"I didn't mean it." Daenerys said, her voice quivered sounding small and childish even to her own ears as she and Varys wound their way through the dim crypts lit only by the torch in the Spider's hand. The flickering light of the flames glittered off the rings on his hand.
The perfumed, bald man hadn't said a word since he'd sent Brienne to the godswood to aid the Starks.
Not a word passed his lips as he guided her by the arm across the overrun yard of Winterfell and down into the crypts.
As they passed through tunnels littered with bodies and the cold sightless eyes of the stone faced Starks of old, she was left alone with her own tattered and tangled thoughts. And every thought drifted back to Jorah. He'd been by her side at her greatest triumphs as well as her darkest despair. He was her oldest friend and truest ally. He'd been friend, family, and so much more. When he'd returned cured of greyscale, a part of her had grown comfortable with his seeming imperviousness. He'd survived the unsurvivable. She realized now that a part of her believed he always would.
It was easy to keep someone at arms length when you believed there would always be time to change you mind. But time was up. The battle for the dawn had stolen what she thought she could never lose. In the wake of such a profound loss, the very earth beneath her feet seemed no longer steady.
How could she be held accountable for word or action brought on when her very foundation had crumbled?
They hurried down the tunnels, the occasional evacuee elbowing past them in their rush to escape the threat of the dead, unaware that the small, filth covered woman they pushed aside was their queen. Not, she realized, that they would care if they did.
There were not small folks toasting in secret to their rightful queen. Birthright meant nothing to those who's greatest concern was keeping their family fed and safe from a seemingly endless war.
"I said I didn't mean it." She said, her voice more steady.
Varys stopped so suddenly that she crashed into his back. He turned around and looked her evenly in the eye. She met his gaze for a long moment, but there was something in his eyes that made her uneasy and she looked down.
"But you said it." He said, as calmly as if they were discussing a simple trade agreement between two prosperous and peaceful kingdoms. Despite the calm, she felt the condemnation underneath.
Whatever favor she'd had with the spymaster was gone.
"I was distraught." She stammered. "Jorah…"
"Do you think composure is something a monarch needs only in times of peace?" He asked. "You are what you choose in your weakest moments. You're remembered for what you do when the choice is hard, not when it's easy. Your father did great things during his reign, but all anyone remembers is a mad king. Robert brought a impressive period of peace and prosperity. All anyone remembers is the fat and drunken king killed by a boar."
Daenerys nodded and began to walk again. "I understand."
Varys pulled her to a stop. "No offense meant, but you don't. Do you know how you'd be remembered if you died tonight?"
She shook her head.
"Not as Daenerys Stormborn. Not as the breaker of chains or the mother of Dragons. No, you would be the Mad Queen. Like father like daughter. Your legacy is the choices you make in your darkest hour.""
"I didn't…"
"Mean it." Varys finished for her. "So you said. But that doesn't change the fact that a part of you did in fact mean it. You, my dear queen, are very much like an old friend of mine. You would let the world burn if you could be queen of the ashes. And that, my dear queen, is why you will never be a good ruler."
Daenerys recoiled. She was not accustomed to being chastised like a foolish child and instinctively wanted to spurn his harsh words. Still… as stinging and bitter as they tasted, they rang true.
"You serve me, Lord Varys." She reminded him, but there was no bite in her words.
"No, your grace, I serve the realm. My allegiance to you lasts only so long as your agenda remains aligned with the realms best interest."
"That makes you a fickle friend."
"I did not seek you out to be your friend, your grace."
They turned a corner and ahead by faint torch light, she saw an opening. Bodies were piled up and the opening was slim, barely large enough for one big man to squeeze through. Gendry Waters stood at the mouth of the opening, almost unrecognizable beneath the layers of blood and filth, helping man after man out the opening as a hand reached down from above, pulling them up and out.
A burst of relief exploded in her chest, surging out in an almost hysterical giggle.
"We're saved."
Something slammed into her, knocking her hard into the wall of the tunnel. Dazed, it took her a moment to regain her senses. When she had, she turned to see the source of the attack.
Where she'd stood, she found Vary, swaying unsteadily.
Across his middle spread a wide, gaping smile of split flesh, his guts held in by now of his own pale, jeweled hands. The torch flickering on the stone floor.
On the ground before him lay, slain for the second time that night, Ser Jorah. A dragon glass knife stuck out of the wight's eye.
A wail rose up in Daenerys's throat, but she bit it back as the Spider stumbled back.
"Lord Varys." She caught him under the arm but she could do little more than slow the large man's fall. Her elbow hit stone as she fell with him and she hissed in pain.
Varys looked down at his bloody hands, a strange expression claiming his face.
Daenerys reached toward the wound, but she knew there was not use. The Master of Whispers would die.
"To live by the pen but die by the sword." Varys coughed and blood bubbled to his lips.
Daenerys considered advising him to strength, but she didn't supposed it mattered if he lived for seconds or for minutes. The color seemed to be draining from his face before her eyes, his parlor always pale but now tinged with gray.
"Thank you." She whispered, realizing that though he no longer had faith in her as a queen he'd still protected her life with no thought of his own.
"You're not…" Varys choked.
"What?"
"You're not the last Targaryen." He finished. "There's another… one with a better claim. He… he could break the wheel."
Daenerys recoiled at the dying man's words.
"That's impossible."
"You are your choices…" Varys's words slowed, dragging with the effort. "Choose better."
She opened her mouth to speak but found herself lost for words.
"Milady!"
She looked up as Gendry Waters knelt beside her. When she look back, Varys's gaze had left her, drifting off into the blank void of death.
She was no stranger to violent ends, but her stomach churned.
You're not the last Targaryen.
Was it true? She's come all this way… To Westeros… to the North… because she was the last Targaryen. She'd come because the Iron Throne was hers by right. But what if Varys spoke the truth? What if the very story she'd built her identity upon was nothing more than a lie. Could she set aside her claim for another whose right was greater? If she didn't, was she any better than the usurpers who'd sullied the seat since the overthrow of her family?
If she wasn't the last Targaryen… who was she?
"He's gone, milady." Gendry said, helping her to her feet.
She didn't bother to correct how he addressed her. Didn't bother to tell him she was his queen not some lady.
His hand wrapped around hers and pulled her in the direction of their escape from this horrible place, but she didn't know if it mattered anymore. Something of her had died this terrible night. Something she didn't have a name for, but mourned regardless.
Gendry hoisted her up through the opening and the Hound wrapped an arm beneath hers and pulled her through the opening.
"Thought you were dead." The Hound growled in her ear as he set her on what she realized was a pile of dead wights.
She didn't bother to respond and he didn't wait for one, instead, he ducked back through the opening and hefted out Gendry.
"You're a mad cunt, you know that?" The Hound said to the the boy. To Daenerys's surprise it sounded like a compliment despite the words spoken. The bastard from King's Landing chuckled and then wearily rose to his feet. He looked over at Daenerys and held out a hand to her.
"Let's get you somewhere safe, milady."
She slipped her hand into his and let him pull her to her feet.
"Are you hurt?" Gendry asked.
She shook her head but said nothing as they walked into the dark woods, surprisingly peaceful on such a night.
"'Course not." The Hound said. "Queens don't get hurt in wars. They stand by while others bleed on their behalf."
Daenerys looked at him, shocked by the audacity of his words. She'd stayed and fought while the majority of the women fled.
"Don't mind him." Gendry said. "He doesn't mean what he says."
The Hound scratched at some blood drying on the horribly disfigured side of his face.
"Hells I don't." He said. "The day I bow to another monarch is the day they find one who's not made of the same horse shit as the rest of them."
A roar shattered the silence of the woods. Daenerys looked up and saw the underbelly of a dragon circling low.
"One of yours?" Gendry asked, an understandable flash of fear crossing his face.
"Drogon." She said with a nod, the warmth of fire slowly building in her veins and the barest hint of a smile rising to the surface as the crippling doubt subsided.
Perhaps Varys had spoken the truth and perhaps he hadn't. She face the ramifications if his words proved true when they came. But until then, she knew who she was, who she'd been long before she thought to call herself a queen.
She was Daenerys Stormborn, mother of dragons.
Of that she was as certain as she was that this night would eventually end and the sun would rise to the East.
"Gather the survivors." She said, her voice steady to her own ears for the first time in a long while. "Make for shore with as much haste as you can. I'll burn back as many of the dead as I can then I'll fly Iron Islands. Reach the shore and ships will be waiting with aid and supplies. I swear it."
Gendry glanced uncertainly at the Hound but then nodded. "Yes, milady."
"Khaleesi." She corrected, feeling a swell of familiarity at the title Jorah had always preferred, even when she'd taken to calling herself a queen. "Winterfell is lost but the night is not. The dead do not win so long as there is breath in our lungs. Do not lose hope."
The Hound grumbled something she couldn't make out, but Gendry nodded. "Yes, Khaleesi."
Thank you for your kind messages regarding my grandpa. It's been a pretty difficult two weeks for a number of reasons, but I'm glad to be back to writing. I'm excited to say we're about 5 chapters away from the end of this episode. The POV for 4 of those chapters is set in stone, but if there's anyone you're dying to see before the end of the episode, let me know and I'll see what I can swing!