Daenerys swept the sky, high above the fray, safe from even the Night King's reach. As Drogon ascended, she'd watched Rhaegal and Viserion plummet in a tangle of blue and orange flames, but with a shift of direction she'd lost them.
When the great black dragon leveled off, the little queen upon his back squinted into the dark. She'd always felt as powerful as a dragon when on Drogon's back, but for the first time she felt small and insignificant.
She searched below for any sign of Jon and Rhaegal or even Viserion, but she'd lost them all to the dark. Tears burned her eyes despite the icy winds whipping her face. For Jon or for Rhaegal, she couldn't say.
She watched as the first and then second trench was overwhelmed by wights and then as the final trench fell under heavy assault.
If she did nothing, the trench would be lost before their army could fall back behind the walls of Winterfell.
It was amazing the perspective the great height could lend. This wasn't a battle for the North and she could finally see it. This was so much greater than that. It was not risking her dragons for the sake of Winterfell or Northern pride. No, this was a battle for their very right to exist, their right to live and love and their right to want. For death was the true enemy of desire and ambition.
What use was a throne if there was no one left to rule?
What use were dragons if thousands perished?
What use was a crown if it was undeserved?
Drawing a deep breath, she guided Drogon into a dive.
The cold wind whipped at her face and yanked at her braids as she clung to Drogon's back with frozen fingers.
They landed behind the final trench at a weak point, as the piling corpse breeched the barricade.
"Dracarus." She screamed and Drogon set the night ablaze.
Soldiers cheered as they scrambled through the gates of the castle.
Hope bubbled up in her chest for the first time since she'd lost sight of Rhaegal and Viserion in their perilous tumble.
They could do this. They could beat back the dead and survive the night. And by the gods they would. She had not endured so much and fought so long for her story to end here. She was Daenerys Stormborn. Breaker of chains. Mother of dragons. The unburnt. And she would not…
A sudden jolt from Drogon dislodged her from his back, sending her falling to the ground as the dragon launched into the air, flailing and writing to shake the swarm of wight crawling over him like fire ants on carrion.
Her head throbbed from hitting something hard but she struggled to her feet. A burning wight reached from the dying flames and grabbed her ankle. She screamed and shook the corpse loose. A glint caught her eye and she grabbed a sword from a fallen soldier and brandished it before her.
Of all her studies and training, fighting had never been a priority. She'd spent her years across the narrow isles with champions fighting in her place. There had never been a need for her to perfect the art of swordplay and she was surprised to find just how heavy the blade felt in her hands.
She stumbled back toward the gate's of Winterfell.
Soldiers rushed by her, bumping into her. Not noticing or not caring that she was their rightful queen. To her nauseating realization, her birthright meant nothing in the midst of battle. She had no dragon and no Dothraki to rush to her aide. She'd always been a Targaryen alone in the world. But now… now she was just a girl. A girl alone in a battle that was far bigger than her or any throne.
Someone collided with her, knocking her to the ground and not even to slowing to help her back up in their desperation to reach the safety of the walls of Winterfell.
Someone trampled her hand and she shrieked in pain, losing her grip of her found sword.
She was first of her name.
She was Khaleesi.
She was… She was going to die.
The reality of it hit her like a slap. She had always been so sure of her destiny, so sure she was born reclaim the Iron Throne and take back what was taken from her family. Her's was a story of fire and blood… she'd just never imagined the blood would be her own.
"Khaleesi."
Her title, so familiar it felt more like a name than anything else, pulled her from her despair.
She looked up and saw Jorah, covered in blood and mud but still her sweet loyal Jorah. He pulled her up and together the staggered toward the closing gates.
She leaned on her knight for support, until she realized he was barely holding himself up.
"Ser Jorah… we must hurry." She plead, realizing that with each step she was holding him up more than he was holding her up. She felt the heat of blood on her hands and side and knew it was not her own. She couldn't bear to look and confirm the severity of the damage.
"Leave me, Khaleesi." Jorah whispered, the last of his strength failing him as he sank to his knees.
"No."She sobbed. "I will not. I will never abandon you."
Unable to hold him up, she lowered him into the trampled earth.
He squeezed her hand and looked up into her eyes with adoration that had never wavered or faded even now as the light in his eyes had begun to dim.
"Go, Khaleesi."
"No. You cannot die. I forbid it." She clutched his hands desperately.
He just gazed up at her, too weak to speak but she knew what he'd say if he had the words. He'd apologize. He'd apologize that he couldn't follow that last order. Because for all her followers and supporters, friends and allies… he was the only person she knew and trusted would be by her side. Come what may. Without him… Without him she was truly a Targaryen alone in the world…
And that was a terrible thing.
"Don't leave me." She sobbed, blinded by her grief even as hands grabbed her and pulled her away from her knight. Even as she screamed and plead to be left by his side.
Merry Christmas Eve! For those of you who wanted Jorah dead, I hope you liked your present... For those of you that didn't... well... That's Game of Thrones for you!
Please review.