Daenerys' level of worry somehow increased as she saw the foreboding night sky return above them as they flew. Viserion landed with a loud thud in the snow. She slid off his side, followed at a slower pace by Jorah. He was giving her the space she needed to cope with this moment. He could already tell what had happened and knew that, until she saw it for herself, there was no way she was going to accept that it had happened. But even from where the dragon had landed they could see a lone body lying in the snow, a surprising distance from where the golden explosion had occurred. She put a hand to her mouth and allowed the tears to finally fall. She ran to the body as fast as her legs would allow before kneeling on the ground. She sobbed as she looked at the prone figure of Bruda. Jorah couldn't remember a time he had ever seen her show this side of her emotions so clearly. She'd always been able to hold that sadness in, even if he didn't think that was the healthy thing to do. But it surprised him to see it even now; it highlighted to him how much the warlock had meant to her.

She stroked the cool face of the body gently with her hand, noting how it was already cold to the touch. She took some consolation in the fact that he looked the most at peace she had ever seen him. She ran her hand through his wild beard, tears still falling down her cheeks. Jorah stood back, watching, as he allowed her to grieve. He had been brought up as a strong Northerner, told never to let his emotions show since they implied weakness. Yet, as he saw his friend lying there, he found that he was really struggling to follow that inbuilt nature of his. It was made worse by the sight of Daenerys, on the floor, leaning over Bruda as she repeatedly uttered the single word "no" over and over again. It was if she believed that, through sheer will alone, she'd be able to bring that vibrant and charismatic man back to the land of the living. After a while, she whispered a phrase that Jorah couldn't hear into the warlock's ear. She might tell him one day what she said but now was definitely not the time. She sat up eventually, looking into the distance and then to Jorah.

"He saved us all," she muttered, although she didn't sound too happy about. Her voice kept breaking as she spoke. "He has saved so many lives. People he will never know. How is it fair that they get to live and he doesn't?" She wanted to scream into the cold, night air.

"You know he wouldn't have wanted to live if it meant others dying. That would go against his whole nature."

"He knew he was going to die, didn't he?"

"It's likely. I think he accepted his fate a long time ago. He knew that the Night King was one enemy too far in the end. It took too much energy out of him to destroy him. He spoke about magical exhaustion before. As if he was preparing us for this to happen and yet we didn't pay enough notice."

"So it was just another secret he kept to himself, right until the very end."

"Would you have allowed him to walk away if you'd known what the likely outcome was?"

"...no."

"Exactly. And he would have figured that out. He didn't even have to tell us what his name really meant. He could have done all this without divulging that information. But he trusted us enough to tell us. He cared about you so much he was willing to risk everything to make you happy."

"And I let him die."

"You did not!" She was shocked by the angry outburst. "And if he heard you say that, he'd be just as angry with you as I am." She just wanted to wallow in self-pity. She observed his face again.

"I just want people to know what he did. Not just today but since joining us." She backed up slightly in alarm as his hands began to glow the familiar golden colour. Daenerys stood up, backing into Jorah. The golden energy spread across the whole of his body until it was glowing brightly.

"What's happening?" she asked, frightened.

"I think he knows now. His body was waiting. He always spoke of stories and how they were crucial." She remembered that pleasant conversation they had shared at Dragonstone, the same one that had helped her eventually figure out his secret. "He wanted to be remembered. And he now knows that he will be." They watched as the golden energy grew brighter before it began to split into tiny particles. His body began to dissipate as the particles drifted into the air. Daenerys snuggled into Jorah closely, crying even harder, as they watched him disappear into the night sky. She hoped that he made it to the stars so that his tale would be able to dance amongst them. An outline of his body was left in the snow and she noticed something remaining there. She knelt down and smiled despite everything. It was still a sad smile. She picked the object up and showed it to Jorah. It was the pin she had commissioned to be made for him to represent his place in her council. She held it tight to her chest.

She was still holding it as they made their way into the courtyard. There was a strange silence that filled the air as people tried to wrap their minds around what had happened. Some people were just wandering around the cobbled area, trying their best not to look at all the bodies that were strewn over the ground. Although most of the corpses were recognisable as wights, there was still a troubling amount of bodies that had been fighting on their side. The cleaning up process had already begun with bodies being pushed to one side, departed people being separated from the unholy creatures. It wouldn't do to leave them out in the open for too long. Not only did it keep the horrors of the battle right in front of them, but it also disrespected those who had sacrificed everything. Daenerys was doing her best to look at every person who had fallen. She felt that she needed to acknowledge them even if they hadn't been fighting directly on behalf. She felt considerable amounts of guilt when she saw Dothraki warriors being moved to one pile, the people she had brought here only for her own gain. Had she been selfish? Had she caused the death of these people, along with Bruda? She gripped the pin tighter.

"Oh I am glad to see you two!" came a recognisable shout from across the yard. Davos, his face speckled with blood, walked over to them with a relieved expression on his face. Daenerys was warmed by the smile he wore on his face but didn't have the heart to show it on her face. "When you went off Jorah, I feared the worst. I don't know how I got through it all. A brave young lad fought by my side. Helped me get the best of a particularly large swarm of them. He...didn't make it. I was meaning to have a word with Stannis, see if I can reach out to his family or something." He was wary of the sombre expressions they were wearing. "And you, your Grace! Up there in the sky! A sight to behold. You saved a lot of people tonight." That didn't make her feel any better. "But then, I guess that son of a bitch did it again. If only I could be surprised by his talents. Have you seen him? There's a lot of people that would like to make their gratitude known."

Daenerys started crying again and Davos had no clue what he had said to prompt such a reaction. He looked at Jorah, who kept the grave expression on his face.

"Bruda...that explosion you saw...you know he caused it...but he ultimately perished in it too." Davos took a step back, attempting to stop the tears from falling. He threw his sword to the ground with a loud clang, causing others nearby to look up in alarm. He kept shaking his head, not accepting the hard truth.

"Shit," he muttered with anger evident in his voice. "The one person I thought who was guaranteed to get through all of this." He looked at Daenerys and tilted her chin so that she was looking at him. He wiped a few tears away, wincing when he saw the mud he left behind on her cheeks. "He was a good man. One of the best I knew. And he wouldn't want you spending so much effort mourning him. I know you'll need time, we all will. But the best way of honouring his death is moving on from this and winning that Throne." She reluctantly nodded her head and he gave her a small smile. Unnoticed by them, nearby, Melisandre rushed away fighting back her own tears.

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Outside Winterfell, a day after the events of the battle against the Night King's army, multiple wooden piles had been erected, logs stacked on top of each other. On top of them lay the dead. The ones filled with Wight corpses were already burning away, no one giving them any notice. They may have been victims themselves but they just couldn't look past the facades of monsters they had worn the day before. The fires were sending an acrid smell across the grounds of the castle but people still stood there, watching in silence as they waited for the ceremony to begin. A few members of the crowd stood holding flaming torches in front of each stack. It was a solemn duty they had but one they had gravely accepted.

One of those people was Daenerys, whose already dire mood after the massive loss she had suffered had only worsened after discovering that Ser Barristan Selmy has been one of the many people to fall in the battle. His body lay closest to her and she looked at his ashen face. He had saved her life the first time he had met her and had subsequently served her valiantly. He was the noble knight that she had desired, who was devoted to protecting her. She felt quite sad that she had never grown close to him, especially considering her relationships with Jorah, Bruda, and even Davos now. But that wasn't the sort of person he had been. Driven by duty and a clever strategic mind. He had wanted to die a knight and he had done just that in her eyes.

Further down the line stood a forlorn Bronn. He had been on the brink of finally succumbing to the hordes of the undead when the ones around him had suddenly dropped to the ground. That last-minute intervention had left him feeling very lucky, maybe undeservedly so. Because he had then soon seen his two...associates...accomplices...friends on the ground. He hadn't cried. He wasn't the crying sort. But he had been left to wonder why he had been spared. They were much better people than him, especially Brienne. Jaime had definitely grown as a person, whilst he had only stagnated, remaining the selfish man he had always been. Was he going to change? Probably not. It wasn't worth it now. He had no one left to work for. He'd go back to his sellsword ways. He hadn't made a single penny for quite a while now, after all. But, for their sake, he'd be more careful when choosing who he worked for. He felt they'd appreciate that. It was possible that they had helped him become a slightly better person. Possibly. He'd never openly admit it. He'd think it, for them. He looked at their bodies, appropriately laid out next to each other. He knew that they had been close, strangely so. It was as if they were destined to be together. They'd just taken that too fucking literally, he thought bitterly. He bent down, staring one last time at Jaime, before he reached down and unclasped the golden hand he was wearing. It symbolised the growth Jaime had been through in a sense. It wasn't right to let it melt in the fire as if that growth was for nothing. He'd keep it to remember them by and to remind him that he could still grow too.

Tormund, wearing an unusually sombre expression compared to his frequent playful snarl, was another person tasked with lighting one of the pyres. On it lay his long time leader and comrade, Mance Rayder, whose midsection had been cleaned to some extent to remove the most obvious signs of his fatal wound. This wasn't about thinking about how they died but instead remembering who they had been beforehand. He had been an incredibly sour and blunt man but one of the most politically intelligent figures he had ever met. Jon, who was standing by his side, was having similar thoughts. When they first met, Mance could have easily had him killed there and then. But he had obviously seen something in him, which Jon still couldn't figure out. A brave man. Doing anything to protect his people. Uniting them as one large force, striking a political deal with Stannis to secure their safety, and, ultimately, dying in the fight to save them. He was yet another mentor figure that Jon had lost. First Eddard Stark, who had shown him fleeting moments of compassion when Catelyn hadn't been looking. Then Jeor Mormont, who had helped him become a better man and fighter as part of a group, turning him away from a life of being the lone wolf. And now Mance. Yet, he felt that he didn't deserve the right to mourn - there were many wildlings still alive who had lost their saviour. His grievances didn't come close to what they must have been feeling. He stroked the ear of Ghost, who was lying by his side. Well, at least the one ear that was remaining. It seemed that a Wight had managed to bite one off, yet his direwolf had continued to fight. He was just happy to see that he had made it through the battle.

Tormund also took the time to look over at the body of Brienne. He had been devastated to learn about the fate of the big woman. She was a woman who could have matched him stride for stride. He had never seen someone like her before. Sure, she had never given him the time of day, as he had slowly come to realise, but that hadn't perturbed him. He'd let her down by surviving when she hadn't. It was at the same time that Jon turned to observe the corpse of Theon, who was on the same pyre as Mance. Jon didn't know what to think when he looked at him. He felt that he should have been more upset about the death of Yara, her mangled body lying next to her brother's. They had found him still in the room he had been instructed to defend, shards of ice surrounding him. What mattered was that Bran was still alive, although he had been strangely recluse ever since the battle had ended. That meant that Theon had stayed true to his promise to guard the boy and so he had made up, in part, for what he had done. He fully appreciated the sacrifice that had been made but felt that, in a sense, it had been done as the easiest way of redemption. He hated himself for thinking that but he couldn't push that thought to the back of his mind.

The two of them looked back at Mance. Tormund glanced over at Jon before handing him the torch. Jon took it but still sent a confused look to the wildling.

"He would have wanted you to do it," he said gruffly, a sad tone evident in his voice. "You were his work in progress." Again, Jon didn't know what to feel about that but, accepting this as the dead man's final wish, he gripped the torch tightly. All of the torchbearers, with everyone else looking on mournfully, took a couple of steps forward. Each of them taking one last look at those closest to them who had fallen, they slowly lowered the flames down to the wood, the material instantly catching fire. The flames spread quickly across the pyres and they all watched as their comrades turned to ash. This was them moving on from the horrors they had been through whilst still remembering those who had got them to this point. They stood watch as embers floated into the sky. It reminded Daenerys of what had happened to Bruda's body and she wondered whether he had been right about everyone's stories eventually reaching the stars.

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Melisandre stood alone in her room, trying to comprehend the thoughts running through her mind. After setting the trenches on fire before the battle had started, she had locked herself away in her room, barring the windows shut in the hope that it would stop any wights that got near. She realised that it wasn't the bravest choice; that thought came back to her when she had seen all the bodies on the ground outside. It was more about surviving. She wasn't a fighter and so would have likely caused more damage than help, or simply perished as soon as the fighting began. That's what she kept telling herself anyway. Bruda had instructed her to be the controller of her fate and she had done just that. She had been vindicated in that inner belief when she had managed to start the fires. He had been right, once again.

She stroked the choker that was around her neck. It still sent slight sparks down her fingertips when she touched it. It felt alive almost. She reckoned that it was just down to the pure magic that was coursing through it. Her previous necklace hadn't been the same since her magic came only when she asked for it. Bruda was special. Had been special. She blinked back tears as she thought about his death. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried - it was an unnatural feeling to her, as if anything that had happened was at all natural in the first place. He had known it was coming. That was clear in their conversation. Yet he had accepted his fate, showing that he was much braver than her. Which made it all the more painful. Why had she lived instead of him? Was it just the unfair hand of Fate? Or was something else in play that she wasn't currently aware of? Had Bruda been aware of it? These sort of questions kept running through her head as she leaned it against the cold stone wall.

She was startled when her door slammed open, only relaxing slightly when she realised it was Stannis who had entered. She hadn't been entirely sure he had survived up until this point. It should have concerned her more that she hadn't cared to think about his fate. She observed his demeanour. He seemed even angrier than usual, which was saying something. There was a fresh scar running down from his forehead and his lower lip was busted. It just added to his overall grim demeanour. He scowled at her presence, making her wonder why he had searched her out if he was going to act in such a manner. It didn't stop her from slowly walking towards him, dropping her hand from its place on her necklace. He hadn't noticed the change in its colour, which wasn't a surprise. He never truly looked at her. She was as much a tool to him as he had been to her. A toxic relationship if there had ever been one.

"I see you survived then," he began gruffly. Something was obviously bothering him.

"Yes. You also managed to get through the battle." She needed to sound happier about that.

"Of course I did. That was expected. I have to win the Throne after all." Even right after the battle, he was obsessed with his next target. She'd find it an admirable trait in anyone else other than him.

"Of course," she agreed, knowing her place. It wasn't the time to push him as she usually did. He seemed to be in a heightened emotional state.

"People out there are saying that it was that bitch's warlock that stopped the Night King. What do you make of those claims?" This was a dangerous question judging by the tone of his voice.

"I couldn't possibly know for sure. I don't think anyone will know for definite, especially since he perished in the fight." It hurt her to openly say those words, something that was compounded when he seemed to smirk at the news. It was a fleeting show of happiness though. "It wouldn't be a surprise to me if he did though. He was a powerful man."

"Interesting, interesting. Because, even if it wasn't him who did it, it still seems to me that someone else did. When I was told I would be the one to defeat him. Now, who was it that told me that?" She took a step back, fearful of the look he was giving her. He waited a moment before continuing. "Oh that's right - it was you." He took a threatening step towards her, causing her to move further back. She was slowly running out of room. "You foretold that I was the Prince that was Promised. So why was I nowhere near him when the time came? Why wasn't I the one to fulfil my destiny?" His voice was getting louder now. "It makes me wonder what other lies you have told me. What other nonsense you have sprouted."

"Sometimes the Lord of Light is wrong," she tried reasoning.

"Oh? Is that so? Then what is the point of having you?!" he shouted loudly. He produced a dagger from his coat pocket, pointing it directly at her. Her back was pressed firmly against the wall as he closed in on her. "You swoon over him. Going on about how powerful he was." There was a scarily feral look in his eye. "He didn't know the first thing about power. But I do. Because that's my destiny. And I won't let you or anyone else stop me." He lunged his arm towards her, the blade heading straight for her midsection. She closed her eyes, anticipating the sharp pain of metal in her gut. But instead, a shield of golden energy shot out from the gem in her necklace, stopping the blade inches from her flesh. They both looked down, perplexed. The blade began to turn hot in Stannis' hand, causing him to shout out in pain and drop it to the floor. The shield disappeared and they were left in the cold darkness once more. He looked at her confused and wounded, holding his hand gingerly.

"What did you do?" he asked her angrily.

"I...don't know." He stared at her for a moment before quickly storming out of the room. She sank back to the wall, slowly allowing herself to slide down it. She touched the gem once more, this time feeling an unrecognisable warmth there. That had definitely not been her magic. Which meant it had to be his.

"And lucky for you, I guess you could say you now have a small part of me." She thought back to their conversation, running it through her head. If that was true, was his magic still, in a small way, with her?

"Just because I must be directed, it doesn't mean you have to be." Had he been talking about her fate, or actually his? Was he the other force still in play?

xxxxxxxxxx

Daenerys had secluded herself away in her room, using the bathroom as her hiding place. She had spoken to no one after the mass funeral, not even Jorah, who was standing outside the bathroom door, still trying to convince her to come out. It wouldn't be healthy for her to grieve on her own. And he felt it was now part of his duty as her...what was he to her? Knight? Consort? Lover? He had no clue and it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he knew he needed to be there for her. She was just making it extremely difficult. He had first seen her mourn after Khal Drogo's untimely passing and he thought that this was on a different level for some reason. He couldn't fathom how deeply she had cared for the warlock. Bruda had said it himself about how falling in love always left you open to heartbreak. He guessed she had similar feelings towards him. Jorah didn't know how to feel about that really.

He turned around as there was a knock at the bedroom door. He moved over to it, getting a surprise when he discovered it was the Red Woman who was visiting. She had a troubled expression on her face so, despite his wariness towards her reasonings for her arrival, he let her into the room. He watched as she slowly circled the room, running her fingers over the odd object. She was an incredibly strange woman, he presumed it was a part of the whole religious nut thing. Yet she seemed to just be observing things. Just having a mild curiosity. He hadn't really interacted with her before this point so an awkward silence descended between them. She'd been at their little gathering before the battle so knew that Bruda had grown to like her eventually.

"Where is she?" she asked. He pointed to the locked door that led to the bathroom.

"She's been in there since the ceremony," he said. "Nothing I say will get her out." She could clearly hear the worry in his voice.

"She will just need time. It's always difficult to get over the death of a loved one."

"I don't mean to be rude but...why are you here?" It seemed the obvious question in the circumstances.

"I have the feeling that I need to speak with her." That's all she said. She continued to move around until she stopped at a small table by the bed. She picked up something off and stared at it in her hands.

"What is this?" She held out the pin Daenerys had given Bruda. She'd put it there when she'd got back, not wanting to look at it any longer. Melisandre recognised it slightly but couldn't place it.

"Daenerys had it made for him. Said it signalled his place next to her. He wore it all the time. Always seemed to be proud to do so. It was all that was left after his body...went." She wanted to inquire more about what he'd finished on but past words from the warlock were once again coming back to her.

"You've had that thing on for so long that it became a part of you. That's what magic does. Seemingly inanimate objects bind themselves to the person, intertwining themselves with the very fabric and essence of said person." He couldn't have. Surely that was beyond even his powers.

"I'm just that amazing." Was there something hidden in his messages to her? She was lost in thought, worrying Jorah, when the bathroom door slammed open and Daenerys slowly walked into the room. She looked terrible. Her eyes were red and puffy, the skin around them deep and dark. She'd obviously been crying a lot. Her skin was pale everywhere else. Jorah was instantly by her side, fretting over her, but she brushed him away as she locked eyes with Melisandre.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a scathing tone.

"I wanted to offer my condolences to you. I can tell how much he meant to you."

"Why would you care? You hardly know me. You barely knew him!"

"You know more than anyone else the effect he can have on people, even in a short time." Daenerys didn't like what she was implying. Why was she being strangely protective of him? She shouldn't care what he did in his own time. Or who he did. She looked at Melisandre, observing her blood-red dress. And then it clicked.

"Wait a minute. I remember Bruda telling me something. That Thoros of Myr was like you."

"He followed the Lord of Light, yes."

"He brought back that man from the dead."

"I believe so." Daenerys nodded her head and then noticed Jorah's sword resting against bed leg near her. She quickly bent down and picked it up, soon pointing it at Melisandre with an unwavering steely look in her eyes. Jorah again rushed to her side, not knowing what she'd do with it in the state she was in. Daenerys wouldn't let go of it, keeping it directed at the Red Woman.

"Bring him back," she said, almost in a monotone. "Bring Bruda back to me."

"Khaleesi," Jorah interrupted. "He wouldn't want you to act like this. This isn't you."

"I don't care!" she shouted. "I don't care if it kills her. I don't even care if it kills me! She will bring him back or, so help me, I will rain down fire upon her." Jorah had never seen her like this before. Melisandre was wary that the protection the gem had given before with Stannis wouldn't intervene with Daenerys. Bruda's magic wouldn't know to attack her. She looked at the sword being held by the younger woman. She'd seen the knight with his sword before but didn't think she'd seen this one before.

"Where did you get this from?" The question took them both by surprise.

"Daenerys had it made for me," Jorah answered slowly.

"It was only possible because of Bruda. He suggested forging it out of Valyrian steel using a part of his staff," Daenerys said, cautious as to why she was asking this. Melisandre visibly relaxed at that and allowed a small smile to grace her red lips.

"He's so unbelievably amazing," she muttered quietly but loud enough for them to hear. Daenerys arched an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"I think I can bring him back."