She wanted more than anything to be able to go down and see it for herself. Those who'd lived…and the devastation the Others had left in their wake. Inside her the babe gave another kick, as if to tell her what he thought of that notion. Despite the discomfort, in her mind's eye Dany could see the polished-iron egg rocking in turn. Not long now, she thought, not long at all, though the babe scarce heeded her. Jon was shaken, even through his brooding northman's pall, and the prospect of Rose hanging off him proved only a partial distraction. No doubt I'll be swaddled up here for a good while yet. While the rest of the realm huddles where they might for a bit of warmth or clears rubble or tries to find their own among the fallen. Then she remembered that Drogon was languishing in the godswood. By now it was nothing for Dany to see through the dragon's eyes, though his thoughts were half a world away in a world of steaming green jungle. God-lizards' roars echoed in his head; the hot reek of bloody meat lingered in his nostrils. That was home to Drogon, where he had grown great as god-lizards did. The memory of the many-headed serpent came to him. Surely it would have slain the lot of men but for him, and all its efforts earned it was a savage beating. It did not make half the weight of a god-lizard, the monster he'd found in the Green Hell could have torn off all its heads together with one crashing together of its immense jaws. Compared to the world in his mind, the one he lazed in half-awake was so empty. His once-brother did not mind, but then he had gone into the water in mind as well as body. Were he to bestir himself and follow him after the sun until the blue below went green, he might find ample reason not to want to return to this bare cold land himself. There had been god-lizards in the swollen rivers as well, great finned monsters that contested lengths of river with other scaled beasts he did not know. Dany felt something twinge in the corner of his eye, as if Drogon had been bitten by a fly. Either the dragon was heedless of it or he was content not to trouble himself about it, but Dany could think only of the wound Drogo had taken. He spread his wings and yawned, stealing another glance at his once-brother. How one among their kind could sink into mud and count themselves content he could not imagine, but then he was not as he was when they had come across the water after the fleet.
Above Winterfell, Dany got the full picture of Winterfell's abject ruin. Part of her felt a great pang of sorrow, but another supposed it was little different from when she lost her hair. The world is full of bricks. Every building the Others razed can in time be rebuilt. The people beneath the castle had escaped by and large unharmed, if the bustling crowds were any hint, and the grotto was intact as well. Better a helm takes a battering than the skull beneath it. Drogon circled lower, the Dothraki beneath him whooping as he passed overhead. He paid them little mind. Men were men, unremarkable on the whole. The hot green world that filled his thoughts and swallowed him whenever he chanced to dream was not one made for men. Even the tall ones that rode the shaggy beasts would have been ill-suited to trudging through the lush greenery. God-lizards were larger, heavier and shaped to shake off blows harder by far than they could give, by fist or club. Dany remembered the god-ape, which the tallest giant on either side of the battle could look in the eye only standing on a fellow giant's shoulders. A world the gods either did not finish, or decreed should always remain free of the interfering hand of men. A snowy bluff proved a poor spot to land, collapsing at once under his weight, but he only let out a temperamental snort before laying on the hard ground. Hot sand, dull red rock, frozen earth, all were one beneath his scales. He went where he wanted and rested where he would. A god-lizard in mind and mood, Dany thought, but you'd best remember you're not half one's weight should you ever go back, my love. Her insinuation prompted a low, irritated rumble. He dragged his head along the ground, felt even hard earth and scattered stones stampeded into the ground give before the spikes jutting from his jaw. It felt to Dany like Drogon was trying to rid himself of the phantom fly shadowing him. Perhaps a bit of dragonbone had gotten stuck in the crag around his eye? Her inquiries and petitioning to get him off the ground proved absolutely no use. Rather irritably, Dany sensed he knew she was in the final hours before the babe came, and in Drogon's mind, in no place to tell anyone to do much moving. Their spat distracted him some until the smell of sweat-soaked furs shoved itself up his nostril. Shaking off Dany's influence, Drogon realized a man among the crowds had approached him. To Dany's eyes, he was a tall, fleshy man among the Free Folk, blue eyes watery. To Drogon, he was just a man, much like all the countless ones about him, and found him as unremarkable as most every other in sight. "I'm called the Weeper, after my father." Drogon could not have cared less who the man claimed as a sire, baring his teeth to make his point. "Don't eat me." the man said, eyes focused not on Drogon's own but on something just beyond them. As he came closer Drogon had to turn his head until he was almost looking straight down to keep the man in sight, the so-called Weeper straining to reach up at him even with his height. Does he think to scratch an itch, as he might for his own eyes?
"A little more…a little more, you great lout…" the man cursed. His hand fumbling about felt like a spider crawling down her face to Dany, until Drogon's eyes widened when he felt the man take a firm hold on whatever had embedded itself in the roughness around his eye. Drogon was so surprised he pulled away, taking the man off his feet to curse aloud as he hung like a stuck bloodthief off the dragon's face, eyes squinted shut. When no teeth closed around him, he persisted, by turns trying to soothe Drogon and curse his own efforts. At last there was a sound unlike any Dany had ever heard, something coming unstuck and the man fell five feet into the snow. At once, despite whatever hurt the fall had given him, the Weeper was wriggling away as fast as he could manage, his fist closed fast around something. Though Dany wanted very much to know just what in all the hells had just happened, Drogon was satisfied with the fly buzzing about having finally been swatted.
Daenerys sluggishly blinked the sight of Winterfell shrinking away beneath her out of her eyes. There was no cloud of maidservants waiting to buzz around her secluded as she was, but Dany was only grateful. Besides, no girl would be comfortable with how hot it is in here. It was nothing to her of course, but there were more important things to consider than her own comfort. I'm too excited and nervous by turns to feel anything else. Jon was sleeping in a chair at her bedside, his chin all but poking a hole in his furs, making Dany giggle. Val and Dalla had gone into their own off-chamber, the poor girl no doubt eager to catch up on some sleep herself. "Now who's dozy?" He murmured something under his breath in reply. At ease and at peace. Were Dany not virtually immobile, she would have seriously considered sitting in his lap, crossing her arms and demanding he feed her. Then again, it's rare he gets such an opportunity to forget his every worry. It doesn't even look like Rhaegal's got him somewhere. There would be plenty to brood over when he awoke, that was certain. The dead were being gathered as well as the living could manage, and there was wood aplenty with which to build pyres great and small. Not a single complaint had reached her from any corner of Winterfell, not that she expected one. No one is going to dig graves in frozen earth and every burned corpse is one less wight. It took the sun in his face to rouse Jon, grumbling as befit a true northman.
"Up, White Wolf. Or would Your Grace prefer to laze in your throne until your bottom goes numb?"
"I only wish it were." Jon replied, Dany giggling. He leaned forward, wincing as he rose, all but lurching to his feet. "Never fall asleep in a hardwood chair." Hobbling to the hearth he tossed another log on, poking it until the embers had sorted themselves and Dany could hear the crackling of a fire proper. "Behold, the dragonking's mastery." he muttered. "Fire and Blood." He blew a raspberry.
"I see no dragonking. Only a world-weary wolf with a stiff back and a knee he ought not be moving on." Dany told him.
"I might see the same if I happened to look in a mirror. Gods be praised we have none in here." He turned back to her, Dany pulling the blankets close and peeking out at him from a most comfortable ball of heat, wool and fur. "I don't suppose you've got Rose in there, do you?"
"Hmph! A queen ought keep princesses out of the teeth of dozy wolves. I'm sure there's some tale or song all about it." There was no forthcoming giggle though, and Jon looked wearily to the open window.
"Bugger."
"Rose isn't your brother, Jon. A girl of five isn't going to go sliding down frozen castle wall and broken battlements."
"Rose is as much wolf-pup as girl and bold as anything. I might send someone to the kitchens to see if she's turned up there, eager to snatch a tart while all the rest of us bind wounds, build pyres and work out our losses." Dany swallowed. It had been a good notion and sound, but there was more than the prospect of stopping new wights from rising that had given her the idea. "Where's my cloak?" Jon asked, looking around. He looked to her again, this time suspiciously.
"Hmph! I am no wild thief, Jon Snow. I am a queen, and should I see fit to keep warm under another layer, even one that smells of wolf, that is my royal privilege!" Most unexpectedly he dropped out of sight, Dany tensing for some wild mischief. .
"There you are." she heard him say. She's under the bed? "Come on out of there, you've a bed of your own and I'll need my cloak to stop from freezing stiff." Dany heard Rose give a sleepy murmur of protest.
"Princesses don't sleep under beds, they sleep in them. Perhaps I ought make room for a certain sweetling and push the tiny bed off on our dour White Wolf." Dany said airily, hearing a sleepy snicker as something scrabbled beneath her, an utter rat's nest of red hair spouting up from the other side of the bed, grey Stark eyes glittering out from it. Even Missandei would find sorting such a tangle a challenge. A pang of sadness for her friend had Dany's eyes watering, Rose's own going wide as she clambered up to sit next to Dany, still wrapped in Jon's cloak. I doubt it's cold she's much trying to ward away; it's stifling in here. Tales of Princess Rhaenys hiding under Prince Rhaegar's bed came to her unbidden, but Dany pushed them away before they could fully form. Another time, she told herself firmly. Dead and gone, after the chair that ruled it. "Do we know how long gathering the last of the dead may take?" she asked.
"Well into the night. Most who came to fight were not known, not members of storied houses. Smallfolk, sellswords, nameless raiders from the furthest rocks…" It will not be hard to guess what's happened, when a father doesn't return. When a son doesn't turn up at the nightly feast, when a brother is not heard from even days after the battle and more. They were no longer within Daenerys' power to help, nor Jon's, nor most anyone else's, though, and heavily she put them from her mind.
"I think the babe's fallen asleep."
"Has he?" Jon put his head to her belly, brow furrowed in concentration while she put a hand to her mouth, Rose giggling and copying him.
"Anything to report?"
"Enough fruit and cheese. Let's have some beef."
"He's peckish, hm?" Jon scoffed.
"The babe? As if I could hear anything but your stomach!"
After he'd disentangled himself from the load of blankets Dany tossed on him, Jon plucked Rose from her spot at Dany's side.
"Are you hungry?"
"Tarts!"
"I don't think the kitchens are much in any shape to bake any tarts, sweetling. How about some nice stew?" Jon said.
"Hmph! Tarts!" Rose said, crossing her little arms.
"Hmph! Stew!" Jon replied, huffing in precisely the same manner. Dany hid behind her hands. Is that really how I look? No wonder Jon loves poking fun at me!
"I think we'll get your mother a spot of lunch." Rose looked to Dany, laying her head on Jon's shoulder.
"If you should spot any Hastys, could you send them along, Jon? I want to know how they've managed, and no lord will have noted their presence or absence…their house isn't well-known even in the stormlands."
"Not right now, anyway. I wonder how unremarkable they'll stay once word spreads just where the Mother of Dragons comes from, though." He kissed Dany on the forehead before stepping out, Rose squirming up his arm to ride on his shoulders. Gods willing, she'll live to look down from a rather more formidable set of shoulders one day. It seemed to Dany that any moment she wasn't thinking about the babe, she was thinking about the eggs. Not for nothing, but I'll be glad for when all this is over. There were so many people to seek out, so much to do, and Dany was about as helpful as the average wight in both regards. At least a wight can move, if slowly! Another kick from within. You're certainly no help at all, as incorrigible as your father. Gods, I hope you don't end up a ranger too! Dany actually groaned aloud and hid her head under a pillow. A knock at the door had Dany reemerging with the sun well on its way to setting, Val groaning sleepily from the other room.
"It's nothing. Go back to sleep." Dany said, Val mumbling colorfully anyway. Did I sleep all day? The door slid open a crack, a grey eye peeking in. "Go away, wolf. There's no succor for wild beasts here."
"Only tame kittens, hm?"
"Tame this, Snow." Val murmured grouchily, emerging with her honey-colored hair in a tangle to rival Rose's. Dalla burbled in her arm, Jon taking her to give Val a moment to brush her hair out of her eyes. "This is what I get for giving up my braid, I suppose." she said sullenly, running a blonde lock through her fingers.
"We'll see about getting it rebound. Your lucky day we have so many Dothraki on hand, they know a thing or two about braids." Dany said. While Val looked out the window, eyes wide at the sight of the fallen being gathered, Jon tended to Dalla before giving her back to Val. "Soiled clout too much for the King in the North? Best get used to it!" she teased.
"I'd sooner have to burn rags than bodies, in truth." he replied, turning to Dany. "How do you feel?"
"As I look, I'll wager. Did you find the Hastys?"
"The boy, Tommard." Dany felt a rush of relief. "Rather than bring him along by himself, though, I told him to gather the rest so they might come as a House entire later on. Fewer people dropping in on you only to find you're fast asleep…like Rose and I found a good few times today."
"Oh, hush. Where is she, anyway? Did you lose her again?" Jon laughed.
"Say rather she lost herself. Thankfully Ghost has a nose for her mischief and inside an hour he was setting her before me, looking rather annoyed she couldn't evade him." Rose duly shuffled in after Jon, muttering inaudibly.
"You poor dear. I know a thing or two about rangers behaving untowardly toward proper highborn ladies." Dany said, opening her arms. Rose cuddled up beside her with a squeak. "Did you at least get her fed?"
"There were no tarts to be found-"
"None!" Rose blurted, half-muffled by the blankets,
"-but luckily hot stew seems adequate fare for now. As for you two…" he produced a hide bag, strings drawn taut to keep anyone from sniffing after it. "A bit of beef, a dollop of honey on bread, to match your hair…" Val gave a dry laugh. "And for my queen…"
"Fruit and cheese!" Dany exclaimed, knowing that given their surroundings, such a thing was most unlikely. Oh, well. It is a queen's job to make utterly unreasonable demands, particularly of a teasing wolf!
"Warm milk in a dish."
"Hmph!"
"You're lucky she's all done up in bed, Jon Snow." Val opined.
"Else you might be pulling her off me?"
"Else I might need to drag a chair in to watch from a better seat."
While the women ate, Jon filled them in further.
"I'll leave you in Tormund's care for a bit while the Hastys drop in on Dany. The Free Folk want to see you, they were fond of your sister and they're fond of you as well. To say nothing of introducing Dalla."
"If one can much introduce a year-old babe." Val said. "Don't let this rake give you any trouble. You have pillows aplenty, should he try to pull your leg just let one fly." She said, a hand on Dany's blankets.
"I'd run out in a few short moments and only be more uncomfortable, sadly." Dany replied, pretending to be crestfallen.
"Best take him with you, that will keep him off my back."
"Good idea. Come on, wolf, the queen's decreed you need a walk." Val said.
"I'm sorry, I only heard a great lot of mewling. I thought I only had one kitten cooped up here, where'd another come from?" Jon asked, though he gave Dany's hand a kiss before he left, Rose dashing after him bundled up in his cloak.
"I'll try and see about that other bit while we're out, shall I?" Val asked in a small voice.
"If you could." Dany said. "Don't discomfit yourself, though, I know it's hot down there." Then she was alone but for the sounds of the world outside coming in from the window. She steeled herself, trying to ward off the treacherous influence of drowsiness. To her relief the knock came in only a few minutes. At last, something I don't sleep through. "Come in." she said, trying to keep her voice steady. The door opened and Tommard came in, too overawed even to trip over his tongue. The rest of House Hasty followed, nobody missing though each looked rather worse for wear than when Daenerys last saw them. Ser Bryond was covered in dust but for his face, which looked as if someone had been at it with a warm, wet rag. He kept blinking, Cassrine needing to point out to him whenever someone was talking.
"He was standing nearby when a wall collapsed, it took nearly all of Father's hearing. A maester told us the ringing ought stop soon, he may recover yet, but…" Tommard whispered to Dany, Ser Bryond sitting unsteadily between his wife and daughter. "He gets dizzy so easily."
"Are any of the rest of you hurt?" Dany asked, trying to stay calm.
"No, Seven save us. It seems a few extra prayers from Bonella were enough to keep us out of harm's way." The girl herself had lingered on the threshold, whispering soothingly to someone still without. With a few kind words Ser Bonifer brought a woman into the room, old as the Queen of Thorns had been old, but not so short nor so waspish. At once Daenerys could see Ser Bonifer in her face, could see a bit of herself in her face, even as the woman looked around uncomprehendingly. "Our own grandmother. Her name is Madelyne, though most days she doesn't much recall." Tommard said gently.
"How stuffy it is in here." the lady remarked.
"A bit, yes. Come, Mother. There's someone you ought meet." Madelyne let Ser Bonifer lead her over to the bed. On seeing Dany, she started.
"Oh, there you are. Gods be good, I'm glad you managed to stay out of mischief." she said, sighing relievedly. The Hastys exchanged mystified looks.
"Mother, do you know who this is?"
"Don't be silly, Bonifer. The girl's got your father's eyes, the loveliest Hasty emeralds." She turned to Dany. "You'd best stay put, it's an utter shambles out there. Nothing to be done for it."
"As you wish." Dany managed to get out, not wanting to cry, not then and there. More than once, she'd heard tell of those in old age forgetting the faces around them. How strange I should be remembered by someone I've never met. Her grandmother looked at her for a long time, seeming pleased.
"You look like him. My sweet ser." Her brow furrowed. She cannot remember his name. "I find I'm fearsome tired. Would someone take me back to bed?" she asked nobody in particular, Bonella's arm in hers in a moment. The other Hastys were not so blind to Dany's wet eyes, though, and with varied bows and curtsies left her alone with Ser Bonifer.
"There isn't much left of her, I'm afraid." he said quietly.
"More than none, and that's enough and more for me, ser." Dany replied, hiding a sob behind her hand.
He turned and looked at her, none the worse for wear despite the cataclysmic nature of the battle.
"Please, Your Grace, don't trouble yourself on my account. No Other could do to me what Aerys marrying your mother could."
"At least I've no more need to think on the Mad King." Ser Bonifer's somber countenance shifted into something more introspective.
"Nor does Jon Snow, I think."
"Ser?" He sat at the foot of the bed, half lost in thought.
"Of late, I have been thinking on something I dared not entertain in years past. Your mother was only four-and-ten when Prince Rhaegar was born and Summerhall burned. There was nothing else but to think then-Prince Aerys the father…" Dany felt her heart skip a beat.
"You think otherwise? I can scarcely believe Rhaella the queen strong enough to defy Aerys, let alone a young girl."
"You were the same age when you hatched your eggs on the Dothraki Sea, child. You are stronger than you account, as was Rhaella."
"But who? Who would she dare risk all for, but you?"
"I cannot say, Your Grace. Perhaps it is a question that has no answer, in truth. Rhaegar was Rhaella's son and more, but…there was nothing of Aerys in him. He did not chase maidens, entertain flatterers or seek praise." Dany's first thought was of Jon.
"Have you no inkling, ser?"
"I can only say that what your mother didn't tell me, she didn't tell anyone." He suspects then that there was nothing to tell. That Rhaegar had no father. Dany felt powerful foolish thinking such a thing far-fetched, but she couldn't help herself. Ser Bonifer seemed to sense her skepticism. "The blood of Valyria has had countless mysterious incidents in its time in Westeros. Only the gods know." And when have the gods made their wishes plain on any bloody matter?
"Well, it's nothing to worry about now in any case. We have enough at hand to contend with."
"As you say, Your Grace, and truer words were never said." He had become the sad old squire again.
"If I may, Astryd made mention of Swiftrush before. Somewhere in the stormlands…"
"Nestled on a riverbank between Stonehelm and Grandview, a hidden beauty of the world. The mountains have hidden it from the ravages of war and with strong castles all about it, no one much aims to land to the south."
"Near Summerhall, then." Dany said, feeling pleased for some reason.
"If one ignores the mountains to the west, perhaps."
"Well, Drogon ignored a world's worth of obstacles to reach the Green Hell, I hardly think he'll mind a quick hop over the Marches." As before, Ser Bonifer shuddered.
"He's welcome to whatever he can find beyond the horizon, so long as he comes back with you." Dany snorted.
"Even a dozy kitten like me, as Jon sees fit to tease, knows better than to go tottering off into the green. I've seen enough of it to know I'm quite content here in Westeros where there are comfy beds and plenty of fruit and cheese."
"He would leave you behind at such a distance?"
"He did the day the Red Keep fell. The jungle never leaves his thoughts for long and dragons live a deal longer lives than men. Even if he doesn't go back for the remainder of my lifetime, I'm certain he will once I'm gone."
The pattering of little feet tugged at Dany's heart, the sounds of Rose's animated chatter enough to make her wish she had the grace to hide- all the better to jump out and send the little princess shrieking.
"I think I'll go back below, Your Grace. Else our kin might think you've flown off with me." Ser Bonifer said.
"As you will, ser. Take care to stay close, though, there's no call to go lingering in your corner until such time as people begin to leave." He nodded, opened the door and managed to avoid Rose's rush past him to her bedside, a hide bag gripped in her little fist.
"Your Grace." he greeted Jon.
"Ser Bonifer. We've just been to the kitchen, dinner ought be on soon. Why don't you take a little something for yourself and yours on the way back to your quarters?" She watched Ser Bonifer leave with sadness in her heart, wanting to see Swiftrush more than she'd ever wanted to sit the Iron Throne. "Is it the babe?" Jon asked.
"No, though I'd sooner he be in my arms than my belly."
"Soon enough, or so it seems." She noticed Val had not returned with him and put on a grumpy scowl.
"What have you done with Val?"
"Me? Nothing, she just stopped for a look at something or other. Which you requested, as I recall. Might be Tormund wants to see her and Dalla get their share of stew. Why is everything my fault?"
"Because it is." Dany replied, sticking her tongue out at him when he tried the trick on her. "What have you brought me?" she asked Rose, the girl eagerly tugging the bag open.
"Apples! Venison and greens…" her excitement dimmed with each word, until she was frowning at a leek in her hand.
"You'd best make peace with greens, food is precious where we're headed." Jon told her.
"No tarts, then?" Dany asked her. Rose looked at the floor, looking more defeated than Daenerys had known ment o look after battle.
"No tarts…"
"Well, never mind, sweetling. I think we've got something on the fire more fitting for a dragon princess than tarts, anyway." Though Daenerys was beyond keen to hear the music she'd heard on the Dothraki sea, there could be no doing it without others noticing. Few know what treasures lie in Shireen's keeping. Rather than do it and damn the consequences, she mused aloud if the gathered lords such as they were might be consulted, or at least briefed.
"I suppose it can't hurt." Jon, scooping Rose up as she squealed. "I doubt any will much be displeased with the prospect of more dragons between them and whatever still lurks beyond the Frostfangs."
"Then we'll do it together." Dany said, sliding her feet to the edge of the bed before letting them hang off at the knee.
"Is that wise?" Jon asked, suddenly uneasy.
"The babe is sleeping. I doubt we'll have another chance to tell the lot what we're up to before one thing or the other happens and we've got a prince or three hatchlings to mind. Or both." Dany said. Jon soundlessly helped her slip into fur boots, fixed a glove onto her whole hand. The other would keep wrapped up as it was, though Dany supposed it might need changing soon.
"The stairs might be icy in places-"
"-then you'll go first, Jon Snow, and put that ranger training to more use than base mischief for once." Daenerys told him.
People packed like salted cod melted into less than mist as she made her way into the hall. For her part, Daenerys was pleased she could still move with something like briskness, wondering if the heaviness she had felt had just been from staying put so long. Jon saw her seated in a high-backed, heavy wooden chair at the high table before he tucked a heavy blanket over her.
"There, nice and comfortable. Else all we'll hear is you mewling about how your accommodations are unbefitting a que-ggllfph!" Jon spluttered as the hall exploded in laughter. The bread Dany had stuffed in his stupid wolf face had been lovely and warm and she was loathe to waste it, but it had been better put to use shutting Jon up than nourishing her. While he tried to salvage his dignity through a fit of coughing, Dany looked upon all the faces in the hall. Some she knew, those closer to the high table and many she recognized besides, but there were still more that she might be seeing for the first time or the tenth. And yet, they all know me. She spotted Ser Jorah standing near the ironmen, eyes sliding back and forth without any hint of recognition. Yohn Royce alone among the Valemen and looking dazed, his last remaining son nowhere to be seen. Losses and losses. She leaned back, murmured into Val's ear when she bent to listen. While the girl stepped out of the hall, Dany addressed the gathered throng with only the occasional hacking cough from Jon.
"By now, I'm sure it's evident the Others have gone, at least for the moment. How fortunate for me, I wouldn't have much appreciated having a baby in the middle of a battle."
"You'd not be the first, moon-queen." one woman among the Ice Wives called. Yes, the full moon, beloved of every wolf. And speaking of wolves…
"When Jon and I went to Skagos to ferry the island's people out of danger, we found more than Prince Rickon and Rhaegal out in the wilds. One last ember of Valyria still burned, deep within Skagos' mountains of all places." The door Val had gone through opened again, Bytarys following the wildling princess through and going wide-eyed at the sight of the packed hall.
"All is ready, Full Moon." she said, in that blend of Valyrian and the Old Tongue that belonged to her and her alone.
Outside the walls of Winterfell, the pyres waited under a sky full of stars. The fallen lay in pyramids of stacked logs and branches, most more than one layer high. Daenerys only had eyes for one, though, standing in the middle of the array. Three prone forms lay within it, straw and leaves arranged to hide the grievous wounds they'd taken. Next to her and near as round as Daenerys herself had gone, Meera sniffled as she neared her father's body. Without his secret to carry, Howland Reed looked half a boy again. Jon was silent as he regarded his uncle's still face, the strings that had moved him past his mortal life at last cut. Dany looked into the face before her and could not help stifling a whimper of her own. You crossed a world to get to me, as Ser Barristan the Bold had. Still more, you came back with me and sent a letter north. The bone dragon lies in countless pieces strewn all across Winterfell, the King of Always Winter fallen thanks to you. Death had not made Tyrion Lannister any taller, but it had taken away what had weighed him down all his years. When the golden pride had turned him out, the little lion had endured every hardship to reach her. Murmurs broke out among the crowd behind them as they hurried to get out of Shireen's way, mutters turning to shouts, prayers, curses and more when they saw what she held. As tenderly as she could, Dany took the midnight-blue egg from the fireling and tucked it between Howland Reed's clasped hands, the heat within it already singing through his light crannogman's clothing. Deep and dark, the depths from which your secret waited all those years. Daenerys thanked the gods the babe slept still, the polished-iron egg not leaping out of her hands even as she nestled it in Benjen Stark's ruined, black-veined hands. Sharp and hard, the lessons from which your nephew learned to lead. At last, she took the orange egg, her tears sizzling into vapor off its surface when she turned to inter it. The Giant of Lannister had only a single hand remaining, but it held the egg fast to his breast even as his doublet blackened. Bright and warm, the hopes from which you drew your strength. "You were giant enough for me." she whispered in his ear, brushing a kiss against his forehead. Dany let Jon slide an arm around her waist, lead her away from the bier.
"All right, let's have it, Edd." Jon said to a man close by. He nodded, turned to the archers atop what ramparts still stood nearby.
"NOCK." Dany heard the spindly rattling of countless arrows being drawn. "DRAW." A chorus of bowstrings pulled taut. "LOOSE." The stars began to fall, little pinpricks feathering the pyres to a one. The fires began to flicker into being but Dany couldn't watch, wanting only to lay her head on Jon's shoulder. Though she was content to simply remain there and let him hold her, Daenerys found herself outvoted as her back spasmed. Her lips parted.
"Oh, dear." she said in a small voice.
Though she'd have liked to simply make her way back to the bedchamber without a fuss, her gasp gave the game away and she was whisked back into the warmth of Winterfell amidst the castle going mad. Surely other babes have come since all of Westeros has gathered here, she thought. Yes, another part of her answered, but those other babes were not princes. Even as she slid back into bed, freed from heavy coat and everything else that might get in the way, Dany winced as her back twinged again. She got a glimpse of the godswood quite by accident, Drogon's snort of annoyance echoing in her ears as her heart raced.
"I should like a midwife." she told Jon, in a voice almost too soft to hear. In moments it seemed Ornela was produced as was Alys Karstark, still wiping her eyes on her sleeve for Sigorn. "Not a thing to it, Your Grace. At least your babe had the manners not to invite a sibling-or two-along without your say-so." Alys said. "I didn't want to pull you from your grief-"
"Piss on that, when am I next going to get the chance to pull a prince into the world? Sigorn would bury his face in his hands and call me a summer-soft green-as-grass kneeler, and for once in his thickheaded Thenn life, he'd be right." Despite her attempts to stay focused, more than once the pain had her flitting back behind Drogon's eyes, where it was far away and only dully felt. He seemed unconcerned, which Dany didn't know how to take, merely curled on the godswood floor, the man who'd pulled the irritant from his eye perhaps the thing foremost on his mind. Get up, she thought, the fires are calling. But the only call Drogon wished to heed was one of deepest green, the storms overhead so strong and so bad they could swallow the one that had greeted her on Dragonstone whole. The footfalls of the god-lizard thundered in his ears, the taste of her blood on his tongue when her massive jaws were answered in kind. She is like you are, Dany thought, dimly aware of the number of people in the room steadily rising, but she is not as you are. Rise, and see them. With a deep, indolent rumble, Drogon pushed himself up, sniffing after the scent of smoke and burning flesh that grew heavy in the air. He shook off her continued exhortations, looking to the water where his pale once-brother hid. A snarl told him the other had awoken, for once caught asleep instead of high above all that was. His green once-brother sniffed after the smoke, bronze eyes at once wide and attentive. He did not share the other's curiosity- the smell of smoke was as known to him as his own limbs, the sound of fire burning as familiar as his own roar. He yawned, the air before him shimmering with heat. Not that he was discontented, exactly. His surroundings left much to be desired, not his circumstances. Nothing was attacking them, his belly was full, what was there to bother about? The haze of a fire, growing in size as well as strength, began to glow over the treetops. The green was off without another moment's delay, ignoring his sluggish rasp of protest. The water rippled as the pale once-brother emerged without a sound, not bothering even to drip dry before he made to follow. There, now, are you really going to prove Viserion's superior in laziness? That rankled his pride to his bones and deeper, though he still found himself irate as he rose over the man-den.
The sounds of other females calling to each other and to her were faint but audible. They might have been the cries of the winged lizards in the lush world he'd found, though, and soon they were brushed off in favor of reckoning with the burning ring below him. It would not spread beyond the piles of the dead, though in his experience fire went wherever it would. The incongruence irked him and he sank lower, not at all feeling up to teasing at the new mystery. He remembered the great ruined city in the world of green, how it had been hidden behind such a firmament as he might hide behind a cloud bank. He landed within the flames, rumbling to himself dismissively. The blaze around him hid anything of interest from his sight. It was only when he looked as he might through heat that he saw them, three red islands in a sea of oranges and yellows. Remember, her voice said. Once, you were small. We both were. The dream of the city in the dead red world came to him, her face alone as big as he was. Before that, even, when he first escaped the confining heat, felt the cold of the living world, clambered atop the first moving thing he could sense. They were moving, the three, and not in any lazy fashion. Locked inside them were things trying to get out, straining to escape. A pale shape snaked out of the flames to his left. A moment later, the green came into view on the right. You are dragons, she called to him, to them. Now only three, when once you soared over every land. But it does not have to be so. They will find their places in this great world, as you found yours. She gasped. Something was trying to escape her, sure as something was trying to escape the prison of heat before him. His teeth parted, the fire building in the back of his throat. He tasted not god-lizard blood then but her own as she bit her tongue, crying out to him. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. Dracarys! Once, you broke my chain with it. Now you must break theirs! Dracarys, DRACARYS! He sent black fire washing over the three, watched them redden even as they tumbled from the ashes of the bier. Gold and bronze flames joined his own, hot enough to turn the hard-frozen earth to steaming mud. A white crack thin as a hair jagged down from the top of the prison before him. Another joined the first, another and still another until at last the chains could bind no more, the islands erupting into brilliant novae that blinded even him.
Shapes and shadows flitted in and out of view above her. Voices of men and women echoed weirdly and only made the world spin. But it passed quickly, and she was blinking the bedchamber into view before she knew it. Daenerys could not move, not even a muscle, so tired was she. Her hair was matted to her head close and snug as a crannogman's hide hood, it was too much effort even to close her mouth. She was afforded only the barest glimpse of grey eyes before sleep swallowed her, deep and dreamless. Dany awoke with the sun glinting through the window and the smell of her sweat heavy in her nose. She was sore all over, barely able to look down, and found a baby nestled in the crook of her left arm. As pink as he was perfect, as healthy as he was hungry, far more intent on breakfast than much introducing himself. Her bandaged hand came to her mouth, though to suppress a sob or a scream she could not say and dared not ask.
"He gets his appetite from you." Jon said gently, so gently, from his seat beside her. It was a few minutes before Dany collected herself.
"And his boldness from you." she replied. No one else was in the room.
"Once he came, they swaddled him up nice and set him with you. Now you've woken, they'll probably want a look. Ornela and Alys, I mean. Bugger the rest of them, bugger them blind." Then Jon's fingers were in his hair.
"What are you so worked up about? Did you have a baby, too?" she teased.
"No, but Meera did." He gulped. "So did Gilly and Arianne Martell, at that. A boy for you, a boy for Meera, and girls for Gilly and the Dornish princess." Daenerys was only half-listening, content to kiss the top of their son's head.
"He ought to have a name." she said.
"Ought he? I didn't for nearly all my life and look how I turned out-"
"That's because you're a wild thief and a stealer of queens. A proper prince should have a proper name."
"He should." Jon agreed, dropping his teasing. "He should, and it's mine own fool fault for not thinking on a name before now."
"We had other things to worry about. Screaming bony lightning-breathing things."
"Just the sort to steal the day out from under you." Jon said resignedly.
"Do the others have names?" "Jojen Stark, after Meera's brother. Margaery Tarly is supposed to be a nod to the Queen of Thorns somehow, and Aegon and Arianne named their girl Elia."
"How is he? Aegon?"
"Not so bad. Once you were set up with our boy, I wanted to make sure the others were coming along just as well." He coughed to himself. "It might be I shared a cask of mead with him. Maybe apologized for Dragonstone. The Free Folk aren't much for courtesy." Daenerys couldn't help but smile.
"What did you say?"
"I told him the gods take with one hand and give with another. Well, they took Robb all bloody right, and what they gave back was Aegon. That, were he Rhaegar's son or no, I was glad of him and his." He looked into his lap. "Once, I had a thought that I might name a son of mine Robb." It sounded almost like guilt. "That was Jon the boy's flight of fancy, though, and he's gone after the Young Wolf, I think."
"Not Robb, then." Dany said. She bit her lip mischievously. "Not yet, anyway. As for him…" she nuzzled the babe, "I thought we might name him Eddard…for your father."
"Eddard Targaryen's an odd name, no?" Jon asked, though she could see his grey eyes were watery. She pursed her lips.
"Is such a name too good for a son of Jon Snow's?"
"Never." he replied. "But if you expect a bloody Nightrunner to go saying 'Eddard Targaryen' without his tongue knotting up…"
"Ned Snow then, if you like, and let the Free Folk go mad and a half for him when they hear. After all, Rose has two names, why oughtn't he?" Night had fallen before Dany dared to try getting out of bed. By then the tide of maidservants had rolled in, Ned fresh-swaddled and Dany herself bathed before she was returned to the wholly welcome warmth of her snow bear fur coat. There was room enough within for Ned and then some, a prospect she guessed was no stroke of luck. Catching Val's gaze from across the room, the freshly-braided blonde gave her a fond wink before returning her attention to Dalla, burbling in her lap. "I suppose that's most everything accounted for, then?" Dany whispered to Jon.
"Almost." he replied.
Ned shrank into her chest when she carried him out into the chill of night, fussing in protest even despite her warmth. Showing sense Jon never had before he's a day old, now that's a good start. She got a few calls of congratulations, but she had not left the comfort of bed for the sake of her own pride. Ghost was waiting for them, of course, the silver she-wolf and the orphans among the Pack following her like so many ducklings. He sniffed at Dany, tongue tickling the top of Ned's little head. By then the blaze had mostly burned itself out, but nobody in their right mind would have approached even if the ground had been stone cold. Her once-children lay past where Shireen flickered, heaped in great coils of onyx, green and cream, but somehow her gaze slid right past them. For any hint, for any sound, for any- The raspy chirp came from somewhere near Rhaegal, Dany gasping aloud and Jon squinting.
"There." he murmured. "Just below his jaw." Dany had to squint in turn until Rhaegal yawned. The hatchling was if anything, a purer, brighter iron than the egg had been, the black arcs winding down its body bold and clean as if done by quill. It ambled over, sniffing noisily all the while. Rhaegal stirred, perhaps unsurprised the hatchling would try wandering off. It stopped in front of Dany. She could see its eyes were black opals cut by lines of iron so bright as to dazzle. By then Drogon and Viserion were waking as well, the orange hatchling in Drogon's shadow flecked with silver as if it had pilfered the stars from the sky. Dany gasped and even Jon started at the sight- and at the sight of its tail, which split in two near the end. Viserion alone did not approach, even grunting uncooperatively when they approached. "And hello to you. Is that any way to greet a new mother?" Jon said. The tiniest white eyes blinked out at him from under one of Viserion's pale wings, shrinking further in the closer they got.
"We should have come with food…" she said, amazed she could forget.
"Says who? The hatchlings want feeding, well and good. It seems to me that ought be someone else's job, though." Jon said wryly, as the iron and orange hatchlings chirped to each other. At last the blue emerged, Viserion rasping and shadowing its movements patiently. It burbled at the others, creeping over with observable caution even as the iron yawned, coiling at Dany's feet. The orange was not so easily tired out, waddling back and forth between Dany and Jon, sniffing and chirping almost expectantly. "I wonder if you're fond of tarts." Jon told the hatchling, almost groaning. Dany giggled, made her way back to him, leaned into him when he looped his arm around her.
"Is that everything?"
"As if." Jon told her, pulling her in for a kiss.