had yelled it to her... or stay.
And she was left.
She had abandoned Jon Snow to death.
No.
He couldn't be dead. Daenerys couldn't accept this possibility. No more than her child's loss.
Why? Why was she so shaken by the King in the North's absence near her? Why was she angry with him? His disappearance was certainly annoying, but not as dramatic as her heart seemed to shout her inside.
Daenerys had seen so many heroes in her life.
Drogo, Jorah, Daario,…
All heroes.
As Jon Snow.
And all fools. As Jon Snow.
She'd seen so many heroes... and so many deaths.
Why this one would be any different? Why would it be intolerable?
Drogon's strong body moved significantly under her, starting his descent to the ground. Far from the dead, far from Jon: bringing the queen back to the present moment. Tormented internally by what had happened and what she could have done or not to avoid it, the young woman had eclipsed the rest of the world around her, so much so that she only heard now the breath of air along the black wings of the dragon going towards the beach. This knife in her heart had secluded her: it was time for her to take it up again, and so, to take more the shooting pain that was impaling her soul.
Daenerys leaned over Drogon's neck, following his movements in the windy whistle, focusing on each roll of muscles under her thighs, each acceleration of the latter before he landed heavily on the dark ground lapped by the waves of ice, not far from Eastwatch's door built in the solid structure of the Wall which stretched infinitely. She vaguely heard one of her passengers swear heartily after Drogon had reached the dry land, also perceiving the erratic movements of the dead put on one of her child's spines. Its unhuman cries could be heard over the gentle grunt of the dragon beneath her, tormenting more the young queen, if it was still possible. A cry more piercing than the others resounded behind her as the Hound kicked violently the ribs of the creature in an advanced state of decomposition.
" Shut the hell up! Fucking skunk... "
Daenerys distractedly stroked Drogon's massive neck, seeking comfort and strength to continue in that gesture. She stood so, almost stubbornly stroking the rough, scaly skin of her gloved hand as Dondarrion and the Hound strove to remove the dead from its makeshift cell.
" Your Grace... "
The latter closed her eyes briefly when she heard her friend's careful tone. An intonation that only strengthened this pain inside her, that only pushed further the sharp blade in her heart bleed from any hope. An insinuation of compassion, very laudable of course, but that she didn't want to hear from Jorah's mouth. Neither from anyone else. Daenerys opened her eyes, ordering without turning and with a hesitant voice:
" Sir Jorah... Make sure this thing is carried properly aboard my ship. "
She felt the latter hesitate, the young queen could easily imagine his concerned eyes scrutinizing her own silhouette before nodding imperceptibly.
" Yes, Your Grace. ", he said without insisting more than that.
She waited for him to join Clegane, the latter heartily cursing the scrawny creature of insults, each one more original than the one before, Daenerys inhaling deeply before going down with ease along Drogon's wing stretched on the beach.
" You have fit men on that boat? ", asked the man named Tormund to the three others.
Daenerys walked away, making few steps and no knowing where to go to stop thinking... or even to stop feeling anything. A few steps definitely wouldn't stifle her grief or the threat to come. She listened distractedly to the exchange between the companions, staring at the black shingles squealing under her white boots without really seeing them.
" What the fuck you care?! ", replied the Hound roughly between two shrill cries of the dead he was trying to hold on the ground, Jorah then descending along Drogon's wing.
" Have you or not? "
" We have, indeed. ", answered Sir Jorah. " Why? "
" I don't have enough men to keep the Wall... Even less so to drag Snow's ass and bring him back here. They could be useful! "
Daenerys then turned sharply in his direction, her wounded heart fiercely drumming in her chest as she stared intensely at the wildling with red mane. They all stared at him without saying a word. For a time, at least. The Hound was the first to break their common stupefaction retreated into silence.
" That's the many cocks you've sucked since you were born that made you nut?! Snow is dead! I hope so, for him...' Better die frozen then join these bastards... "
He illustrated his comments by kicking the ribs of the bastard in question again, the latter shouting again its rage without life. Tormund placed the handle of his huge axe against his shoulder, smiling to the Hound.
" Snow isn't dead. Not this time. I'll look for him...Nothing forces you to come with me. You've the right to be scared stiff. "
" I want to live! ", replied Clegane, annoyed. " I'm not scared stiff! "
" You're fucking scared stiff! Just like me, them... ", he said, pointing with his axe to Jorah and Dondarrion before turning slowly to Daenerys. " Even you, The Dragon's Queen...you're fucking scared stiff. "
She remained silent, in no way denying the confident statement of the wildling. She couldn't deny the truth that struck them all at that precise moment. She was afraid, of course. How being not afraid of death? Whether we should die one day or another, it didn't take away from us that fear which tortured us all and all along our live in the waiting of this common conclusion for all.
Every man must die.
Every man experience fear.
The wildling turned to his companions again, freeing Daenerys from his sharp gaze that could so easily see beyond her calm expression.
" We're all scared stiff, here. And it's fine...Everyone should be. But I won't let Jon freeze his ass off behind the Wall either! He was scared stiff too when he came help us to Hardhome, when the dead rushed over us and killed my people...He was fucking scared. And he stayed. He fought the dead, the White Walkers... even if he wanted to run like the others with his tail between his legs! 'The hell I would do the same right now...but I won't leave him! "
Tormund didn't wait any answer or another vehement protest from the other people gathered around Drogon. He walked hastily towards the small boat moored on the beach one meter from their actual position, seemingly determined to take with him some rash men loyal to the King in the North. Determined to find the latter alive, obviously.
Daenerys squeezed her hands together, painfully squeezing that hope between her fingers numbed by the cold despite her thick gloves. She shouldn't hope the impossible. She couldn't allow herself to hope. She was queen. The queens didn't vainly give way to frivolous and unreasonable hopes when death threatened shortly to hit the rest of the world. She couldn't hope. No matter this tiny hope was almost prevented her to breathe right now. Hope couldn't fight reality. And the reality was shouting loud and clear Viserion's and the King in the North's death.
Daenerys had to accept it.
She saw Dondarrion turning to Clegane without a word, staring at knowingly and annoying thus the latter who muttered once more some insults. The Hound glared at his one-eyed friend, threatening him roughly:
" If you give me that crap about the Lord of Light one more time, I swear to thrust your damned sword in your asshole and light your fucking guts with it! "
" Our mission isn't finished yet, my friend. "
" 'Mine is! ", The Hound replied instantly, placing the dead on his shoulder, grimacing from time to time when it moved too much. " Go ahead, if you want...but no one'll bring you back this time! I'm fine with it... "
Upon these words, Clegane also walked away hastily from the dragon, Dondarrion laughing softly behind him as he followed the latter, making sure to salute summarily the queen and Mormont on his way.
" May the Light guide you in the darkness, Your Grace... "
Daenerys gave him a forced smile and nodded. Jorah stood beside her and Drogon, watching the two men gradually moved towards the small boat before coming closer to her. Drogon stretched his wings, causing by this simple gesture a strong gust that make the young queen shiver. He rose in the gray and icy skies of the North, joining Rhaegal with in complaints and his desperate search for their missing brother. She watched them for a moment, letting her mind wander according to their own celestial gestures above her.
" Your Grace... ", Mormont tried once more.
" I'm gonna stay here a moment, Sir Jorah. ", she interrupted him with authority. " Drogon needs to rest, so do I. Be sure to the haulage of this creature and let me know as soon as we're ready to leave for King's Landing. "
" As you wish, My Queen. "
She went without a word to the huge door of Eastwatch, not knowing what else to do to stifle her grief, to stifle this hope which never ceased to vibrate inside her. A vibration only strengthening her initial grief.
" Valar morghulis... ", she whispered in a trembling voice as she walked slowly towards the thousand-year-old rampart.
Daenerys jumped slightly as she heard the strong grinding noise of the wooden cogs, the door of the elevator rising slowly in front of her and bringing with it another icy gust. She waited for the door to rise totally, then quickly advancing on the path dug in the massive structure given by the Wall. Several wildlings and brothers of the Night Watch stared at her inquisitively in her path, these men being aware of what was going on in the South enough to put a name and a reputation on her face. Some of them gave her a brief nod as a reverent salutation while the others stared at her more fearfully before going back to their own business.
For either of them, Daenerys was satisfied.
She hadn't come to this high place and separate from the rest of the world for anything else but the satisfaction of her need of solitude.
So, she advanced, barely paying attention to the men around her, the latter becoming less and less present as she was progressing further on this path born from pickaxes and ice. The young queen arrived in a secluded lookout, a basic roof covered with snow sheltering its occasional occupant as far as possible.
Daenerys stopped there, somewhat breathless after her walk and the fresh air piercing the inside of her throat, and came closer to the wooden barrier, scrutinizing the white landscape going as far as the eye could see.
The North.
Wild.
Independent and proud.
The real North, according to Jon Snow.
" If I don't return, at least you won't have to deal with the King in the North anymore. "
" I've grown used to him... "
Drogon's plaintive cry resounded in the skies and she raised her eyes, seeing her dragon tracing big circles between the Wall and the forest that was not far from it, then replaced by the icy and sharp mounts of the Far North. He cried. Over and over again. Tirelessly looking for his brother's trace in the skies, looking for the impossible.
Just as Daenerys was looking for the impossible by her gaze on the border of the forest, seeking vainly a hope that would never be granted to her. Why was she still hoping? What was she waiting for? There was only death as far as the eye could see. Nothing else would grow there.
Only death.
Daenerys closed her eyes before opening them again, deeply inhaling the icy air as she continued to look at the horizon. She had accomplished so many things, defied the impossible on many occasions...
This impossible seemed insurmountable, unbending.
Bringing three dragons into the world, surviving of the flames of an inferno, uniting the Unsealed, the Dothrakis... All this was nothing in front of the Night King. A legend straight from Forgotten Tales of Westeros. She knew nothing about him, or very little from some unclear childhood memories of the myths told by her nannies or by Vyseris.
The Long Night.
" The Long Night is coming. Only the Prince that was promised could bring the Dawn. "
The prince... or the princess.
How could she fight this monster of ice? This monster that so easily brought one of her dragons down? A monster she knew nothing about.
Jon Snow knew. He knew much more than she'd ever known over a lifetime.
And he was gone.
She was alone, now. An evidence that was hitting her more as the sky darkened and as the air cooled, the northern landscape remaining unshakeable in front of her. Unchanged in the rising storm that was lashing her face.
The frozen floor of the shelter creaked behind her. The young queen turned over and shared a look with Jorah, both not daring to tell the other this evidence that was hitting them such violently as the breath of wind. She turned over, scrutinizing once more the wild landscape become unclear by the increased snowfall around her. Stubbornly scrutinizing this hope which was gradually erased inside her bruised heart.
It took a long time, perhaps less than that, before Mormont approached her, unwilling to be the messenger of this reality which was taunting her tirelessly.
" It's time to go, Your Grace. "
It was time, indeed. Her reason knew that. Daenerys perfectly knew that the time was come to definitely squash this pointless hope, this ridiculous bravado against the impossible. It was time to let Vyserion behind. To let the King in the North behind. To let any hope at the top of the Wall.
She knew that and yet couldn't do it.
Not yet.
" A bit longer... ", she said without turning, pressing her hands together in a silent and foolish prayer.
Once again, Jorah didn't insist, respecting her grief. He stepped backwards, leaving the shelter and waiting patiently for his queen to regain footing in the reality and the war to come. The intensity in her eyes could have ignited the whole forest and even the whole world, the fierce desire to make the impossible possible glowing in her irises. An ardor to which the North was indifferent.
Nothing came. No hope. No miracle.
Only the reality.
Only the nothingness.
Daenerys was clinging on this hope so long that it was now ridiculous. She was no longer a child. She was a queen. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She had to give up this wavering glimmer and focus on the events to come. On the livings.
She sighed and turned her back to the North, making a few slow steps towards Jorah. The sound of a foghorn broke the silence around them without making her slow, the queen being then quite unaware of what could happen near her. Daenerys froze nevertheless, intrigued by her friend's behavior, Jorah simply staying frozen in front of the lookout, his eyes staring at a precise point below. He made a step, then another into the shelter, the queen following him thoughtlessly. She tried to ignore the sharp heartbeats in her chest revived by another stupid momentum of hope.
A powerful and painful internal ringing that almost stifled her as her eyes looked in turn at this point emerging from the edge of the forest.
A ringing that covered the wildling's orders and the scraping of the door in the Wall.
A ringing beating in unison of this vision.
Of this impossible.
The impossible return of the King in the North.
Of Jon Snow.
TBC
Thanks for your support! Next chapter will be POV dany,too.
Bye!
