Sansa watched the single dragon fly over Winterfell and tried to tell herself that everything was okay, that the feeling of dread she felt was an overreaction. She wanted to run, but forced herself to walk to the castle catwalk overlooking the fields around Winterfell, and waited. As she watched Daenerys land her dragon, and the Blood Riders ride out to meet her, she waited with her eyes on the horizon for Jon to appear. He always came back. He'd told her not to worry.
When the queen made it back to the castle and passed through the gate, Sansa broke from her vigil, this time letting herself run back down to the courtyard. Two Dothraki grabbed her and pushed her back, keeping her several feet away from the silver haired queen. The woman glanced at her and Sansa went cold as she recognized the despondent look in her eyes. She knew that look had appeared on her own face enough times in the past. Sansa started forward again and again the Dothraki blocked her.
"Touch her again and you are both loosing fingers," a voice said behind Sansa. She turned to find her sister there, both hands on her weapons.
One of the huge men said something in a guttural language that Sansa didn't recognized. When he took another step forward, Arya's slim sword flashed out and the man pulled his hand back with a curse, blood streaming from a shallow cut on his hand.
The Dothraki growled and his free hand moved for the arakh on his back. Just as Sansa realized she had to do something before the situation devolved into an actual fight, Daenerys said something in the foreign language, her voice like a whip. The two Dothraki scowled but stepped back out of the way.
"Where is he?" Sansa demanded, taking the few remaining steps to block the Dragon Queen's path.
Sansa could almost see the mask settle over the other woman's face, the cold indifference that Sansa was used to seeing covering up whatever was underneath. "I need to speak with the Small Council," she said coolly and stepped around the younger woman.
Sansa grabbed Daenerys' arm, letting go immediately when the Dragon Queen turned on her, fire in her eyes. "I know you're the Queen, and you don't owe me anything. You don't even like me very much. But Jon is our brother and we are worried about him."
Daenerys looked between her and Arya, and Sansa saw a small crack appear in her façade. Fear gripped Sansa's heart at what she saw underneath. Something terrible had happened. "Is he alive?" she forced herself to ask, keeping her voice level.
A ripple of something passed over the Daenerys' face, but she nodded. "He's alive and traveling with the Umbers. He will arrive at Winterfell by sundown. I need you to call our Small Council. I have information that we all need to hear."
Sansa watched her go, her fear just ratcheting up even higher.
"What in seven hells does that even mean?" Arya asked what Sansa was thinking. "Why would Jon be traveling with the Umbers? They're supposed to be defending Last Hearth."
"Something happened at Last Hearth," Sansa said, knowing that whatever it was couldn't be good.
"And of course Jon sent her back alone," Arya grumbled with a shake of her head.
"I don't think anyone could send her anywhere," Sansa replied.
Arya glanced at her sister. "Maybe that's what we should be worried about—that she agreed to leave him. Whatever happened must be really bad."
"Why should that matter? Jon left her in King's Landing for weeks."
"You weren't there. You didn't get to deal with the queen on a daily basis. It was like having an actual dragon living in the Red Keep…an angry one."
Ser Davos walked up to them, looking around with a frown. "My Lady," he said to both of them. "Where's Jon?"
"That is the question," Sansa replied.
"He didn't come back with the queen? That can't be good."
"She is calling the Small Council. I'm sure we will find out more then."
Ser Davos sighed. "I better go round up the lords then. I'm sure Tyrion won't be happy either."
Dany stood in front of the massive weirwood tree, staring at the bleeding face carved into the wood and trying to pull herself back together. She was so tired, but every time she closed her eyes she would see Viserion collapsing into the snow, over and over and over again. So she stayed awake, trying to concentrate on her duty. She had to meet with the Small Council soon, and she couldn't afford to appear weak even though she knew that most of the people there had her best interest at heart. She bowed her head and swallowed down her grief once again, her hands twisting together in front of her.
Something brushed her back and she spun, ready to rein down fire and blood on whoever had the gall to disturb her. Instead she was met with two blood red eyes staring back at her. She backed up a step in shock at the huge direwolf and his silent appearance.
Ghost regarded her silently and after a few moments she held out her hand hesitantly. He sniffed and then licked her and his ears perked up even farther, seemingly happy to see her. She let out a long sigh and moved her hand over his head, her fingers sinking into the thick white fur of his neck. The look in the wolf's red eyes reminded her forcible of Jon and before she could stop herself, she'd wrapped her arms around Ghost's neck, her face buried in his fur.
The direwolf made a small whining sound, his head resting on her shoulder, and she couldn't stop the tears that leaked traitorously from her closed eyes. After a few moments she let him go, sitting down at the base of the weirwood to compose herself once again. He laid down next to her, his big head in her lap.
Dany stroked his ears, trying to take in the quiet solitude as her mind raced. She couldn't stop thinking of Viserion, which would in turn lead her to think about Jon, which would send her thoughts spiraling to the child growing inside her and all the fears she had associated with that, leading her right back to Viserion. It was a vicious cycle that she couldn't break.
"She told me death pays for life," Dany whispered, thinking of Miri Maz Duur's curse. Ghost lifted his head, his red eyes meeting hers. "Maybe this was the cost. Maybe Viserion was living on borrowed time." The thought made her sad beyond words, regretting her past actions, her rashness, more than ever. It seemed others would never stop paying the price for her foolishness.
Ghost abruptly jumped to his feet, the hair down his back standing up and his head dropping low.
Dany stood slowly and froze as a low growl emanated from the huge wolf, sending a shiver down her own spine. "Who's there?" she asked, the question a command.
She saw movement through the trees and then Ser Jorah appeared, walking towards her hesitantly, his gaze on the wolf before her.
"Tyrion sent me to find you, My Queen," he said, stopping several feet away when Ghost let out an angry snarl. "The Small Council is waiting."
Dany laid a hand on the wolf's head and he quieted but didn't completely settle, his gaze still locked on Jorah. She hadn't seen much of her old friend since their return from Eastwatch. He'd respectfully kept his distance when her growing affection for Jon had become apparent to everyone. She understood it, understood the deep seated feelings he still had for her, but regardless, she missed his company. "Tell Tyrion I'll be there in a moment," she said.
Jorah nodded then looked at her hesitantly. "Are you all right, Your Grace? You don't seem yourself."
Dany smiled sadly. Jorah always did know when something was wrong. "I will be." She started forward, deciding she wanted to get the meeting over with instead of delaying any longer. Jorah fell in next to her, keeping a safe distance away from the wolf still at her side. "Are they in the Great Hall?"
"No, Lady Sansa had a smaller chamber prepared. Said it would be more private."
Dany nodded and allowed him to lead her to their destination.
The room appeared to be a small library, perhaps a previous lord's private collection, Dany wasn't sure. In any case, she found it ideal for its purpose. Her small Council of Tyrion, Varys, Grey Worm, and Missandei sat on one side of the wooden table set in the center of the room, and the Stark girls and their brother Bran sat on the other with Ser Davos and Lady Brienne. Jorah moved to stand off to the side and Dany moved to her seat, painfully aware of the empty chair directly across from her, the only vacant spot at the table.
She sat, twisting her mother's ring around her finger under the table. "We found the Army of the Dead," she said without preamble. "They were marching on Last Hearth when we arrived. A hundred thousand at least, with mammoths and giants as well."
Every face looked grim. "Did the castle fall?" Varys asked, ever the pragmatist.
She forced herself to nod. "The Umbers and most of the small folk fled before the dead arrived."
"Then where is Jon?" Sansa asked in a low voice.
"He's traveling with the Umbers. His dragon was injured." That caused some shuffling about the table. She steeled herself and plunged on. "Viserion is dead."
The silence that greeted her was deafening. She could hear every beat of her own heart pounding in her ears, each of her shallow indrawn breaths. She looked down at the table, swallowing down the lump in her throat that saying the words aloud brought.
She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and turning, saw Jorah kneel next to her chair. He reached out and gripped one of her hands. "I am so sorry, Your Grace," he said in a soft voice and she had to fight back the tears that welled in her eyes. She could only nod her appreciation at the gesture, unable to speak.
His grip tightened then he let go and stood, backing away. She looked back at the rest gathered at the table and the mix of shocked, angered, and saddened expressions.
"We have to get word to my brother," Tyrion said after another tense, silent moment. "They'll be marching directly into the enemy if we don't."
"The men at Last Hearth said their ravens weren't flying. They hadn't received one in days. I don't know if we can assume a message by raven will make it to our southern allies," Dany said.
"You cannot go out there again alone," Tyrion said, his voice firm. "Look what happened this time!"
Dany turned to him, cold anger sparking inside of her. "Tell me I cannot do something again, and I'll find myself a new Hand."
Tyrion swallowed, frowning. "I'm trying to advise you—"
"Then advise," she said deliberately, her teeth clenched, barely holding her rage in check.
He looked down at the table, obviously collecting himself. "We send the ravens anyway, perhaps some will get through. And we send riders. Hopefully one or the other will make it in time."
Dany stood, her fists clenched. "Send what you will. In the end, I'll do what I must."
"Is the other dragon severely injured?" Arya asked. "Will Jon have to stay with the Umbers the entire way back to Winterfell? Seems to me they're still in quite a lot of danger, being so close to the Army of the Dead."
"And what is our plan when the dead dragon returns?" Davos asked.
Dany looked up at that, feeling chilled as the rest of the room fell silent at the question.
"What do you mean?" Tyrion asked in the quiet.
Davos' face was grim. "We know the Walkers have raised horses. We've seen them riding the dead beasts. And the Queen herself reported seeing undead mammoths roaming with the army. What's to stop them from bringing the dragon back? The body wasn't burned, was it?"
All eyes turned to Daenerys, but she couldn't respond. She pressed her hands harder into the wood of the table, trying to ground herself as her vision tunneled and a buzzing started in her ears. She knew people were talking, but she couldn't really hear them. All she could think of was the image of Viserion's broken copse rising again, his eyes lit with the Night King's corrupt power.
She stumbled away from the main table, ignoring the calls after her, and managed to make it to the hall before she was sick. She emptied the contents of her already empty stomach on the stone floor, covering her mouth at the dry heave that followed.
"Your Grace, are you unwell?" Tyrion asked, obviously worried as he stopped a few feet away, Missandei and Jorah close behind, similar looks on their face.
"I'm fine," she said, straightening, even though she felt anything but.
"You were on dragonback for a day and then a full night. When was the last time you slept, Your Grace?" Jorah asked, stepping forward. "Or ate?"
Dany closed her eyes, trying to steady herself and the dizziness she felt. "It doesn't matter. We should continue the meeting." She opened her eyes and started to walk past them.
She realized she wasn't going to make it after about two steps. Her vision dimmed again and her last coherent thought was that she needed to sit down before she fell.
Sansa watched the last of the Small Council leave and closed the door with a heavy sigh. She turned back to her siblings not knowing where to start.
"Do they know what's wrong with her?" Arya asked. She was sitting on the table in the middle of the room, flipping her Valyrian steel dagger over and over in her hand.
"Maester Wolkan is checking on her in Jon's rooms. Gods know she hasn't used her own," Sansa said, pushing away from the door and coming to pace near her chair.
"You know if she dies, we're fucked, right?" Arya said, leaning forward.
Sansa refrained from rolling her eyes. She loved her sister and was beyond happy that she was home, but that didn't stop her from being annoyed with her half the time. "I am aware of our situation."
"She's not going to die," Bran said softly and both girls turned to look at him. If Sansa found herself mostly annoyed with Arya, she didn't know how she felt about Bran. Every time she talked with her brother, she walked away unnerved, so she found reasons to avoid him whenever possible. She didn't understand the strange powers that he had returned with, and she couldn't bring herself to ask him about them. He'd mostly kept to himself since his return, staying in the Godswood for hours at a time.
"And how do you know that?" Arya asked before Sansa could work herself around to it.
"She's with child."
Sansa turned and looked at her brother, hiding her shock. "And how do you know that?"
Bran gave a small sigh and Sansa thought she saw a glimmer of her old sibling. "I can see the past and I can see the present. Maester Wolkan told Tyrion a few moments ago."
Arya's dagger stilled in her hands. "You can see anything that's happening? Can you see where Jon is?"
Bran's brow furrowed and he slowly shook his head. "It's…complicated. There's so much. You don't understand how much is out there. Sometimes I just see things, and I don't know why they're important, why I should care. And if I want to see, I have to know some specifics to be able to look for it. It's so easy to get lost. When I look for Jon…" He shook his head again. "I see parts of his past. He's so close to the Night King…" A shudder ran through him. "If I'm not careful, he could find me. It's too dangerous for all of us." He was silent for a long moment then looked up at his sisters. "I'm sorry. I can't."
Sansa frowned, not understanding. Nothing ever made sense anymore. "Jon will come back. He always does."
Arya jumped off the table. "Saying it doesn't make it true. I'm going to see how good those Dothraki bloodriders, or whatever they're called, really are."
"Arya, they're our guests. You can't go around antagonizing them just because you're bored."
"And they're guarding our niece or nephew now, aren't they? Father always said, in winter, Starks must protect ourselves."
"A Targaryen," Bran said, not looking up.
Arya glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Our blood, however you want to call it. I'm not about to explain to Jon why something happened to them right under our nose."
"It's Winterfell. What could happen to them here?" She paused, her heart sinking. "At least, until an undead dragon brings the walls down on top of us all…"
Her sister tilted her head, holding up the catspaw dagger in her hand. "All of us here know that nowhere is truly safe."
Sansa sighed and nodded towards the door. Arya was gone a moment later. Sansa glanced at Bran who still sat looking into the hearth, his expression the same as it always was. "If you See anything, you'll tell us, right?"
Bran looked at her and Sansa suppressed a shudder. "When I see something that matters."
She had to force herself not to run from the room as she, too, left.
Dany awoke lying on a bed. Something warm was pressed along the length of her and she turned her head to find Ghost sprawled next to her, fast asleep. She sat up slowly, looking down to see she was still in her dress from early, then glanced around the room, surprised to see that they were Jon's.
"Sansa had you brought here. She said you hadn't been to your own rooms since you first arrived," a voice said next to her.
She looked over at Tyrion sitting in a chair next to the bed, his face grim. "How long?"
"Not long. Just long enough for my heart to stop and Maester Wolkan to have a quick look at you." Tyrion shook his head. "He said it was a very standard case of exhaustion, grief, and the small matter of you being with child. Congratulations, by the way."
Dany sighed and pushed up, leaning back against the pillows. "You're angry."
"Angry?" Tyrion shook his head quickly back and forth. "Why would I be angry? Relieved that this entire succession issue I've been wracking my brain about is now a nonissue, yes. Perplexed as to why my Queen wouldn't tell her Hand of such an important development, also yes. Angry?" he shrugged, the sarcasm dripping off him. "Of course not."
Dany couldn't feel anything besides wrung out. She was too tired, emotionally and physically. "I didn't tell you because then it would have been real. I wasn't ready."
Tyrion sighed and slumped back in his chair, running his hands over his face. "I'm sorry about Viserion, truly sorry. I know what the dragons mean to you."
Dany nodded and looked away, unable to deal with the sympathy. "Do you think Davos was right?" she asked finally after a long silent moment. "That the Night King will raise Viserion."
"I don't know, but I think it's something we need to prepare for."
She nodded, falling silent. She knew Tyrion wanted to say more, but he too stayed quiet, eventually standing.
"Sleep, Your Grace. I'll wake you if there's any word. We can talk more later." He forced a smile and then left, the door quietly clicking shut behind him.
Dany settled back into the pillows and furs, tucking her back against the direwolf's, soaking in his heat. But despite her exhaustion, she couldn't fall asleep. Her mind raced as she stared at the freshly stoked fire, unable to slow despite her best efforts. She forced her eyes closed, trying to ignore the images the darkness brought.
She hadn't even realized she'd been asleep when she jerked awake hours later, still not feeling rested. She sat up with a frown, knowing something was wrong, but having trouble placing it through the haze of sleep.
"Are you all right?" a voice asked and she looked over to see Jon's sister Arya stand from where she'd been sitting by the fireplace. The fire was licking away at fresh logs and Dany assumed the girl had kept it going through her sleep.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, pushing the covers back and swinging her legs off the side of the bed, but not yet standing.
"We really need to talk about your guards," Arya replied with a small half smile. "You're family now. I'm still unsure about your motives, but it wouldn't do for something to happen to you before I can make up my mind."
Dany couldn't help the small smirk that slipped onto her face. The Stark girls were slowly growing on her as well. She was about to reply when her gaze slid to the window and the darkness outside.
Arya stood. "What is it?"
Dany's hands fisted in the blankets. It was past sunset. Jon hadn't returned.
