A/N: Longclaw: Hey guys. Hope all are safe.
We did not mean for this chapter to be so long, but it got away from us XD
BRuh4: Pretty special chapter here, folks. We spent extra time on it. Also, it ended up being extra long for you too. In fact, the longest chapter either of us have ever written. There's not a word wasted. We felt all that's here needed to be.
Enjoy.
Chapter 33: Remember
Darkness was all there was. Ever since his last breath. A light snuffed out. His body had became formless, nothing to hold onto. For a while, he floated through the void. Wondering if that's all there would ever be. On the bright side, the pain was gone. The immeasurable pain he felt as the blade punctured his heart. That did linger with him, the only thing that did. His mind was empty otherwise.
Until it all changed, he could stand again. It was still dark, but there was ground before his feet. He stood in the middle of a damp forest. Snowy, the whiteness fell off the leaves in the wind. The trees were massive, stretching far above his head.
Before he knew it, and out of his control, his body began to move. Unable to stop even if he wanted to, just along for the ride. He strolled through the forest, snow falling all around him. Eventually, he made it a clearing. In front of him an upwards hill, slowly, he made it up. As he crested the hill, a massive castle covered in snow lied across the way. A cloudless sky, not even the moon was visible. The castle had numerous torches along the walls which provided meager light from a distance. There were many people running along the ramparts. Above the castle was a moving black cloud. The biggest murder of crows he'd ever seen.
Essentially right before him was a big field. Distant grumbling and growling reached his ears. He could see what exactly, but there was a great force gathering in the field. It was far too dark to see. What was clear, two sets of blue dots. Thousands of them, all over the field. Far more than anyone could count.
Then the spots began to move all together towards the castle. The growling louder until it was all he heard. The ravens descended upon the people manning the walls as the blue dots drew near.
Just as the scene began to melt away. Light burst into eyes…
Jon woke up sputtering into life on a table. Nothing made sense. He sat up quickly, trying to breathe but it seemed impossible. His body heat turned up to steaming. His chest caught fire, right over his heart. Fumbling, he tried to move. In a split second, his legs gave way and he crashed to the ground. Pain exploded in his limbs, in his chest, in his skull. As if everything hurt, everything both scoured by fire and submerged in the icy depths.
He didn't know much of anything. Where he was, or why he was there. Nothing made sense. When he tried to think, it just hurt. His mind raced. Trying to register what was going on. His body had been dead, essentially. But now he sprung back into life. His system was just trying to catch up. Pump blood to the right places, remember how to do things. Remember anything actually.
Quicker than he expected, his mind started to work properly. It just took some time. Yet, he still didn't know where he was. Though he did remember his name. Jon… Stark. He was a bastard. But a man legitimized him. He left a castle against a giant wall of ice. Traveling all over, killing, so much killing. A very older man, a balding man with a scruffy beard, and many, many others. People didn't know. Carrying shields and banners of Lions and Flayed Men.
Something else. Blue eyes. Cold. Freezing.
His ears rang as people burst into the room, a sudden light cast upon him - unfamiliar, harsh. One he was desperate to flee into the seeming safety of the darkness. But a lone woman came to him. She was calling out to him. But the words didn't make sense. She yelled back at the others behind her. It was all a daze.
Everything just seemed to calm as the woman touched him gently, her soft hands almost a relief from the heat and ice coursing jointly through his veins. She said something, words intelligible to him as he tried to lift his head. Eventually, he did. Each movement of his neck agonizing and yet Jon persisted. Needing to find the face of the comforting touch.
Finally, he settled his eyes on the woman holding him. With something to focus on, his heart rate finally slowed. Breathing became much easier. She looked away from him, someone placed a cloak over him. But he hadn't looked away from her. Once she returned her gaze to him, he tried to examine her face. She was definitely familiar. But he didn't know her name or who she was.
For some reason, he felt compelled to touch her. Innately or instinctively, his hand moved toward her face. Truly, he didn't know why. But his quaking hand got close to her. His thumb brushed across her cheek. She seemed taken aback by this. Her own body shivered against his touch. The reaction looked pleasant, for notions unknown to him.
Soon, he felt enabled to speak. He only had one question. It was immensely more difficult to say than he expected. It took a lot of energy that he didn't have in extensive supply. As the words left his lips, it all caved in again.
"Who... are you?" And suddenly all simply cut out. Darkness and heat enveloping him.
"Easy, easy with him!"
"Where are the healers?!"
"Water, we need some water!"
"Your Grace, these prisoners are without chains…"
A withering glare sent Varys' gaze elsewhere. As quickly as Daenerys shut that down, her attention drew quickly back to Jon resting on the sheet acting as a makeshift stretcher by her bloodriders, carrying him towards the royal wing of the keep. No sooner than he had said the words that still felt like ice to her heart than he had collapsed again. Breathing ragged - still breathing, she had to keep reminding herself - even now he continued to groan and occasionally thrash about. "Where's the damned maester?!" she screamed at Barristan for the fifth time.
"I don't know, your Grace…"
On the side, Jon flung his arms. A pained gasp crying out into the hallway as he desperately clawed at imaginary enemies. "Hold down his hands!" Davos barked out. In spite of him being the enemy's Hand, his authoritative tone drew response as Barrstan grabbed one arm, Khovarro both his legs and Davos the other. Nevertheless, his thrashing continued, almost tossing the men to the floor.
"Jon…" Dany reached to touch his forehead. Feeling the once cold skin almost burning, slick with sweat and flushed crimson. "Please, Jon. We're almost there." Still groaning, the thrashing petered out. Eyes fluttering open and closed, as if he was fighting unconsciousness. "Jon?"
"The… cold… Blue…" he mumbled. "Rav…" Darkness, then light, in and out, Jon's eyes never stayed open for too long. Even if he wanted to stay awake he couldn't. Vision fading to black as his eyes rolled behind his skull.
Daenerys patted his cheek. "Jon? Jon!"
A woman's screams faint in his ears, the northerner's eyes flew open in the middle of a river. The water beneath coming up to his knees and running red with the blood of thousands. His vision was hazy in an almost perfect fog. The sound of swords clashing roaring around him but only shadows in view.
In a flash one of the shadows burst into view, water kicked up as two massive forms battled each other. Jon instinctively reached for his sword… only to find the scabbard empty.
Not that the brawlers cared… or that it would last long enough to matter. The larger one, horns sticking out of his helm like a demon, bellowed and swung his war hammer. Smashing into the other man, his armor dark as night but the heart shining like a glittering ruby…
All seemed to disintegrate from the impact of the warhammer, flecks of shining red showering the air around the falling man. Jon staggered, crying out as he seemed to feel the same blow. A wave of pain and sorrow overwhelming him. Both him and the man in the dark armor crashing into the water at the same time.
Resonating above was a voice, loud yet hushed and mournful. "Lyanna…"
"Alright, ready?" Davos barks, the guest bedchamber directly opposite the entrance to the Queen's suite prepared quickly for Jon's recovery. "One, two, three!" With a heave, Davos, Barristan, Kovarro, and Grey Worm lifted the dazed Jon onto the plus mattress.
Waiting at the foot of the bed, Daenerys barely felt Missandei hold her shoulders. Even with the furs pulled up to his waist, she still had a view of the two gaping wounds upon his stomach and chest. As if they were about to bleed at any minute. "Gods," Missandei breathed beside her. "No one can survive that." It passed her lips without her even realizing it.
He didn't… Dany bit her lip, arms around herself protectively.
"Where's the damn maester?!" Barristan grunted, wetting Jon's head with a towel as the Stark Lord began idly thrashing his limbs - mumbling in delirium.
At that moment one of the bloodriders entered, returning with two of the Dothraki female healers instead of a maester. They'd do though. "I'll go translate," Missandei offered, leaving Dany's side to help the healers as they tended to Jon.
She trembled slightly, watching him groan in some spasm of pain. "Please be alright… please come back to me," Dany murmured, close to tears.
"He struggles with death. With darkness." The Queen looked to her side to see Melisandre, regarding Jon with sad eyes. "It is up to his will to see him return."
"Jon Stark is strong," Dany replied. "He's the strongest of us all…"
A midmorning haze covered an unknown landscape. Part bathed in snow, another part bare expanse of black rock. Distributed unevenly, glowing as if each on fire - ripples dancing upon the surface.
As if a Valyrian god, Jon's eyes were omniscient. Watching the chaos play out before him like a bird watching a mummer's drama. Somewhere a dragon roared, its bat-like wings shrouding the landscape. Upon the ground raced a pack of wolves, each of a different color - one black as night, one red as fire, one grey as smoke, and one pure white as the driven snow. They raced away as fast as they could. From the dragon?
But behind them chased not the beast of Valyria but what seemed like shadows. Hot on the heels of the pack. Slowly but surely catching up… ready to engulf the wolves.
And above on a distant hill, a stag watched the scene in silence.
At long last, the maester of Dragonstone showed up, chains dangling as he moved to the prone patient. "It took you long enough," Daenerys snarled.
"Forgive me, your Grace," he babbled. "What is his condition?"
"He was dead, now he's not." Davos was anything if not blunt.
The maester furrowed his brows. "Impossible."
"It's very possible, maester," Melisandre said, smirking slightly.
"Just take care of him," Dany ordered.
"I will do my best, your Grace."
Head pounding with a cavernous echo, he suddenly found himself in a massive throne room. High ceiling of ribbed vaults covered in intricate frescoes, a massive throne of swords perched at the end, and a line of dragon skulls mounted all along the walls. Remnants of an undoubtedly bygone era…
As he walked through the vaulted hall, figures stepped out from the shadowed columns on all sides of him. Men and women, all looking familiar. His skull throbbing as he tried to remember them all.
"You are half the age that Egg was," an old man said, face wrinkled and eyes glassed over with blindness.
"...and your own burden is a crueler one, I fear." This from a beautiful woman, her moonlit hair falling in silver curls about her shoulders. She looked sad, withdrawn - one without much happiness in her life.
"You will have little joy of your command," said a man in the prime of his life. Hair long enough to fall under his ears and with a close-cropped beard. He dressed in northern leathers.
"...but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done," completed a far younger man. Dressed similarly but with hair a dark auburn and eyes a piercing blue. Regarding Jon with fondness, but also resolve.
They all regarded him fondly, surrounding him from both sides. His head whipped around. "Who are you?!" The pounding in his head grew worse. "Answer me!" Not anger, but desperation. Pain.
And yet a roaring wind drew his attention to the two standing at the base of the Iron Throne itself. Each draped in swirling snow, a blizzard beginning to overtake the throne room. One a wild beauty of the North, dark hair free to blow in the wind as she watched him in a dress of red and black. The other was almost the opposite, armored powerfully yet with a silver-white coloring and violet eyes - same as the woman from before - that gave him an almost ethereal beauty.
"Kill the boy, Jon Stark," the woman said, lovingly but firmly.
Another pain, but this time in the heart. As if Jon was supposed to know this woman. Love this woman with all of his soul. "Who are you?" he begged.
But only the man answered, as cryptically as before while the hall began to fill with howling snow and ice. "Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy, and let the man be born…"
"WHO ARE YOU…?!" All faded to white as Jon began sobbing before the two figures…
"WHO ARE YOU?!" bellowed the Lord of Winterfell, almost lurching out of bed. Dany jumping out of her skin as she watched Jon try and grab onto people not even there. His frantic beseeching knocked aside the healers and only stopped by three burly Dothraki wrestling him to the bed.
"He's a strong one, Khaleesi," one ground out.
"You sure he was dead?" another remarked.
Dany answered not, looking upon him with immense worry. His grey eyes were glassy, yet wide with fright. With desperation. Body covered in sweat, he suddenly seemed to go limp. "Who are you… don't leave me…" Jon murmured before his body started shaking violently. Eyes rolling into his skull as he thrashed about.
She gasped in terror. "What is this?! What's happening to him?!"
The maester didn't panic, but he wasn't calm either. "Spasms, Your Grace. Usually, they indicate brain or spine damage… bring me milk of the poppy now!" he yelled at his acolyte, attending to Jon even as Dany clasped her hands over her mouth.
"He's strong," reassured Davos.
"The Onion Knight is right," Tyrion added.
"He'll survive," Missandei said as Jon continued to spasm violently, taking all of the Dothraki to hold him down.
"The Lord of Light isn't done with him yet." Melisandre was the surest of them all.
And yet none of it would comfort Dany as the maester poured the milk of the poppy down Jon's gullet. Body stilling and breaths evening out in slumber, nothing would comfort Dany until her beloved would wake...
A packed city square, the sun loomed heavy. He walked over a cobbled street. Turning a corner, he was met with heat. Pure hot heat. He wasn't close yet he felt the flames lick his cheeks. In the middle of the city, a green inferno raged. There was a crowd standing far too close to it, and they cheered all the while. The flames reached high to the sky and wide as a galleon.
For some reason, he was pulled towards the madness. His feet carried him without his consent. As he neared, the crowd stopped jeering. Suddenly, they all turned to him. Their cold expressions regarded him. The crackling of the fire filling his ears, the only noise around. All the people parted for him to pass. He strolled through the way made for him. The path led directly to the fire. Wanting nothing else than to run as far away as possible, instead, he moved closer. The heat got so intense, it felt to be peeling his skin off.
Of course, his body carried him closer and closer. So close that eventually, he walked into the flames. If he could have screamed he would have. Anything to stop the madness. He wanted to at least close his eyes but he couldn't do that either. Once he entered the flames the heat multiplied tenfold. His skin melted off. If he could've reached for his hair there would've been none there. Any clothes he wore became dust, falling off his shoulders. He fell to his knees as the heat roasted him down to the bone. Though he started to crawl. Moving towards the center of the fire.
He reached the middle to find a pyre. With a long stake there, sitting naked. That was the last thing he saw before the flames enveloped him entirely...
Jon's eyes flew open, only for a murmured wince to sputter from his lips as the sunlight hit them. Squirming around on the bed… only for his entire body to hurt.
"Jon!"
The side of the bed dipped, and it took several tries before he finally opened his eyes. Finding the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her silver hair falling free over her shoulders as two wide, violet eyes looked upon him expectantly. Jon's mouth opened, feeling that he knew her name… only for it to die in his mind. Shame filling him.
"Good to see you wake. You had us worried."
Jon sat up in the bed, "I'm sorry." He attempted to try and rise off the bed but grimaced. Body aching.
Moving quickly to his side, Daenerys eased him back against the pillows. "Rest, please." Gods, he looked so different from the strong warrior she knew. "Don't be. It's not your fault," Dany told him. "Do you remember me?"
"I know I should. But my mind feels… scattered. You're familiar for sure."
Dany didn't know what to do other than introduce herself. Which felt like a strange idea because normally Missandei takes care of that. She laid her hand on her chest, "My name is Daenerys Targaryen. I'm… I'm supposed to be the rightful ruler of Westeros."
"Yeah, Targaryen. I can see that. Such pretty eyes." There was the faintest of reddening on her cheeks - Jon found he liked it. "You must be the last one, right?"
"That's correct. I am the last Targaryen."
"I'm sorry. I… I don't know much of anything right now. Though I know I should. I'm trying… it's like," Jon began trying to find the words. He gestured towards his head, "I feel all jumbled up. I feel like there's things I should know, things I should remember but I don't."
"It will come back. Your memory," she said, trying to sound reassuring. Though she had no idea if he's mind would return to normal. Physically, he was fine. His body may be a bit worn out but that's to be expected. There was no one to ask about it. The Maester could only do so much for him.
Jon didn't appear convinced. "I mean, I was dead. So there's no assurances that it will. I shouldn't even be here."
A hand found to cover his. Bringing warmth to the icy skin. "You do." There was the deepest conviction in her violet eyes. "If I know anything about you and your actions," Dany continued, though she admitted it took far too long for her to come to this conclusion. "You deserve to be here more than anyone else I know." She smiled when he let out a tiny chuckle.
"Well, always good for someone with dragons to think highly of me," Jon quipped.
She giggled a bit but turned serious after. "I... we brought you back because it was the right thing to do." Her voice turned to a whisper. "I had failed you. There was a way to right the wrong. So I took it."
Closing his eyes, Jon angled his head away. Covering his forehead with his hand. "I think I understand."
"Do… do you wish I hadn't?"
"Hells no," Jon smirked. "Being here is far better than I was."
"Where were you?"
"I'm not too sure. But it was horrible. I don't want to go back."
"Did you see something?"
"Yes. Mostly blackness, but there were some…" He shook his head. "But if it's alright, I don't want to speak about it. I'm afraid of what might happen if I do. It hurts just to think about it."
"Alright." Dany wouldn't push. "Do you remember… your death?"
Her words almost were like a gentle nudge that pushed him into the sunlight - a tiny part of Jon's body awash with calm as a weight was lifted off it. Unlocking a memory so vivid it nearly made him see stars. Playing out before him. "I… I do…" He blindly reached for the pitcher of water… only for Dany to hand it to him. Jon drank straight from it, draining it dry before coughing. The cold liquid felt perfect against his throat, grounding him. "He… he stabbed me in the back. Then took on… Th… Theo…" The name was on his tongue of who had been with him, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. "He turned back to me, stabbing me in the stomach… and the heart. That face would never leave him. "The sellsword."
"Daario Naharis." She almost spat his name out.
"Aye." Jon was grateful for the recognition. "I saw things before… things of my life I think." His eyes widened, looking at her. "Daenerys."
The way he said her name… there was a familiarity there. One that made her heart hitch. "What is it?"
"One of the memories… we were in a cave…" It was fuzzy, but Jon remembered bits and pieces. "Why would I remember that?"
It was as if Dany felt the warmth spread through her. "The cave?" Her heartbeat fast, trying not to smile widely as she wished. "What else do you remember about it?"
"Not much," he nodded. "I wish I could remember more... Of what could that memory mean to me… I remember bits and pieces of things, knowing I feel something..." He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. "Can you tell me, Daenerys?"
Dany so wanted to tell him the truth. Of their growing connection, of how she felt about him. About the cave and their near kiss, or the night of his death and the touches they shared… but she couldn't. "It isn't my story to tell, Jon Stark. Your true emotions have to come back naturally."
Jon hated not being able to make sense of any of this. Part of him wishing he had just died, but when he looked at her… "I feel calm with you here. Taking away some of the pain, clearing my thoughts."
"I'm glad I can at least provide you some comfort. I wasn't great at giving you protection as my…" Her words wandered off into a whisper that Jon didn't hear. Thankfully, they were interrupted. One of her Unsullied came in and spoke directly to her. Apparently Jon's friend Sam wanted to see him. Dany rose quickly, acting needing some fresh air. "Jon, there's someone here to see you."
"A friend. One of your friends."
"Do I know him?"
"It's like you said, you should," she smiled, moving towards the door.
"Where are you going?"
"I'll leave you to it." She wished to grant him a kiss, at least on the forehead, but would not confuse him more. If he reciprocates, he'll find you regardless. It was shocking that such romantic notions still existed for her - a good feeling, but shocking nonetheless.
Daenerys leaving left the room colder than it had been, at least it appeared so for Jon. He wrapped the furs tighter round himself as a portly man shuffled in. Face-changing from tense to… happy. "Jon. Thank the Gods you're alive."
He peered at the man, clad in the outfit of a maester's acolyte. The tone indicated that they were likely close, but he couldn't place him…
Luckily, Sam understood. "You don't remember me? It's alright, given what happened." He walked over. "I'm Sam… Samwell Tarly. We were… are friends."
"I could tell," Jon replied. "But how do I know you?"
"We served together at Castle Black. We were brothers. It just so happened we arrived there around the same time. You… defended me against some swineherds. Do you remember that?"
"No. I'm sorry. But I remember being at Castle Black. So I suppose I could've known you."
"Well, we served there together for many years. I sort of clung to you because you were a good fighter, and many of the other men respected you. So, when I stood next to you they didn't pick on me as much," Sam confessed, never having told Jon that before he died.
Jon smirked, "Oh, I get it. That's smart."
"Alright, let's check your wounds." Sam pulled the furs to his waist and slowly peeled off the bandages wrapped around his chest and stomach. "Hmmm… the wounds are open but healed. No blood or pus. That's good for a man once dead."
Jon snorted. "Aye, I'm good. Apart from the pain and memory loss."
Sam sighed. "Well, what do you remember?"
"Not much."
"Humor me?"
Jon didn't speak up at first, "Flashes mostly. These terrible dreams… Things I saw when I was dead, that won't go away," Jon explained. "I do remember a few things clearly. My name, Jon. I was a bastard but someone legitimized me. Then, I traveled. Killing, I did a lot of killing. A couple of old men. Then somehow I ended up dead in this castle."
"Do you remember anything from your childhood?"
"Not much. Some. Life was hard. Being a bastard, I wasn't treated the best. I had four siblings. Though one or two of them didn't like me or weren't allowed near me."
"Four? I thought you had five."
"Well, I'm not exactly sure if that's what you're saying."
"Jon, you have five siblings," Sam said plainly. "Do you remember their names?"
"No," Jon answered. "I don't remember anyone's name to be fair."
Sam sighed. "I'd hope you'd remember their names, Jon. This isn't good."
"I don't," Jon shrugged. Truly, he didn't. He scanned his mind, searching for answers that weren't there. Or at least, buried deep where he couldn't see.
"Do you remember what they look like?"
"Ah…" He looked relieved. "Yes, a bit. One was short, a girl. Dark hair and brown eyes. A taller girl with bright red hair," Jon said, brow furrowed. "A small child, fuzzy brown hair. Then lastly another boy with brown hair, a little shorter than the red-headed girl."
"Description is accurate, at least. So there's that. But Jon, you have another brother."
"I have no recollection of another brother," Jon shook his head.
"I never met him myself. But it's true. Listen… I'm going to tell you their names. I want you to tell me if that jump-starts your memory, okay?" Sam said. At Jon's nod, he began, "Arya, Sansa, Rickon, Bran, and Robb."
"There might be something there," Jon said, pulling a face. "Arya… Yeah, I… I gave her something. A sword, I think." It was a fragment, a small girl leaping into his arms - gaze filled with sisterly love. "She's got dark hair and brown eyes. Sansa is the tall one, red hair. I can't tell the difference between Rickon and Bran." Jon looked down, pained. "I have no idea who Robb is."
Placing a hand on Jon's shoulder, Sam gave a small smile. "You died, Jon. For over a day. Even the witch that brought you back doesn't understand the magic used. It's natural you'll have… struggles you'll need to overcome."
There was a silence before Jon chuckled mercilessly. "One thing I can remember about myself, that my life was nothing but a struggle."
"Hard times build hard men, that's what my father always said to me." He frowned. "He also implied I'd die in a hunting accident if I didn't join the Watch, so what do I know?"
Jon arched an eyebrow. "Your father sounds like a cunt."
Sam thought for a moment. "Aye, he is a cunt." For once, Jon managed a genuine laugh. Sam joined him in the bright moment with his own chuckle. Then his expression darkened a bit, "Jon, do you know why you are here?"
"Much like everything else, no. I don't know anything about it. Though, I've become rather curious about how I got here."
"Would you like to know?"
He blinked. "Well, yes."
"I'm just going to assume you remember nothing from your life in the last year," Sam began with a sigh. "You left Castle Black with Stannis Baratheon. He legitimized you in exchange for your help with the Wildlings." Jon's eyes widened. "You bent the knee and pledged to fight by his side. Eventually, you became one of his most trusted advisors. But before that, the two of you went to Hardhome. There, you were attacked by them but managed to rescue a significant amount of the Wildlings."
"Attacked by who?"
"Jon, the Others. The White Walkers. Army of the dead."
"White Walkers… Blue eyes…" Jon's voice lowered, but a whisper. His heart picked up its pace. Another blackout lingered over him but he fought it off. Blue eyes...
"Yes, Jon, do you remember now?"
"A bit. Keep going."
"You returned with Stannis and the Wildlings to the mainland. From Eastwatch the pack of you went directly to Winterfell to retake it. After a hard battle, you killed the Boltons and took your home back. You rescued Sansa."
"Boltons… Was one of them a balding man with a bushy grey beard?"
"Perhaps Roose Bolton," Sam answered with a slight shrug.
"I may have cut his head off." A faint feeling came to him at the thought. One of triumph.
"Good, it seems like some of this is coming back to you."
"Not entirely. It's like tiny chunks are still left out. I still don't know how I died in this damned castle."
"I'm getting to it," said Sam. "After taking Winterfell, you honored your pledge to Stannis and marched South with him. You left Sansa and Rickon at Winterfell. From here, all I know is that you and Stannis engaged with the Lannisters and won. Possibly a trip to Harrenhal. But around that time…" Sam stopped, peeking behind him as if to see if there was someone listening in. "Daenerys Targaryen was near to landing in Westeros. With her massive foreign army and three full-grown dragons, the country was terrified."
An image of a great giant beast flying through the air, spitting fire on scores of men flashes through Jon's mind. "Ah… we met in battle."
"Yes, you did," Sam told him. "You lost. A great many Northmen were lost. Numerous of your men bent the knee. Brynden the Blackfish refused and met the fire of Daenerys' dragon. She considered burning you as well." Thinking about it, of the wildlings and of Jon nearly dying, he couldn't help but feel bitter and angry. "Seeing as you wouldn't bend the knee. But instead, she took you captive. That's how you ended up here."
"I see," Jon frowned, looking away. "That's how I ended up here." But then he looked back to Sam, "But how did I get stabbed in the back by a low-life sellsword?"
"I'm sorry, Jon. I don't know. I wasn't there," Sam said, pursing his lips. "They haven't told me much. But it must have been a trick or something. The Jon I knew wouldn't have gone down easily."
"Well, he got me good. I guess."
"Perhaps Daenerys made him do it."
Looking at Sam, peering at him, Jon figured it was… plausible. But… "No, I don't think so…"
"Jon…"
He held up a hand. "I may not remember a damn thing, but I can tell when someone is genuine or not. Being a bastard, you have to know who secretly hates you for your birth and who doesn't behind the masks." A sigh. "Her anger at that damned sellsword was real. Her…" The look in Daenerys' eyes, it wasn't hard to see she felt something for him. She had brought him back after all when she certainly didn't need to. From what Sam told him, they met on the battlefield. He had been her enemy.
Still, she gave him a sense of calmness that nothing else could.
"She was glad I was alive. That I can tell."
Opening his mouth to argue, it seemed as if Sam realized it was pointless. "I'll fetch you some food for later. Why don't you rest?"
"I suppose I'll do that." Leaning back, Jon found himself falling asleep as his head hit the pillow.
Fifteen staves pounded into the ground. Fifteen stakes by which a prisoner was tied too. Fifteen pyres constructed by the bannermen of Storm's End, most long converted to the fiery faith of their King. Fifteen screams out of the throats of Lannister soldiers and raiders put to the torch, sounds growing faint and thrashing growing weaker as they slowly succumbed to the fires. All while the Stag King watched unmovingly. Face expressionless but eyes dancing while watching from the balcony overlooking the inner courtyard of his keep.
"May the Lord bless his chosen one!" proclaimed the master-at-arms of Storm's End, an early and zealous convert - standing in for Melisandre in her absence. "May these sacrifices of the unbelievers bring his flame upon us."
"The night is dark and full of terrors!" boomed the Household Guard, gathered around the pyres.
The master-at-arms concluded the prayer. "Lord, cast your light upon us!"
Sighing deeply, Stannis didn't feel the fire. He barely felt a spark in his morose mood - leg throbbing as he turned to walk into the solar behind. I'll need another dressing… It killed him, knowing that only with Davos and the Red Woman near would he feel secure and confident. I am the King… I.
And yet, his council was still well-staffed. "That will send Cersei a message, your Grace," Petyr Baelish offered, a smile upon his face.
"It's a start," Stannis replied, taking a well-desired seat.
"If I may, rituals don't win wars, battles do." Randyll Tarly didn't hide his discomfort, but he was loyal to a fault - likely desirous of a betrothal between his son and the crown princess, Stannis figured. "Cersei is clearly withdrawing all her forces to the capitol itself. We've secured the Wendwater while Rosby and Stokeworth capitulated to Daenerys Targaryen."
Stannis' scowl deepened. "Dragon bitch…" he muttered. "If I don't get the Iron Throne before her, I'll never get it." That damned chair, so close to him last time… he would not let it slip away. "Cersei dies next; that is my order. We already have all, but a few thousand of the Golden Company landed."
The elephants were truly magnificent. "Your Grace, if I may, I suggest a parlay." A pair of eyes rose at Littlefinger.
"What use does a damn parlay have, Baelish?" The Stag scoffed. "I outnumber them ten to one. They can get all the supplies they want from the fucking Kraken but it doesn't matter if I break the damned gates down and take the city."
"I believe Cersei will surrender."
"That's bloody madness. There's no chance that bitch would bend the knee before me. She'd rather die."
"Well, in normal circumstances, you'd be right. When you tried to take city all those years ago she nearly shoved poison down her and her son's throats. That was preferable to being captured by you."
"What's your point?" Randyll Tarly spoke up. "Get on with it."
"Cersei is pregnant."
Many whispers among those present filled the air. Stannis leaned back, "Impossible."
"Your Grace, it's very possible. She's had her brother with her for some time," Petyr explained. Also, having seen her for himself, the rumors he'd heard were confirmed. He still had contacts inside the Red Keep regardless.
Stannis scratched through his beard, lingering on the thought. "You believe this may sway her to surrender?"
"I do."
"What does it matter? A parlay is pointless, Your Grace. We can attack the city and it will fall within the day," Randyll argued, gesturing at the map. His fist slammed down into the area of the front gates. "They can't hold us back for so long. If they're foolish enough to meet us in open conflict the battle would be over long before it even started."
"Perhaps that's true. But think of your image, Your Grace. If the city is sacked, thousands will die. The last Baratheon that sacked King's Landing… well. His rule was ended by a boar."
Stannis rolled his eyes. "Robert was a fool."
"Yes, he was. I know firsthand. That's why you should be different."
The Stag King's eyes flickered to the fire in the hearth, the fading blue irises glinting in a rich orange-red. "You're dismissed," he said with a wave of his hand.
As the two Lords left, a guard entered after them. "Your Grace, the Princess Shireen requests to see you."
Normally he'd delight to spend any amount of time with his daughter, but with the weight of everything upon him… "Tell her I'll see her on the morrow." The guard bowed and left, leaving the King alone to brood and ponder.
Two Weeks Later
"How large an army is this?"
"Your Grace, Baelor Hightower's forces comprise most of the southern Reach Lords and remnants of the Faith Militant that were adrift after the loss of the High Septon in the Sept of Baelor. Estimates range from fifteen to thirty thousand - too soon to say since Oldtown is a city two-thirds the size of King's Landing. Many bodies to put into armor."
Daenerys frowned, knowing this was bad. "And how many do the Dornish have?"
Wishing he could give her good news, Barristan wasn't the type to gloss over the bad. "At most… twelve thousand. The Ironborn attacks and the slaughter of their lords caused many desertions according to Arianne Martell."
"Just fucking perfect," Daenerys mumbled under her breath. "I take it Stannis has still gathered most of his forces in the Stormlands."
"Aye, your Grace," replied Varys, on her flank opposite Barristan, both advisers following her as they walked through the spacious corridors of Dragonstone. Watched by the murals and carvings of dragonlords and Valyrian gods, their eyes almost following Daenerys as if passing judgment. "The Golden Company has mostly docked at Storm's End, and his host has almost swelled to seventy thousand."
That was even larger than her own armies. Daenerys fought a headache. "Why does he divide his forces?"
"The Reach houses that fought with the Tyrells at Highgarden are not loyal. Means he can waste them against Dorne rather than risk them betraying him."
"Smart… Thank you Varys. You may go." The eunuch bowed and made to leave - military strategy wasn't his skill, information was. "Barristan, how long can the Dornish last?"
He furrowed his brows. "As an army… perhaps a moon, longer if they can keep from getting crushed in the field. As bushwhackers? You know how Aegon and Daeron fared."
She did know but also realized that Dorne was devastated because of it. Something she couldn't allow for a critical Westerosi ally. The only ally she had left on the continent aside from Jon Stark. Even he wasn't technically. "Send a raven to Arianne. Inform her she is to avoid battle but do whatever it takes to slow Lord Hightower down… but no withdrawing to the hills. They are to stay as a fighting unit."
A man less knowledgeable on how a Targaryen thought may have asserted her plan was a dangerous gamble, but Barristan could tell when the dragon would wake. When the dragon was planning to unleash Fire and Blood. "It will be done, your Grace."
"You are a good Hand, Ser Barristan. You haven't directed me down the wrong path since the issue with the Harpy prisoner… I trust you've learned your lesson from that?" She certainly had… Daenerys wanted to know if Barriastan did.
He sighed. "Aye, I have. We are at war. We must fight as if our backs are to the walls."
"Good." Looking down the hall, there was her destination. "You are dismissed. We'll reconvene the small council before dinner." He bowed, leaving her to her will. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Dany headed to the door. Looking forward to easing her headache with the one person who could always put a smile on her face.
Knocking, a faint "Come in," warbled through the door - smiling softly at the soft northern brogue, she turned the knob and walked in, only to find the reason the call was faint. Jon Stark was out of bed… not usually where she found him. The room was empty, but the large doors that led to a central, private courtyard with a view of the cliffs. Each of the royal chambers emptied out into it, and Dany often used it to escape the chaos of the world. To calm herself as she did at the balcony of the Great Pyramid. Sometimes Drogon or Viserion would land atop the keep to keep her company. Perhaps Jon sought something similar.
Finding Samwell Tarly first, the acolyte looked her over with a half-bitter, half-curious look… as if he hadn't found a decision about whether to blame her about Jon's death. Perhaps it had something to do with Jon being alive and… well, active. The handsome Northman was in the center of the courtyard, a sheen of sweat on his brow as he practiced swordplay. He stood straight, feet planted on the stone. Hacking away at a training dummy with a flurry of attacks. Moves simple yet fluid and skilled, spinning, and twirling the practice blade. It was as if he had never been grievously wounded and killed. And yet Dany never had even a moment's ignorance of
She felt stunned to see him without a shirt. His upper body sported more scars than she could ever count. There was probably a story behind every single one. The three most recent, the three killing blows, still looked fresh. His chest was rather muscular, toned, and solid, likely spending years keeping his body in top shape. His death didn't even look to have an effect on him. The sight gave her own body a reaction she didn't expect. Unable to look away, he looked magnificent.
Seemed that her eyes on him were noticed. Panting, he turned around, exposing the scars over his chest and stomach unable not to notice. "Your Grace," he bowed shallowly.
Daenerys took a deep breath, composing herself. "Lord Stark…" She eyed the blade. "I see you haven't lost your skill."
"Oh, this?" He waved the training sword. "A bit clunky - too unwieldy. I suppose that means I wielded something lighter…"
"Same sword, but Valyrian steel."
"Wolf pommel?" He smiled when Dany nodded. "I remember that. Having such a blade in battle… glad I wasn't mad."
At that moment Sam spoke up. "Longclaw. That's the sword's name." His bitter eyes fell on Dany. "She took it from you… when…"
The Queen cut him off before he could finish. "You're dismissed, Samwell."
His eyes widened, not expected to be ordered out so quickly. "But someone needs to watch in case his wounds give out or he doubles over in pain…"
"I am perfectly capable of that." She narrowed her gaze at him. "Lord Stark and I need a moment alone to speak. So leave." The acolyte merely nodded gruffly and waddled out, leaving the two of them alone. "Sorry about that," she offered. But Jon only watched her oddly. Eyes glassy, as if trying to remember something - so she preempted him. "Why do you fight bare-chested?"
That seemed to put him off guard. "Excuse me?"
Biting her lip, Dany took a few steps towards him. "It's dreadfully cold out here." Wearing a dress of the same azure color as the one she had first worn outside Meereen, this one was long-sleeved and thicker. It fit her curves nicely while warm enough for the frightful chills of Blackwater Bay. "And aren't you conscious about the…"
"The scars?" he finished for her. "Nah, I want people to see them."
"You do?" That contrasted with the more modest personality she had deduced before all of this. "Why?"
A dark, dangerous glint formed in his grey eyes. One that perturbed Daenerys… and aroused her. "I died… and I fuckin' came back." He placed his sword on his shoulder. "Everyone should know what happened so that they don't try and fuck with me like your sellsword friend," Jon growled, darkness tinging his voice.
This was not the Jon she had remembered. Well… not completely. He had moments of danger that allured her, but this was more brazen - almost dragonlike. Daenerys both feared it and welcomed it at the same time. "I… I see." She stood there, waiting for him to turn around. When he didn't, she continued. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better."
His response shook her. "I feel not better." Back turned, Jon hung his head. Eyes tightly closed. "Stronger, but no better." At that moment he turned, a dangerous look changed into something more mournful. "I feel pain, all the time. Some faint, while other times it's excruciating to the point of collapse."
Daenerys' heart broke for him. "I'm sorry."
"I think part of it comes from trying to remember my life… my family. I try so hard, and all I get are fragments." The odd look came back, watching Dany like a wolf wary to approach a sleeping auroch for fear of being gored. "Daenerys, why did we fight in a battle?"
"We were enemies."
"Were?"
"I don't consider you an enemy any longer," Dany said, a ghost of a smile on her face.
He smiled back, but it fell. "Listen, Samwell filled me in. At least what he knew. I know what happened."
Dany lowered her eyes, then looked away. What had Jon been told? It wasn't outlandish for Samwell to have told Jon about all the discord between them. Immediately she worried he'd turn from her completely. "What did he tell you?"
"Everything he knew. As I said."
Her heart sunk deep. "So, what do you know?"
"I know we fought. I know you used your dragon to annihilate my army. While only fragments of the battle remain in my mind, I do remember seeing the massive beast. Vividly." He shuddered, feeling the low aches grow to a steady throbbing. "Even death didn't take that sight from me. I know instead of burning me like the Blackfish you took me captive."
"That's true. I showed you mercy."
"I suppose you did. But coming here cost me my life. Perhaps you should've burned me right then and there," Jon said, half meaning it and half testing her. He watched her face darken. Then he smirked and chuckled, "A mere jest. I told you. Being here is far better than where I was."
She huffed, hoping he didn't catch how what he said made her feel like she was the one being stabbed. "I'd hope so." Daenerys collected herself. "I put Daario Naharis to a trial yesterday… or attempted to anyway. He demanded a trial by combat for your murder... he doesn't know you're dead."
"Ah… the sellsword, trial by combat, I know it. He fights your champion if he wins he goes free?"
"Correct."
"Well," Jon shrugged. "I'll be fighting him then."
Her jaw dropped, skin prickling in fright. "What? Jon, you can't."
"Why not?"
"You've just come back some two weeks ago. You can't fight him." Dany's voice was almost frantic - and he noticed. "You aren't back to full strength."
"Daenerys, I have to. He can be no one else's."
"It surely can. I have many able bodies to fight for me."
"Perhaps. But Daario didn't kill them. Daario killed me. Now, it's my turn. I deserve vengeance and I will have it. You will not stop me," Jon told her, plainly. "Even if you won't allow me to fight him as your champion. He won't leave the island alive. I'll kill him regardless. I told him so. Can't go back on my word, can I?"
"Are you sure?"
Jon stepped back from her and flipped the training sword in his hands before hacking through the air. He pressed forward to the training dummy. Berating it with blows over and over again with such intensity the dull blade snapped in half. Jon tossed the hilt aside and turned back to Dany. His loose hair laid over his face, he pushed it back with one of his hands.
"I'm sure," he told her.
"What happens if you can't beat him? I can't just stop the duel."
"You won't have to. I'll kill him."
His confidence pleased her, glad he had something to fight and strive for. She pointed at him, smirking, "Do you intend on fighting him shirtless as well?"
"No, I suppose not. I can't make it that easy on the sellsword. Though I suspect you might enjoy that."
She gasped, "What?"
"I saw you staring at me, Daenerys. I'm no dullard. I may have died, but I have sense."
Dany reddened in spite of herself. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"It's fine. I understand," Jon said, shrugging. He turned his back to her.
She scoffed, following after him. "What are you doing?" When she got close he snapped back around and grabbed her. He didn't hurt her. But his hands gripped around her wrists. Her breath caught still her throat. "What are you doing?" She repeated herself, but her voice lower. She didn't wrestle against him because he was calm. His eyes weren't full of fury. Instead, warmly regarding her.
He let go of one of her wrists, yet held on to the other. Saying nothing, he moved her hand to hover over his chest. Slowly, he brought her palm to press against his flesh, right over his heart. Time slowed to a crawl. The beat of his heart was evident. Her own picked up its pace, while his stayed even keel. Her fingers brushed over the place where the blade stabbed him. A half-moon crescent shape, bulging out from the skin, red and a bit swollen. But she wasn't repulsed. How his body even functioned now, she didn't know. She didn't know what to say or think.
Jon sensed her disarray. "It's alright. I just wanted you to see. I know what you did for me. I know what you did against me. But all that matters now is the present. My heart beats but it shouldn't." He watched her tremble slightly. From emotions he faintly recognized. "I died but I've returned. I don't know how or why. Only that you willed it, or it wouldn't have happened. I need to know. Why did you bring me back?"
"I brought you back because it was my fault that you died and I felt guilty," Dany replied.
"Your fault? The sellsword might've done it 'in your honor' but the act had nothing to do with you, much as Samwell seems to blame you." While he understood why his friend felt that way, Jon didn't join him. "The details are fuzzy to me but you weren't there. You could've let me sleep. But you didn't. Why?"
She blinked, Remembering Davos' words. "I brought you back because you deserved to live."
"I deserved to live?" The older man had told him that in his visit. Jon had liked him instinctively - Davos Seaworth was one of a rare good, honorable men who would rarely lie, but on this contention he was skeptical. "I've killed hundreds of people. Old men, I remember murdering two old men. I don't even know why. I was your enemy. We fought each other. I fought for Stannis. How did you think I deserved to live?"
"Because you're a good man."
"I just told you I'm a murderer. I need answers. Why did you bring me back, Daenerys?"
"Because I care for you. I didn't want you dead." Her voice shook, dropped to a low whisper. Staring into the grey eyes she thought she'd never see again. "It hurt me that you weren't alive… with me."
Jon released her. But she didn't step away. "Even if I had been your enemy?"
She did not hesitate. "Yes." Despite everything, he was the only one who ever treated her on equal terms. Never dominating, never fawning.
A moment's silence passed before he sighed. Smiling. The pain for once actually gone - if only temporary. "I just wanted to hear you say it."
"You suspected something?"
"Of course I did. Once I found out how I got here, it confused me how you'd bring me back. The decision didn't make any sense given who I was. But, now I know why."
Dany had no response. She walked past him to the dummy he'd beaten several moments ago. Her mind wandered back to the imminent duel. "You don't have to fight him."
"I'm no coward. I have to."
"What if you lose?" she said, turning back to him.
"I won't be beaten again. Not as long as I have something to fight for and a sword in my hand," Jon told her. "I have to do this."
Dany sighed, keeping her eyes on him. He didn't move an inch. "I'll allow it," she finally said.
"I appreciate it, Daenerys," Jon replied with a small smile. "It can only be me. Should I fall again, then I truly do deserve to die."
"I'd much rather see you win. As opposed to having to further endure Daario. I just hope all of your skills have returned."
"Thank you for your concern. But I'll be fine. My fight skills feel sharp, it's instinctual and innate. While my mind is twisted up, it can't affect the duel. Fighting is all about reacting and acting accordingly."
"You certainly know how to do that." Of all her enemies, his skill had come the closest to defeating her without simple luck or betrayal. "But don't lose."
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a command, Your Grace?"
She raised one herself. "It is… if that's what it takes." They stood quietly before she added, "It's also a plea. Don't lose."
"I don't intend to." There was another pause, but suddenly they were in each other's arms. Neither knew who moved first, whether Dany walked to him or Jon opened his arms, but he undeniably held her tightly while she allowed him.
Ear pressed against his chest, she could hear his heartbeat. A sound she would love to hear for the rest of her life. Soothing, calming, pushing all of her worries and fears away. "I gave you a choice, Jon." Dany could feel his eyes on her. "Before… this, I gave you the choice to leave for the North… for your home - but then I made it for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Essentially, I ordered you to go. It was all that you demanded for moons…" Dany trailed off. "But I can give you the choice now - to go home or to stay."
He watched her intently. Gazing for any tell of her emotions. "What do you want, Daenerys?"
"I… I…" Now was her chance, to rectify all that was unsaid. "I want you to stay." Daenerys made herself look up, to him. "Please stay… with me." The look in his eyes was… intense. Powerful, grey eyes dark as they regarded her. He leaned down, as if to kiss her, but stilled. Foreheads merely touching.
In truth just this moment made her feel more complete than with either of her past lovers.
Before he could answer, she gently pulled away. For once truly looking like the young girl she in fact was. "You need not decide… I shouldn't have asked. Not while you're… still finding yourself." He had to be the one to make the choice. "I'll send for Samwell."
Turning to leave, Dany heard him call back to her. "You shouldn't be sorry." She looked back, finding him simply staring at her. "I'm glad you told me - glad to know whatever these feelings are… they're real." He offered the slightest of smiles. "I have very little left of myself that is real, so I choose to cling to what is."
Daenerys smiled back. "The choice… it's always yours, Jon. Please tell me when you make it." He nodded, watching as she left him alone. Always when it's darkest for him, unfortunately. When he has no one to shine a light on the things that cloud his mind.
Daenerys was the best at that.
Daenerys Targaryen stepped through the doors to the great hall with her hands clasped over the bright white dress, sheathed by an open grey cloak about her shoulders - his colors, though combined with the three-headed dragon clasp chain of her battledress. Regal and composed as a warrior Queen with elaborate braids, Daenerys looked as if she would be claiming the Iron Throne that day. Not striding an empty great hall to preside over a trial.
Barristan and her bloodriders were gathered around the Dragonglass Throne, Missandei in front of it but at the base of the dias. Varys, Tyrion, and Grey Worm stood to the side, the latter the furthest away. In his hands was the sheathed Valyrian steel blade Longclaw, pommel as gleaming white as her dress. Auspicious…
In the center of the hall stood Daario Naharis. At seeing her, he smiled even in spite of his still scabbed over cheek - almost affectionately. As if they were locked in a passionate embrace following a night of coupling. Daenerys refused to let his gaze falter her, violet eyes meeting his with an expressionless steel. Had she always been blind?
No, I knew what he was the moment he brought the heads of his captains to me. She quietly ascended the steps, recalling all she had endured and witnessed. A ruler cutthroat and inflexible would find themselves bereft of allies. And yet Daario had never given up on the ruthless Dragon Queen.
She was tired of death, of war. She had changed, matured, grown as a ruler. This filled her resolve as she took her seat upon the throne of Aegon the Conqueror.
"I hereby call this trial to order." Among the columns were the various captains and lieutenants of the Second Sons. Good, they would learn a valuable lesson today. "Ser Barristan, you may begin." Ahead of her, the chains clinked as Daario crossed his arms, watching her with boredom.
Ser Barristan cleared his throat. "By the authority of her Grace, Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, this trial shall determine the guilt of Grand Captain Daario Naharis for the crimes of murder, attempted murder, and high treason." His voice was filled with contempt. "I have been informed that the accused wishes to make a request of the court."
There was a pause. "Oh," Daario remarked. "Now may I speak?" He asked, tone mocking the proceedings. "Apparently there's this process of this shit country where an accused can seek combat to be one's trial, no?"
Barristan gritted his teeth. "If you request a trial by combat, you bind yourself to the determination of the gods…"
Daario waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. Dispense with the horseshit, old man." His eyes fell again on Dany. "The gods'll show I'm superior to any of these mummer warriors." He licked his lips. "Plus, you know what they say is good after a fight."
Bristling, Daenerys narrowed her eyes. "I regret not having fed you to my dragons when you held a knife to Missandei's throat, but it doesn't matter. You'll be dead either way."
It had the desired effect, Daario's grin fading - replaced by a scowl. "Weeks, my Queen. Weeks and this is only the second time I have seen you… and you resort to having me kill someone to survive an execution. What is this injustice?"
"Would you rather me have you released with a trail of flowers leading to my bed?"
"Now that you mention it…"
Daenerys started laughing in spite of herself. "Oh Daario, Daario… You think you have some right to me but you don't." A dragon, seen either as a slave to tame or a slavemaster to appease for personal gain. Only Jon ever saw me as a person. Ironically, his enmity was the only genuine form of equality she had ever witnessed in her life. "I felt nothing when I dismissed you from my bed because you are nothing to me."
"That is a lie!"
"No, it is the truth." Gods, he was giving her such a headache. "Believe someone when they show you who you really are. You did when the heads of your captains fell to my floor."
He scowled, pulling at his chains. "I did that for you! Everything that I've done has been for you."
She shook her head. "You did it for yourself. You felt that a female Maegor the Cruel would dazzle your cock the most." A sigh. "A lordship and keep awaited you at the end of this campaign had you followed my orders, but you didn't. And here we are."
"Your Grace, just get on with it," Missandei hissed, sick of looking at him.
Daario scoffed. "I shan't have some pleasure slave judge me."
No one was more affronted by the insult to his lover than Grey Worm. "I kill you now!"
"She has not named you champion, Grey Worm," Barristan barked, the young Unsullied glowering as he stepped back.
"You don't judge me, old man - I judge you! I judge all of you! Had she followed her instincts she'd be in the Red Keep by now - I was the only one who realized this." He grinned at Dany. "Send your worst, lover. I promise for your sake I won't have my face or my cock damaged."
Alright, Daario. "Qhono, give him your blade." The Dothraki snorted but complied.
Watching the arakh brought to him - made of the finest Meereenese steel, he rolled his eyes. Rubbing his wrists as the chains fell to his feet. "I want that." Daario pointed at Longclaw in Grey Worm's hands.
"A warrior may choose his blade if the sovereign allows it. I don't." I am going to enjoy this. "Normally House Targaryen's champion is fire. But I made a promise to someone." Dany leaned back with a ghost of a smirk. Let's see if you believe in ghosts... "The champion for the Crown is Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell."
There was silence in the hall apart from the scuffle of boots upon the stone floors. There in his black and grey leather cuirass, steel gorget emblazoned with two snarling direwolves, and a bun holding back his raven hair was Jon Stark. Silent as he found Daario, taking Longclaw from Grey Worm - eyes never leaving his prey.
Besides how handsome and powerful Jon looked in his battle gear, Daenerys would always remember the look of slack-jawed shock on Daario's face. In front, she saw Missandei cast a smirk behind her shoulder. Dany smirked as well, leaning forward. "Surprised, Daario?"
His mouth flopped open like a fish. "I…" he finally choked out. "I fucking killed you."
"Seems you didn't, Naharis," chuckled Tyrion. "If you are that bad with where to stick a blade, I worry for your lovers."
"You shouldn't be alive," Daario said, scowling harshly. "I stabbed you in the fucking heart!"
Jon swirled his blade, remembering it's balance. It felt good to hold the Valyrian steel in his hands again. Grey eyes settled on Daario, gaze sharp and weathered with an almost haunting expression. Like the ice demons, he had previously shouted about. "Aye, you did."
"How the fuck are you here?"
"I'm not sure," Jon replied, stretching the creaks in his joints nonchalantly. "But I am here for you."
The reality dawned that he was actually going to face Jon Stark, a slow grin formed on Daario's face. Slashing at the air with his arakh. "On second thought, I don't give a shit. Seems I'll get to kill you twice." He glanced at Daenerys. "Perhaps this time the Queen will get the message."
Jon's eyes narrowed. There was much that was still a void to him, but with this man, he was focused. Determined. Clear. "Do you remember what I told you?"
Daario rolled his shoulders. "Do you remember what I told you I'd do with your sword? Imma fuck your little cunt sister with it, bastard." Daenerys' eyes widened - even she hadn't expected him to be that cruel. I should've burned him...
Blue eyes and red hair gleaming as a girl hugged him filled his mind. He didn't know her name, but he did remember her face. A sudden rage filled his void. "Seems to me you belong in the darkness. I saved a spot for you while I was there."
"Nah," Daario said, flaring his nostrils. "I'll let you have it." He got into his own fighting stance. "My place is in the Queen's bed."
While Daenerys' anger rose, Jon merely gripped Longclaw with two hands, readying himself. "You aren't leaving this room alive, Naharis."
"I'll enjoy ripping your heart out."
"You may try." The two of them stared each other down for a split second further before they charged.
Daario spilled first blood when his arakh delivered a shallow slice on Jon's shoulder. He grimaced but reared back. Stance firm as he matched the powerful attacks blow for blow. Each swing was with full force, but a miscalculation found Daario slashing over Jon's head, giving the northerner the opening to slash for himself. Falling back on an instinct learned long ago. Drilled into him by persons unknown.
Such was enough to keep him alive, for now. Steel flashing as it caught each blow, blades ringing as if a beautiful yet deadly orchestra. Eyes narrowing, Jon stabbed at Daario's shoulder. Using the force of the party to spin Longclaw into position for a two-handed downward hack… only for Daario to bash him in the head with the hilt of his arakh.
Jon pitched back, stumbling a few steps before righting himself. Battle paused as he felt his forehead. Fingertips trailing blood. "Lucky blow."
A sneer appeared on Daario's face. sneer spread on Daario's lips. "You're slow, bastard. Don't make this too easy for me."
"Don't worry, I won't."
Dany tensed as Daario attacked. Swiping and slashing in a flurry of attacks that sent Jon off balance. Longclaw only just saving her love from a quick decapitation. He's more skilled… Even in the state, he was in, Jon's greater skill showed. But he was stiff. Not the savage she witnessed at Duskendale, cutting through Dothraki and Unsullied alike.
"He's tiring," Barristan noted to her side.
"We should have delayed," Dany murmured, watching as Daario made up for the skill deficit in his usual style. Dirty and frenzied, putting all of himself into the attack no matter how wild or underhanded. A street brawler against a castle knight.
Each parry became harder and harder, each breath taking more effort. His head felt light, pounding against his skull. Daario's battle cries rang in his ears as if far away, but still Jon fought. Words flashed through Jon's mind, unbidden. 'You learned to fight in a castle…' He quickly raised his blade, parrying a downward slash before Daario's shoulder crashed into his side. Arakh twirling in his wrist to slice at his side. 'Some old man teach you how to stand? How to parry?'
Every joint felt like sand was scraping through them. Aching as he leaped back. Stance rooting in the ground to meet Daario head-on.
'How to fight with honor!'
The sellsword charged, grunting war cries as he put his entire strength into his two-handed assaults. The clash of steel on steel ringing through the great hall. Jon's hiss of pain as the blade nicked his chest belied who had the upper hand.
Daenerys almost cried out at seeing the flash of red - more of Jon's blood spilling to the floor and her again powerless to stop it. A second death, a second urge to Melisandre would only destroy the man she loved even more than he was now. Dany bit her lip, praying for the first time in years for the worst to not pass.
The arakh was made for slashing. To slice soft flesh rather than hack through thick meat and bone. Daario wielded it with the fury of a greatsword in his assaults, sweat shooting off of him like a rainstorm as he snarled his attacks. Pushing Jon almost to the dias itself. Beating a left slice with Longclaw, Jon noticed a kick coming and instead charged. Forcing Daario to give ground and bring up his arakh defensively.
Their blades met, arms straining as they stood face to face. "Give up… bastard…" Daario grunted through the strain.
Jon refused to give in. Lungs burning - joints buckling. Even as he pushed, the strength slowly ebbed from him. Unable to break the stalemate.
'You know what's wrong with honor…'
As if on instinct, Jon spat into Daario's face. With a cry of irritation, Daario stumbled, allowing for the sudden punch to the chest to send him actually scrambling. Losing even his nimble footing as the glint of Valyrian steel entered his vision.
No cries of battle or anger left Jon's lips, just a murderous rage as silent as the direwolf he so aptly named. Hacking away one-handed at the off-balanced Daario. Wrist dextrous as he spun around, attacks and parries matching Daario's frantic attempts. Thrusting forth, Jon anticipated Daario's sidestep and spun on his leg the other way, Longclaw tasting the flesh of Daario's chest… Ears warbling with his cry of pain.
"Look, your Grace." Eyes opening after being shut for so long, Dany almost gasped as it was now Daario wounded. Jon's face hardened, an almost… fire burning in his eyes.
Patting his wound, Daario snarled. "You're gonna pay for that, bastard."
"I told you I would kill you," Jon said. "Don't delay the inevitable."
Daario beat on his bleeding chest, blood smearing onto his gloves. "It was me that killed you!"
"Aye. It was wrong of you to murder me." More flashes hit his mind. Of battles large and small - mere snippets of a past filled with life and struggle. It fueled his fire. "Now, you will understand what you took from me." Jon slowly swung Longclaw around, wrist stilling and hand gripping the hilt tightly.
Another charge, only for Jon to sidestep him. Countering all attacks but otherwise almost dancing around Daario. Letting his furious charges peter out to nothing.
It infuriated the sellsword. "Fucking fight me!" Another snarl as Jon did it to him again, sweat soaking his clothes.
Jon cocked his head to the side. "Daario Naharis, where do you come from anyway? My name has meaning. My name is an honor. You're the one who's worth nothing." He suddenly shook his head, not caring anymore… not caring to do anything but kill this cunt in front of him. "Let's get this over with."
"Aye, lets."
They moved in a deadly dance, bodies soaked with sweat but Jon's sudden inferno pushing aside his pain. He furiously went at Daario with two hands clasped to Longclaw - ending a potential counterstrike by kicking Daario in the ribs. Followed by a punch, instincts beaten out by a different instinct. One more savage, desperate… the instinct of someone that had something to fight for.
Jon twirled the blade one-handed, a right hook narrowly missing Daario but forcing his retreat. Whirling Valyrian steel meeting the arakh, right hand tightening back on Longclaw to thrust and slash.
Batting aside a powerful lunge that nonetheless nicked his cheek, Jon slashed Longclaw left. Then right as he spun around, each swing of his blade growing closer and closer, parries weakening. Fire overpowering the exhaustion of his foe. A counterattack was beaten back with ease, Jon not even breaking a sweat at this point.
"Fuck you!" Daario screamed, punching wildly, kicking at Jon's groin. The latter missed bit the former hit Jon's jaw, spilling a bit of blood. "You will die!" Arcing his blade high in the air, he was about to slash down right at the join of the neck and shoulder… when a flash of sunlight reflected on Valyrian steel as it thrust forward through his exposed stomach. Left open to the darkened Stark by his anger and dramatic flourishes. He suddenly felt a punch to the gut, the sheer force of Longclaw staggering him. There was no pain.
Not yet at least.
He did it. Dany knew enough about fighting to detect a mortal wound. The vice on her heart evaporated. All was right again.
"I told you I would kill you," Jon whispered, pulling Daario close. "I'll make sure no one remembers your name."
"Go…" he coughed, blood frothing around his lips. "...ahead… I was born… nothing and I will end that way… but you… you'll always be…" Even through the pulsing pain, through the agonizing wheezes. "A bastard playing a part."
Wordlessly, Jon drew Longclaw out, pulled the sellsword up by the hair, and watched as the Valyrian steel blade slit open his throat from ear to ear. Eyes hard as Daario Naharis gasped for one final breath, blood soaking his entire upper body before the eyes blew. Life leaving him with a wheeze of air. Letting go of the hair, the body dropped to the floor.
It was all so… anticlimactic.
"Let the record state that by his defeat and death at the hands of Jon Stark, champion to her Grace the Queen Daenerys Targaryen," Barristan began. "The gods so judged Daario Naharis to be guilty of the offenses charged."
Sighing in relief, Daenerys stood, eager to put this mess behind them. Concerned over Jon's injuries, wishing for him to be cleaned and dressed.
But Jon shared none of the relief of his erstwhile love. Standing there, he stared at the body. Fire unsated, the returning darkness in his soul roiling him. Consuming him… He barely registered what he was doing, but suddenly he was upon the corpse. Fists clashing against flesh until there was only bone.
Though Daario had clearly passed, Jon continued to beat his lifeless body. Uncaring, it seemed as if he hadn't even noticed. He wanted blood. So that's what he took. All his anger and frustration flooded out through his fists. It didn't even provide him relief. So he just kept going.
"What is he doing?" Tyrion frowned, nearly turning away. "The man is dead."
"You don't know fury like that, Lannister," Barristan told him. "Sometimes, that's all there is. When that happens, it's best to let it happen. Lest you feel the wrath as well."
"So… much pain, I can't imagine it," Missandei gasped, covering her mouth. Eventually, she had to turn away.
Jon lifted Daario's battered body only to cast it back down against the stone - breathing hard, in and out. Wet crimson dripped off his hair and clothing. The knot he'd used to keep his hair back had been lost long ago. The loose locks hung over his face. The room was still, just watching him. Daenerys was unable to look away. She didn't know if she needed to speak, perhaps stop him. But Barristan's words stuck in her mind. At that moment, she wasn't sure if Jon would turn to her with the same fury or not.
Then, in a swift motion, Jon brought his leg up high. Above what remained of Daario's head, only to bring his boot down hard. His foot essentially caved in the skull. He did this three more times before backing off. Jon fell to his knees, then to his back. Laid flat out, covered in blood, he looked dead himself.
The sight made Dany shoot to her feet. Immediately going over to him. But Barristan blocked her path, "Your Grace, he's in bloodlust."
"I don't care."
"He's dangerous."
"So am I."
"Your Grace, please."
"Step aside, Ser Barristan." Reluctantly, the older knight did as he was told.
As Daenerys neared Jon, she did notice his chest rising and falling. Which brought her a matter of relief, at least. Jon certainly looked worse for wear. What remained of Daario Naharis had made a right mess of her throne room. The image of the body disgusted Dany, yet also a tinge of satisfaction.
Sitting up, Jon sensed her presence. His expression was worn from the fight, but the anger seemed to have dissipated. "I got him," he said, awash with calm.
"Yes," Dany replied. "You certainly did."
Jon examined his palms, which twitched at the movement. "I might've broken one of my hands."
His relaxed tone almost made her laugh. "Why did you beat him?" Dany asked, eying his hard face, littered with new scars from the fight. One against his forehead, a tiny one that nicked his cheek. She wanted to kiss both of them. "You'd already won."
"I suppose I wanted to. I thought he deserved it."
"I don't know any man that deserved what this one got," said Barristan, kicking Daario's boot lightly. "You gave him no honor in defeat."
"There is no honor in defeat. Daario Naharis is - was nothing," He said, then looked at Dany. "Regardless, his life was mine to take. I took it. It doesn't matter how I did it."
Nodding, Dany's face morphed to concern. "Are you hurt?" She reached forward and took his knuckles in her hands. Her thumb rubbed over his busted open fist.
Her touch was instantly soothing. "No, I'm fine. " He gestured to his bloody tunic. "This is mostly his." He inched ever closer to Dany, but Barristan put his hand on his sword. Jon's eyes shot to him, "Ser Barristan, I suggest you don't do that."
Barristan made to retort, but Daenerys locked eyes with him. "It's fine. Step aside." Again, the knight obeyed but watched Jon closely. "Missy, please have a hot bath prepared for my champion." The translator bowed and compiled.
Her champion. Jon found he rather liked that term, a sense of recognition he instinctively recognized as rare to him… and yet she looked hesitant. "Daenerys, are you afraid of me?" Even though she was touching his hands, there was still tension in her. Though after watching him beat a man to death, many women would've cowered long before then.
Not much room for hesitation. "No, I'm not. There are much scarier things than you." Gently, she blotted the small amount of blood from his face.
"Oh? Like what?"
"Losing you," the words fluttered from her lips before she could stop herself. A part of her wished he had missed it.
Jon blinked, baffled, then he regained his composure. There were many things that were lost to him since returning to life. But Daenerys was not one of them. She was vivid to him when everything else seemed foggy. They'd gone to a cave for some reason, he didn't remember why. But he hadn't forgotten their connection in that cave.
Despite their surroundings, he smiled. "I'm not sure who I was before. I don't remember everything… But there's something about you. When we're together, everything makes sense."
Daenerys almost swooned at that. "I'm glad to hear it," she eventually said after a long pause, composed with a slight hitch. "You've been a cloud of confusion for so long. But yes, now you seem clear to me as well."
"Well, that's very good to hear. I suppose," Jon said. "There is something about you. But I can't quite gather what it is yet."
She wanted to sigh. That will do, for now, I suppose. Wordlessly, Dany reached up, wiping away the drying blood from his head wound - cringing at his wince… but it was momentary. His face was bruised a bit but otherwise looked fine. More than fine. "One day at a time, Jon Stark. If you look back, you are lost."
Feeling her cup his cheek, Jon felt the tension leave him. "Aye. I very much like looking forward." With her, the void in front of him didn't seem so terrifying.
A/N: BRuh4: Sort of a lot to unpack with this one, I'll break it down. Jon had some visions while he was dead. Those were the things highlighted in italics if that wasn't clear. All the visions mean something and will all come into play. Feel free to interpret them as you wish.
As we mentioned last time, Jon mind is broken. There are things he doesn't remember. Some of those things will return to him over time and others won't. As you saw here he has trouble remembering a lot of things. This is clearly a result of him dying. It is a tool to bring Jon and Dany closer together because Jon has suddenly forgot all the nasty shit Dany did to him. He's been reminded of what's happened. He just doesn't care all that much because he doesn't mean anything to him. He has no memory of it. He's working with what he's got. From this chapter you can start to see the things that have changed about Jon.
Only more will come to light.
I'd say RIP Daario but nobody liked that guy.
Longclaw: Pretty much everything in this.
Jon's visions, we approached them kinda like Dany at the House of the Undying, but far more abstract since he's dead. The whole "Nothing at all" was a cop out by Hollywood in our thinking, but since Jon is destined to come back then he shouldn't get a full on afterlife journey - at least not in this story.
We both had fun writing the Jonerys moments. They aren't there yet. Jon is trying to reassemble his broken mind while Dany cannot allow herself to manipulate him.
Tell your friends.