Chapter Twenty-five

Daenerys slid off Drogon's back, quickly lowering herself to the ground and falling to her knees beside him. She could feel his labored breath hot against her skin as she ran her trembling hands over his muzzle, desperately hoping that he would open his eyes again. Behind her, she heard horses racing toward them, but she was barely conscious of the sound. All she cared about was waking up her beloved child before he took his last breath.

Quiet words of encouragement poured from her throat as she tried to coax him awake. But nothing worked. With each moment that passed, his breath grew shallower, and soon, she could barely detect it at all. Hot tears stained her cheeks as she clung to Drogon, silently praying that he would live.

"You are not going to die," she said, her tone hard. "You are not."

An instant later, Jon was at her side. He knelt on the ground next to her, one arm wrapping around her shoulder. "The maester is here. He will do all he can for him. You must come away."

Daenerys didn't want to hear a word of it. She held onto Drogon, just as she had before, with no intention of ever leaving his side.

Jon drew closer, his voice low and quiet. "You are a queen. You must act like one. Always. Queens do not grieve, at least not where others can see. You must come away."

"I can't leave him. He'll die without me."

"There's nothing you can do for him. Can you mend his wounds? Can you give him milk of the poppy? No. You can't do anything for him. He knows you love him, and he knows you are not abandoning him. But you must walk away now. There are bigger battles to fight, whether we want to fight them or not."

Daenerys looked over Jon's shoulder. There was a man standing behind him dressed in grey robes, a maester's chain hanging about his neck. He was already examining the gashes on Drogon's hide, and Daenerys knew she was doing him no favors by acting like a hysterical female. As painful as it was to admit, Jon was right. There was nothing she could do for Drogon now. She had to step away and let the maester do his work if Drogon had any hope of surviving.

Daenerys pulled from Jon's grasp, afraid that the men who had gathered around them might question their closeness. She patted Drogon one last time and whispered a silent prayer before finally rising. She stood to her full height, pulling her shoulders back and willing the tears from her eyes. She would not show weakness to anyone, especially the men she was leading into battle.

Daenerys turned toward Rhaegal. She needed to make sure that he was safe before she worried about anything else. He was sitting a few yards away, and she approached him with confident strides, examining him as she drew closer. His wounds, though numerous, appeared to be superficial. His eyes, which were intently focused on Drogon, were still clear and bright. Daenerys knew he was agitated. She could tell by the way he flexed his claws into the earth at regular intervals. He wanted to be aloft, but he was staying on the ground because she had yet to give him leave to go. She would not let him go, not now. No matter how much he wanted to be free. She feared he would rain even more destruction down upon the earth if she let him go on his own. Both of his brothers had fallen within the span of a few hours, and she knew he was desperate to exorcize his rage.

When Daenerys reached Rhaegal, she held out a hand to him, stroking his snout with gentle, even movements. She whispered quiet words of encouragement, doing all she could to quench the fire burning inside him. "It's all right," she said. "You must stay with me now. We must make sure that Drogon lives through the night. We must stay by his side."

Rhaegal's eyes moved from Drogon to Daenerys. Even if he didn't fully understand her words, she knew he understood what she was asking. And she knew he would stay until she gave him permission to go.

Daenerys patted him gently and then stepped away. Rhaegal pushed himself up off the ground, standing to his full height and unfurling his wings. He flapped them several times, stretching his whole body in a display of raw strength. Then, he folded his wings, hunkered down and lowered his head to the ground, his eyes locked on Drogon. Daenerys knew that Rhaegal would not move from that spot until he was certain of his brother's fate.

Daenerys turned back toward the camp. Jon, Jorah, and Ser Davos were clustered together a few yards away, waiting for her. Daenerys hoped that Jon had already apprised the two knights of what had happened on their journey north. She didn't feel like talking anymore. All she wanted was to retire to her own tent and have a good cry.

Hardening her heart against the turmoil raging inside her, Daenerys approached the small group of men. "I trust Jon has told you about Viserion," she said, directing her words to Ser Davos but meaning them for Jorah as well.

"Yes, Your Grace," the Onion Knight replied. "He has also apprised us of the Night King's movements and the scope of the army that is headed our way."

Daenerys scanned the sea of men in the distance. She knew most of them would perish on the morrow, and she knew there was nothing she could do to stop it. "The battle will come with the sunrise," she said. "If not with the sunrise, then before the next nightfall."

"If we fail," Ser Davos said, "it shall be the last sunrise for a thousand years. We must be victorious."

"And we will be. We have no other choice."

Daenerys was done talking. Without another word to anyone, she headed straight for her tent. As she passed, she caught Jorah's eye, and she could see the sympathy there. He knew better than anyone what her dragons meant to her. He was a true friend, and she was thankful that she had realized it before it was too late.

Daenerys entered the tent, Jon following behind her. She wished she could spend the night in his arms, forgetting the misery she had suffered, but it was a risk they couldn't take. They were surrounded by people and battle was imminent. The time for lovemaking was long past. The best she could hope for was to ask him to hold her as she cried out her grief.

The interior of the tent was surprisingly spacious, and although it was comfortably outfitted, the accommodations were not lavish. Everything inside served a functional purpose, including the bed in the far corner of the room. Daenerys moved directly toward it, collapsing onto the edge of the mattress and hiding her face in her hands as she began to sob uncontrollably.

Soon, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, and she buried her face in Jon's shoulder, the tears flowing freely against his leathers. Daenerys had lost a great deal in her life. She had thought she would never know grief again the way she had when she'd lost Drogo. But now, losing Viserion twice, and waiting for word of Drogon, her heart was so heavy she thought it might burst. Every nerve in her body ached with sorrow, and she didn't know how she was going to go on.

Jon didn't speak. Instead, he sat there silently stroking her hair, letting her cry. She was thankful that he wasn't trying to fill her ears with platitudes. Nothing he could possibly say could quell the misery in her heart, and it was best if they both stayed silent.

It took a long time for the tears to subside. When she had finally cried herself out, Daenerys stared blindly out into the center of the makeshift room, her mind as numb as her body. Jon's arms tightened around her, and he placed a single kiss against the top of her head.

Daenerys closed her eyes, a dry sob escaping her throat. She knew that he loved her deeply, and yet, all that love could not take away her pain. She was simply too broken.

Jon pulled back, forcing Daenerys to sit up straighter. His arms were still wrapped lightly around her as she looked up at his face. The dark eyes that met hers were filled with tenderness and compassion. She knew he understood her suffering, but that didn't mean there was anything he could do to comfort her.

Without a word, Jon leaned forward, kissing her softly. It was a sweet kiss, slow and gentle. It eased the aching of her heart, but only for a moment. The instant he pulled away, the pain returned, and she stared up at him plaintively, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Jon moved his hand to her cheek, wiping away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "Don't cry, my love. You've shed enough tears for one night. You don't have to shed any more."

"I feel as if I could cry enough tears to fill the Narrow Sea. My heart bleeds for my children, and I simply cannot stop it."

"Maybe I can quell the tide, at least for a little while." He leaned closer and kissed her again. This time, there was nothing sweet about it. He drew her up onto his lap, kissing her deeply, making her head swim.

Daenerys knew she couldn't let him go too far, but she wouldn't deny herself his touch, at least not just yet. She clung to him, kissing him back with startling ferocity, pouring all her pain and anguish into the kiss. She wanted to be one with Jon, to let him take away her sorrow. She wanted him to make her whole again, to fix her broken heart.

And for a moment, it worked. For a moment, as his hands explored her body and his mouth devoured hers, she forgot all of it. Viserion, Drogon, the Night King. But it was a momentary lapse, gone nearly as quickly as it had begun. And soon, her mind was once again fraught with nothing but sorrow and dread, and her soul ached anew.

Jon broke the kiss, leaving just enough space between them to catch his breath. "Let me love you," he said. "Let me take away your pain, at least for a little while."

"We can't," Daenerys replied, the words barely a whisper. "We can't be seen like this. We both know it. Our time has passed. If we survive the morrow, perhaps we will love each other again someday, but not tonight. Not with an army of men just outside the door."

They were difficult words for her to say, but they were true. Daenerys summoned up all her strength and untangled herself from Jon's arms. She stood, knowing if she sat back beside him on the bed, her resolve would waiver and she'd succumb to his advances. She took a step back, giving Jon room to stand. It took him a moment, but finally, he rose from the bed, staring down at her, his soft brown eyes full of regret.

"I will be in the next tent if you need me," Jon said. "Do not hesitate to send for me if you change your mind." He lifted up a hand and gently caressed her cheek. "I love you, Daenerys Stormborn. I love you more with every day that passes. Whatever our future holds, never forget that." Then, he kissed her once more, gently this time. It was a kiss of parting. A kiss of goodbye.

Daenerys nearly sobbed when he pulled away, but she somehow managed to hold herself in check. Jon took one last look at her before turning away and leaving the tent. Once he was gone, Daenerys stood in the deafening silence, staring after him, wondering if she had just made a terrible mistake. Because, although she was a queen, she was also a woman, and she had spent far too much of her life denying her woman's heart. She wished she could go to him, but she knew she couldn't. She couldn't go to Drogon either. She had no choice but to spend the long hours ahead alone in her tent, pretending that she was completely unmoved by all she had suffered. Even while she was quietly dying inside.