Rain on her face woke Dany up. Her sleep had been blank, just like the night before, which she welcomed after the nightmares she'd been having. More droplets fell on her face and Dany's eyes shot open.
This is supposed to be a cave, how is it raining?
The answer came in the form of a wet Northman standing above her, arms full of wood and hair dripping.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Jon said, "I've just gathered some more wood. Found a couple of mostly dry pieces to keep the fire going until the rest can dry out."
"I thought we were moving on today," Dany replied, sitting up and blinking the sleep from her eyes.
"We were. But I don't fancy swimming all the way across Crackclaw Point, and I expect you don't either."
"Is it bad outside?"
"If it were snow, we'd be digging ourselves out of this cave," Jon said.
Dany's eyes widened at the prospect. Winter was not fully upon them in the more southern part of Westeros, but she knew that paralyzing snows were a very real threat as they journeyed further north.
Jon dropped one more branch on the fire, which popped and crackled appreciatively. "I'm going back out to see about more food," he told her.
"But you just said -"
"I'd much prefer to be soaked and have more food than stale bread than to be dry and have nothing but stale bread. I think we should avoid people as much as possible and that means foraging before it all dies in the cold. I just don't fancy traveling in the rain."
"I'll come with - ah!" Dany had started to stand up and, forgetting about her hand, pushed off from her right side. The end effect was a thud and yelp that echoed in the cave room. Shooting pains went through her hand, which was still off-color even for how pale she was naturally.
Jon smiled sympathetically. "Don't worry," he said, "Just stay and rest. I'll be back past midday. I promise."
Thoroughly displeased with the continuation being feeling like a helpless child, Dany spent a while pacing around the cave room and trying to flex her fingers in and out. The more she did it, the duller the pain was, but her hand started to continuously ache instead and she didn't know if that was better or worse.
"Seven hells," she muttered angrily as she kicked at the cave floor. Her kick echoed, and then another kick echoed back from the path that led further into the cave.
Dany jumped. The cave was deserted. Jon had said so. But I didn't kick again.
"You're not a child," she muttered. Steeling herself, Dany quietly walked over to the pile Jon had left when he emptied the satchel to take out for foraging. She picked up one of the several candles and lit in on the fire. Don't walk in vulnerable, her mind warned.
Grimacing, Dany transferred the candle to her bad hand (it protested with several more stabbing pains before going back to aching) and picked up a small knife that Jon had left behind. Facing the dark path, she whispered, "You're not helpless," before walking into the black.
The downward-sloping path narrowed quickly, and Dany had to turn sideways so as not to scrape her shoulders on rock. The ceiling lowered as well - Jon would have needed to stoop. After picking her way along the narrow path for a while, Dany suddenly found herself emptied out into a chamber even larger than the one she and Jon were staying in. It was somehow brighter, even with just the candlelight, and the ceiling was high and adorned with stalactites of varying lengths. A few even reach closed to their partners coming from the floor. The candlelight reflected of hints of glittering quartz on the walls and she heard a steady drip from the rain outside filtering into another cave pool.
Turning in a circle, Dany took a moment to take it all -
"What are you doing in my cave?"
"AH - OW!" Dany screamed, spinning around and gripping her candle so hard that she felt as though her hand might light on fire. She dropped the candle, which went out only to be replaced with the light of a torch held close to her face by one of the most wizened old women Dany had ever met.
"Eh?" the old woman said, leaning her suspicious face closer, "Rhaella?"
"N-no," Dany replied, shocked to hear her long-dead mother's name, but remembering to hold her knife up which she pointed at the woman with a violently shaking left hand, "Daenerys."
The woman gasped, taking a step back, her face changing from suspicion to...Dany didn't know a word for it. It was not love or admiration, but there was a fondness to it and the woman's eyes - which Dany noticed were bright despite the her old and wrinkled appearance - seemed to twinkle. She found herself lowering her knife, strangely pacified by the woman's expression, though she had never seen it on a face before.
"Daenerys," the woman said, "Gods bless me. I never thought I'd live to see you again."
"Again?" Dany repeated through slightly gritted teeth having regained enough composure to feel her angry hand throbbing.
The woman smiled, revealing teeth considerably yellowed with age. "My name is Soraya," she said, "I was with your family on Dragonstone - I'm a woods witch."
At this, it was Dany's turn to take a step backwards, face darkening. Woods witches. Like Essosi godswives. Like Mirri Maz Dur.
Soraya let out a barking laugh that echoed through the cave. It was oddly soothing, and she felt placated from her fears despite herself. "Not like in Essos, dear," she said, as if reading Dany's mind, "I just happen to like plants."
"How did you -"
"Oh," Soraya replied, grunting as she leaned down to pick up Dany's dropped candle, "I'm a good listener. Always kept an ear out for Targaryen news on the roads these past years. Though I never expected to see another in the flesh."
She held out the candle for Dany. Reaching with her right hand, which shot pain again, Dany hesitated and switched to grabbing it along with the knife in her left hand.
"Something wrong with your hand, dear?"
"It's quite a long story," Dany replied, feeling, again despite herself, a compelling force to trust and speak to the old woman.
"Well," Soraya said, grunting again as she hobbled past Dany towards the direction of the narrow path, "Why don't we walk back to where you came from and you can tell me all about what led you to end up in my cave. And I can fix your hand up - and give you a lesson about not sticking it in winter water!"
"How did you -" Dany started again, following the woman without thinking.
Soraya barked another laugh. "I'm old, dear, not blind!" she said over her shoulder as she started back down the narrow path, torch lighting the way.
"Quite a story," Soraya said to Dany, not looking up from her work. She had produced dozens of strips of multicolored cloth from a sack tied around her waist and was dipping them alternately in a small pail of fire-warmed water from the pool before patting them gently on Dany's injured hand, which lay on the woman's lap, in turn. The pail had been tied to another part of her person. In fact, the more Dany looked at Soraya, the more things she found to see.
Soraya had small bags, pouches, and knick knacks tied in different places around her body. She wore a thick, patched dress of dozens of patterns and colors, which Dany believed to also have several layers for it flowed outwardly around the woman in a way that could not be done by her body alone and seemed to hold even more trinkets. Though seemingly haphazard, Dany thought there must be a method to how Soraya tied everything. None of the items made sounds when she was moving around.
"Yes," Dany said, "And I'm still not sure I did the right thing by leaving." Compelled by her feeling of innate trust, Dany had told the woman almost everything from the end of the Battle at Winterfell (Soraya having already heard most of what happened before that from passing news sources in need of her woods witch healing) to the moment she walked down the narrow path hours before.
Soraya paused in the midst of patting a cloth onto Dany's hand. "Whether or not it's the right thing," she said in a grave tone, "Killing never is. You are not a coward to turn your back on that. Nor are you a coward to trust in your choices. The world is still turning, isn't it?"
Dany nodded solemnly, wincing slightly as Soraya slowly turned her hand over to have the palm face upward. It had begun aching as Soraya treated it and the color had come back more.
She continued work on Dany's hand with only the popping of the fire punctuating the still cave air.
"What would my mother have done?" Dany suddenly asked, breaking the silence. She had never heard much about her mother, the people who knew her family having always been consumed with talk of her brothers and father, and Viserys only ever blaming Dany for Rhaella's death.
"That, I do not know," Soraya replied, "I knew your mother only as her midwife during the months of her pregnancy with you, and she was very withdrawn. We often sat together while I dried and sorted my herbs, but she didn't speak much. I do know, however, that she only ever hoped for a good life for you and your brother. Even after losing all else, and knowing she was dying, that's all she spoke of. I have prayed to the gods since the day they took you away across the sea - the day I fled to end up in this very cave before Stannis Baratheon came charging onto Dragonstone - that that would happen. Perhaps the gods are listening."
She gently wrapped Dany's hand in a long piece of cloth (this one soft and blue with a faint silver pattern) and patted it. It didn't protest at the touch and Dany found herself smiling at Soraya, feeling light in more ways than just less burdened by hand pain.
"Thank you, Soraya," she said. She thought she ought to add more, but found herself at a loss for words.
Soraya placed a wrinkled hand upon Dany's cheek, her eyes brimmed with emotion as she studied Dany's face as if to make certain to never forget it. "My dear Daenerys, the gods have blessed me enough today for a whole lifetime."
Familiar footsteps with a distinct wet sound interrupted the moment. Both women turned towards the source.
"Dany, I -" Jon stopped in his tracks and sentence as he saw the scene before him in the cave.
"Ah," Soraya said, rising from her rock with a distinct click of old bones, "You must be Jon Snow."
"Yes, how did you -"
"I've been hearing about you for a while now," Soraya said with a smirk playing across her ancient face.
She then turned to Dany, her expression the same as it was when they first met in the cave. "I wish you good fortune in the years to come, Daenerys Targaryen. May you find peace from the past and warmth in your future. And may you find use for this," she said, handing Dany a satchel that she had not seen tied anywhere on Soraya before.
The woods witch nodded once in Jon's direction and then gave Dany a parting smile before hobbling off down the narrow path. Woman and shuffling footsteps disappeared into the darkness at the same time.
"What just happened?" Jon asked Dany, bewilderedly settling down on the rock where Soraya had sat and placing his weighed down satchel on the cave floor.
Dany moved to stand closer in front of him, her legs in between his, flush against the rock as a small smile still playing at her lips. She felt her stomach relieved of lead and acid for the first time since they had begun the journey.
"My hand is getting better," she said quietly, leaning down slightly to have her face closer to his while lifting up her newly-wrapped appendage to show him.
"Yes, but -"
"Shhh," Dany said, placing her arms around Jon, moving down further and pulling him forward into a kiss.
As he responded, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer, Dany felt warmth.
I quite enjoyed writing this chapter and writing Soraya, who was heavily influenced by figures like Uncle Iroh from Avatar: The Last Airbender.
Until next time.