Brienne
It all happened so suddenly. The rage of war was there, and then it just stopped. The wights had all just suddenly collapsed like puppets cut from their strings. The storm ended, and the stars ignited the sky. The battle was won.
But the victory was not something savored, as the heat of battle left many who were driven by it and they could barely stand. Brienne found that she was among them, leaning on Oathkeeper to keep herself somewhat standing.
Then the dragon roar came, and the shadow of Drogon flew into Winterfell. The dragon deposited two bodies, Queen Daenerys in utter panic and King Aegon, limp and almost devoid of life. That moment marked the start of many mourning over the bodies of their fallen brethren and allies.
Aegon was quickly rushed to a room and anyone who had any knowledge in the healing arts was sought after. Ravens were sent out to Cerwyn and White Harbor almost immediately, summoning all the help that could be brought.
And then dawn broke over the hills, turning the morning sky silver. Even though the snow and the soft winds were cold, the light of the sun was never warmer. But unfortunately even that was not much to set the hearts of those who survived at ease.
So many bodies were strewn across the grounds of Winterfell, both fresh and cold. The host of healers that had been waiting at Cerwyn during the battle had just arrived, immediately aiding the thousands of men who were wounded and others joining the scouring for those who had not yet been found who could still be saved.
Brienne had taken a few cuts here and there, hardly anything to think was fatal. She was able to wash and bandage her own wounds easily enough. But instead of resting with the many others who needed a respite, she decided not to. She still had strength, and there were hundreds if not thousands who needed help far more than she did.
Instead, she joined the soldiers who went outside the gates to the north, looking for any who were still alive. The sight was horrible. This was nothing like the aftermath of her previous skirmishes or the Battle of the Bastards. The worst of it was when she found the bodies of the familiar, fallen and gone. But she vowed that she would not shed any tears, not yet. Not until she was allowed a time she could spare herself too.
It had been a rough morning the first hour. It seemed that for every twenty people that were dead, there was one among them who was still holding on. Several pyres of the fargone corpses that could only have belonged to the Night King's army were lit, burning the bones and cold flesh into ash to clear away the fields.
Brienne had just helped carry a soldier from the Vale to the healing stations set up in the castle grounds when she caught sight of a familiar face that thankfully was alive and well. She breathed a sigh of relief, finding a table to quickly bring the man she was helping to and left him in the care of a maester before rushing off.
"Podrick!" She rushed over to her former squire as he was helping bandage an older man's wound on his head. Podrick looked over to her and gasped in a breath of relief when he saw her. That was when she noticed a limp in his right leg when he walked over to meet her.
"I knew you'd make it, milady." Pod said, not shying from hugging her tightly.
"Are you alright?" She asked, looking down at his leg.
"I'll be fine. Just took a club to the side of my knee. What about you?"
"A few cuts and bruises." She looked around to the many men being tended to. The number had more than tripled since she brought the last person she found before the Vale soldier. "Are the boys alright?"
Podrick nodded. "Theon Greyjoy guarded them to the end. He didn't let a single wight get by him."
Brienne sighed once again.
"I saw Ser Loras not too long ago. He got his leg badly broken."
"Fuck," Brienne hissed. "I haven't seen any of the Kingsguard yet."
"Ser Wallace made it. He went off to Winter town to organize proper lodging for the wounded. He's the only one I've seen, milady."
Brienne looked further to the men being treated. A woman walked by with a basket full of rags soaked with blood. Beric was stationed on the wall with the Fiery Hand and his brotherhood, Marcus joined his Uncle and cousins with the Dornish cavalry host, Jorah was with the Mormonts at the North Gate, and Jaime fought alongside Tommen and their family's army.
"I need to find the others, Pod."
"I'll keep a lookout for them, milady…" his eyes turned to the ground then back to her. "Can I ask you something first?"
"What is it?"
"Before the battle ended did you hear Queen Sansa's voice too?"
A warm feeling came over her when he asked. She wasn't shocked or surprised. In fact she felt somewhat grateful that it wasn't just her. "I did. She gave hope for the battle when I had almost lost mine."
"Me too," Podrick said, smiling. "I wasn't afraid anymore either." He looked over to the wounded. "I need to get back to work now. Good luck."
Searching among the fallen Lannister soldiers was one of the first places Brienne began to look. She didn't see Jaime or Tommen anywhere as far as she could tell before she had to start carrying wounded herself instead of calling on others.
"What about Bronn?" Brienne asked.
Podrick shook his head with a shrug. "I haven't seen him either."
Brienne nodded. "Nothing's certain until it is." Podrick has his duties to go to, and she still had hers.
Another hour went by before Brienne caught sight of Ser Marcus in the battlefield sending off a wagon of bodies.
"Ser Marcus!" Brienne rushed over to him.
"Ser Brienne," he greeted happily when he saw her. "I heard the King took a hard wound from the Night King. Have you seen him? I've only seen Queen Sansa so far."
"I haven't, but he's being well tended to. I've learned that Wallace and Loras are alive. Have you seen any of the others?"
A solemn expression befell Marcus before he shook his head at her. "We four are what remains of the Kingsguard now."
It felt like a knife pierced her heart. "Are you certain?"
Marcus nodded, pointing over to the gathering of men by the West gate, where the bodies of the fallen were being organized and laid. "Come on." He led her all the way there on horseback, taking back to walking when they made it.
Row after row of dead men, Brienne stopped when Marcus did, both of them finding the Commander of the Unsullied, Grey Worm, standing next to Queen Daenerys as she was on her knees, weeping over the body of Ser Jorah Mormont. Next to Ser Jorah was Ser Beric, finally taken by death… and next to him…
Brienne stepped forward and stopped when she saw the bodies of Jaime and Tommen laid next to one another. Father and son had fallen together.
Even though she promised she would not weep until the work had been done, she could not find the strength of will to follow through now.
Sansa
Pressing on after such a battle was proving difficult for many. This had been the first battle for thousands of years that was not fought for power, glory, or gain. It was fought for survival. And many brave and good men who earned their salt had died in the fighting.
Seeing Theon dead in the hallway brought her to her knees, weeping with Rickon. And then later when she saw the state that Jon was in, she nearly broke once more. Both she and Daenerys could not find calm until someone could tell them whether Jon would live or die. It was a pair of Wildings who tended to Jon, a spearwife and a chieftain. As much as Sansa wished that Sam could see to it instead, there were others who needed his skills just as much. The wildlings each promised to do everything they could, and that was enough for both Sansa and Daenerys to finally find focus in the grieving and see the true scale of things as morning continued to break over the battlefield.
The men that were searching among the dead to find those who still lived buried their grief and sorrow until it was time for them. Their duty was still clear to them. And it became clear to Sansa that hers was just the same. She could not afford to mourn yet, not until the hour came that allowed for it. But living up to that expectation was proving harder than she thought. Even Daenerys faltered when she found out Ser Jorah had fallen.
Ser Jorah, Uncle Benjen, Theon… so many people she had come to know had died for the sunrise they did not get to see. And Jon may be one of them as well.
Looking at her husband lying as he did now was unbearable. While we were asleep, he was not at rest. His wound had been bandaged but his face was twisted as that of a man trapped in a nightmare. Sansa held Jon's right hand, stroking across the top gently with her thumb. Across from her on the other side of the bed, Daenerys was gently squeezing onto Jon's left hand.
The two Wildling healers were washing up, getting ready to find others who needed their help.
"It's my fault," Daenerys muttered, "if I hadn't lost my sword, I could have helped."
"Dany," Sansa said, trying to keep the harsh truth of it back, "if you had fought straight like Jon did, then we would have died." she looked over at Longclaw, leaning up against the desk in the room. "He knew what he was doing. We can't regret his choice."
Daeneys wasn't pleased with it, but nodded all the same.
A knock came from the door just before Ser Wallace opened it for Bran and Meera.
"Bran," Sansa said, "thank you for coming as quickly as you could."
"I don't know if I'll be of any help, but I'll try whatever I can." Meera pushed Bran's chair towards the bed as Sansa stood up and got out of the way so he could be right next to Jon. Once he was there, Bran took Jon's hand and focused before his eyes suddenly turned white.
It wasn't long before Bran came back, in fact his magic only lasted a dozen seconds before his eyes returned to their color.
"What did you see?" Daenerys asked.
"I was at the top of the Wall at Castle Black, but it was unmanned. There was nothing there." His focus and thought was unyielding however, as shown in the intensity of his face. He looked up at Sansa. "Give me your hand." He said, stretching out his own for her to take.
"What for?" Sansa asked.
"I need your strength again."
She blinked out of confusion. "What strength? I've no magic like yours."
Bran rested his outstretched hand on the armrest of his chair and looked at though he was about to laugh at how amusing her statement was just now. "You have no idea the power that's inside of you. All of you," he looked over to Daenerys and Jon. "When you three first arrived, I felt something that reminded me of the weirwoods whenever I used them, but much greater. And when you took my hand in battle, that power coursed through me and gave me the greatest reach I have ever been able to have."
Sansa narrowed her eyes at him. "It can't be…"
"I heard your voice before the battle ended," Daenerys said.
"What?" Sansa asked.
"I was stuck in the cold and helpless. I thought Jon and I would die in vain. But your voice, your words, they were warmth to me."
It couldn't be. Her prayer, she had hoped that Daenerys and Jon would be able to hear her somehow. "What did I say to you?"
Finally, Dany managed to break a smile through her sadness. "You just said that you believed in me."
"Aye." Both Daenerys, Bran, Meera, and Sansa looked over the Wildling chieftain. "I heard those words too."
"So did I," the spearwife said. "That was you?" she asked Sansa who couldn't believe it.
"I heard you as well," Meera said. "I thought it was just my head playing a trick."
Her voice was lost on her. She didn't mean for her prayer to be heard… or had she? What else was a prayer but the voice of her heart pleading to be heard? "It…"
"Out of my way," Sansa got out of the way as Qyburn rushed over to Jon's side, pulling the furs off him and examining the bandaged wound. "It's a miracle he's still breathing at all." He looked over to Sansa and Daenerys. "You may want to leave now, your graces. The primitive work here is barely sustaining and it will be a battle to mend this wound." He lifted up the bandage with much care and his eyes widened at the sight. "Quite a battle indeed." Sansa could swear she saw a ghost of a smile play at the corner of Qyburn's lips. After being adjacent to him for long enough, she was finally able to understand the things that excited him.
Sansa and Daenerys both left the room with the Wildings, holding their place outside the door with Ser Wallace as two other healers entered the room with equipment in their arms to assist.
Sansa took her wife's hand in hers. "Qyburn's here now. Jon will be fine."
"Yes, he will," Daenerys said, though the words were empty of belief. "Were we wrong to shut out the warning Jon tried to give us?"
Sansa's jaw tightened. She had asked herself that when she first saw Jon being carried into the castle. "Maybe… but I'm giving up. Jon's still alive, which means there's still a chance." She kissed Dany on the cheek. "Come on, it's time we both finally got some rest."
The days after were hard ones. Many of the wounded succumbed and passed away. More and more, the count of the fallen kept growing. Until finally, after three days, it seemed to finally stop. More than sixty thousand who fought had died so that the world would continue on.
Thousands of funeral pyres were erected across what had been the bloodiest field of battle. Erected upon many of the pyres were the banners of Houses that had been extinguished in the fighting. Hunt, Tallhart, Florent, Lorch, and dozens of other sigils overlooked their fallen who would not return to their homes.
Sansa pressed a soft kiss on the cold brow of Theon where he lay. Her tears fell on Theon's face, as she could not hold them back. She wished he could have lived, for he deserved to finally rest and go home after all he had sacrificed and lost, be it the Iron Islands or Winterfell.
Carefully, Sansa slid a pin in the fold of his coat, giving him the direwolf of the House he was a part of.
Next to Sansa, Yara, who had first said her goodbyes, wept silently over her brother, trying to remain composed and stalwart.
Sansa started making her way back, looking around at the many others saying their final goodbyes.
Daenerys had just finished seeing the most loyal of her Dothraki, those that stayed with her after her first husband's death and birth of her dragons.
Margaery stood stoically by Tommen, placing a rose over his body. Her brother Loras did likewise except it was for each of his fallen brethren of the Kingsguard. Unfortunately for Loras, his injury in his leg was irreparable, having to have it set in a brace and use a cane to help him walk for the rest of his life.
All went quiet as everyone returned to the place all gathered to witness the last rites and the burning. But first, it fell on Sansa to say some final words. She looked at Daenerys, who reached for her hand. They squeezed each other's fingers, while Sansa lowered her head to press her forehead against her wife's. A small gesture, but one that gave her the stomach to handle this. "I love you," Dany murmured.
"I love you too," Sansa replied, sucking in a breath and pulling back. Standing tall as befitting a Queen of House Targaryen and Stark. "Today we say goodbye to our brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters. We fought together so our children would live for a bright tomorrow. Those who sacrificed their lives for that will never be forgotten. We shall never see their like again. They beacons who shone in the darkness, and now their fight has ended."
Torchbearers began walking among the pyres, igniting them in flames and laying the fallen to rest. The cold air started to fade as the warmth of the fires carried far. A horn blew in the air, signifying that War for the Dawn was over.
Sansa looked back at the castle, to the window of her room where Jon continued to sleep. He had not awakened yet, and part of her began to wonder why she didn't heed his fears about this harder. Neither she nor Daenerys had been able to fully realize it yet that they might in fact not see their husband again.
The rest of the day had its duties that had to be attended to. While thousands fought as heroes, there were cowards and rats that had to be addressed. Many ran at the first sight of battle while the hubris of others sent many to their deaths.
Since Sansa was not one to wield a sword, a gallows was erected instead.
Two men stood helplessly on the barrels keeping the slack of the hangman's nooses tied around their necks. Both of them were frightened but kept barking their innocence and blamed others for their crimes.
"It's not our fault!"
"Anyone else would have done the same!"
Their words fell on deaf ears. Sansa was told the truth of what happened by Sigorn of the Thenns. These two cowards had broken formation in the battle and locked off a gate in the middle of a tactical retreat, cutting off the escape for dozens of men who died in order to save themselves. It was a miracle that the battle was won before those who survived were killed, or else this crime would have gone unnoticed.
"What are their names?" Sansa asked.
"David and Daniel, your grace. I was told they came with Lord Hightower's host from Oldtown. And I further discovered that these two were practically absent during the battle preparations, lazing about with whores and drinking."
Sansa took in a breath and stood before both of the cowards. "I, Sansa of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, sentence you both to death. May the gods grant you better mercy than I." With a swift kick, Sansa pushed the barrels out from under both men's feet. The cowards both gasped and squirmed as their eyes bulged and faces began to turn purple. Had a proper gallows been prepared, they most likely would have died from a deeper fall breaking their necks, but with what they had available, the men would choke and struggle in agony for quite some time before they died.
Even a completely worthy execution left Sansa quite numb - through it all, her humanity had survived and that was a miracle in and of itself. That didn't help her now though, the weight of everything still dragging her into a hole of emptiness and madness.
"Sansa?"
Blinking, apparently she had wandered into the shared private solar of the Starks, with Dany looking at her - concern was evident on her gorgeous face. "I… I handled the execution of the deserters."
Daenerys nodded, walking towards her. "I understand." Her arms wrapped around Sansa, and the taller woman hugged her back, letting her entire body relax. Her emotions showing. "I visited the wounded… there were so many."
"We won, Dany," Sansa gasped, tears pooling in her eyes. "Victory is ours. The dead are no more, the Night King destroyed in this world and the other… I imagined this, before the battle."
"How wonderful it would be?" Dany finished for her, not even a question. "Of feasts and celebrations of how alive we all are?"
"I know." She chuckled dryly. "Stupid, right?"
"No… it should've happened." Daenerys cupped her cheeks and kissed her. Something they both seemed to need.
Whatever the kiss was supposed to elicit, it wasn't enough. Sansa began to weep even as her tongue stroked Dany's, and her wife was not long after. The kiss turned into them just holding each other. "They're all dead, Dany… Theon."
"Jorah's dead, my Dothraki…" Everyone had lost so much. "And… and… Jon," Dany croaked.
Sansa was the one who came needing comfort, but tangled with her most unlikely love, it was she that gave it. "He will come through, I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Dany replied, though she snuggled closer into Sansa's embrace. Burying her face in the crook of Sansa's neck.
"I don't." Was Sansa trying to convince Dany… or herself. Likely both.
But if the past year hadn't proved to Sansa that miracles were real, what followed would. "My Queens!" Podrick came running into the solar, out of breath from going as fast as he could. "The King has awakened!"
Both Sansa and Daenerys lost their breath but immediately gathered it to go as fast as their legs could take them to see their husband. The corridors cleared way for them, the door was just up ahead. When it came into sight, Lord Davos and Qyburn were standing just outside the door, the former looking troubled while the latter was merely quiet. Davos raised his hand up, stopping both Queens in their tracks.
A dreadful swell immediately formed in Sansa's chest when she stopped with her wife. Was it too good to be true? Were they too late to say their last words? "What is it?" Sansa asked.
"It's… complicated," Davos replied, his knuckleless fingers clenching into a fist and his other pinching the bridge of his noise as he gathered his thoughts. "I'll allow Qyburn to elaborate." Passing responsibility… avoiding a difficult conversation? Regardless, Qyburn likely had a better grasp of Jon's injuries, so she bit her lip and waited.
Qyburn pursed his lips, a token of worry passing his usual pensive features. "Once again, his Grace seeks to amaze me."
"What does that mean?" Sansa asked, her voice clipped and impatient.
"The scar of where he was stabbed by the Night King looks as if it is fresh and unhealed, much like those of where he was stabbed before, but the wound has closed and there seems no sign of festering. I cannot tell any sign of internal bleeding or fever settling in and his pulse and heart are all within normal limits." Qyburn shifted his feet. "He's not turning worse, and a week or two of rest would find him able to walk and carry out normal tasks. In a year he'll recover full function."
Both women sighed out in relief. But then Daenerys asked the hanging question. "But then, what makes it complicated?" Sansa's hand drifted to Daenerys', intertwining their fingers together and holding tightly.
Davos bit his lip, looking down at his feet for two seconds before looking back up with uncertainty. "You see… he's not the man any of us know anymore."
"What?" Sansa asked.
"His grace has… lost much of his memory," Qyburn answered clinically. "I cannot point to any head trauma that would elicit the normal causes of it…"
"What he means is that more magic is afoot," Davos interjected. "The best way I can put it is that he's not the Jon who I've known since he woke up in Castle Black. The man inside this chamber is the one who just felt the coldness of death from his sworn brothers. Last thing he remembers is the First Officers stabbing him. Everything that happened after to now is… gone."
Everything clicked into place for the northern Queen. It's him… the one from our life. No longer the one from the hellscape in which all had gone wrong. From how her wife squeezed her hand, she caught on as well. Sansa and Daenerys both looked at each other, both unsure of what to do, of what could be done if anything.
"I've dealt with amnesiacs before, your Graces," Qyburn offered. "They may be in the perfect physical condition, but their minds are delicate. Too much too fast can lead them to madness or find their hearts stopping." Sansa felt as if her heart would stop.
"My advice," Davos said, "ease into it. Don't recall everything that's happened, just a little so he understands what he needs to for now." Davos pushed the door open and walked in, holding a finger up signaling them to wait. "Jon?"
"Ser Davos?" A quiet and strained voice came. "Is everything alright?"
"Everything is fine, Jon. You have some visitors. Your sister Sansa is here and… a friend of hers." Davos looked at Daenerys apologetically, but she understood. Ease into it. He was not the same man she had met months ago in King's Landing, instead he was the beginnings of who she met in another lifetime, and they had been able to love each other after time and patience.
Both Sansa and Daenerys slowly walked into the room, finding a lone figure resting on the large bed under the warmest of furs. Jon didn't move at all. The women had to walk in front of him, and slowly, those eyes of his cracked open. His head slowly turned. "Sansa," he whispered with a tiny smile, "you're here…" his eyes fell on Daenerys.
The Dragon Queen felt dumbfounded as to what to do. What was she supposed to say? "Hello," she began, "my name is-"
"Daenerys…" He said, almost in a surprise to see her, "Daenerys Targaryen." Jon replied slowly. There was a pregnant pause between all of them but Jon continued. "After I fell in the yard… it all slipped away. And then… I dreamed… but I can't remember all of it. I… I was different. I was flying on a dragon… I stood in fire unburned… and I… I heard your voice." He closed his eyes and a tear shed down his cheek. He grabbed at his shirt tightly, tugging at it. "And when I look at the two of you together… I have feelings I can't explain and don't understand why… what happened?"
Sansa sat on Jon's bed and took his hand softly in hers. "You were… everything we needed. You fought for all of us time and again, and you won. The wars are over Jon. The Long Night, the game of thrones, all of it. You don't have to fight anymore."
Jon shook his head and the tears kept streaking down his face. "I don't know how to do anything else."
Sansa softly took him into his arms, hugging him with closed eyes. Her heart was aching much like it did when he collapsed into her after breaking the Iron Throne. She never truly understood who Jon was until now, and it made her angry and sad. Here was a man who did nothing but fight for purpose. But without it, he felt he had nothing. "You are so much more. And when you need help, we are here for you, always."
Daenerys
He was still Jon… the man she fell in love with.
Gazing at his brooding, quiet expression that she was so familiar with, Daenerys hung onto that. Cradled it to her breast and allowed that fact to hold herself together even as all else threatened to shatter her heart into pieces. Yes, she had Sansa, and a family that loved her for the first time in her life… but they would suffer too. They would be shattered too.
"Jon," she murmured, resisting the urge to hug him. To even reach out to squeeze his hand as Sansa was able to do. "Are you alright? Say something."
Her husband took a deep breath - not loud or gulping, but clearly trying to steady himself. "Just… a lot to take in." Jon… he offered her a small smile, one she mentally reached out for and used to balm her soul. "Seems we got to know each other well in the last year, considering our familiarity… Daenerys."
"That is quite true." Oh, Jon didn't know the half of it. Dany's eyes frittered to Sansa's loving blues, holding empathy in their depths. "Is that all you're thinking?"
"Well, I can't not think of all this. It is… bittersweet." Jon leaned back onto the bed, head on the pillow. "Since I became Lord Commander, before that even, I had been preparing and planning solely to fight against the Dead. To defeat the Night King, and here I find out that I have lost a year of my life, and in that time I actually succeeded in my task?"
Sansa leaned closer to him, cupping his cheek. A gesture that could be both one of a wife or a sister. "You did, and you were marvelous. A true hero."
He sighed. "A bastard like me… a hero. Hard to imagine." Sansa visibly bit back a sob and launched forward, hugging him. Daenerys, also in tears, was relegated to grabbing his hand and squeezing it - propriety be damned.
Over Sansa's shoulder, Jon's eyes locked with hers. If there was confusion at her actions, he did not show it. Only… peace. It made things all the more tragic.
It wasn't easy after the first few minutes when she walked in to Jon awake. Sansa had did her absolute greatest to explain things as light and easy as possible. The hardest part for her was whether or not to tell the truth about Jon's former future or to conjure up the simple lie of amnesia after the battle. The two women had shared a look when it came time, neither certain what to do for him in that moment. But when it came time, Sansa made the right call. She explained about powerful magic having tampered with time so he could right the wrongs of another life.
Even so, it was becoming overwhelming for Jon. The recollecting ended for the time at the part of Jon's true heritage was revealed and the retaking of Winterfell. Sansa had been with him the whole time, but Daenerys had been apart from them in spirit. She felt so out of place. He may have had some feelings sewn into his living being for her, but he did not understand them. As of now, she was just an unknown intruder to him. The more Sansa talked, the more connected Jon became to her.
It weighed too much on Daenerys' heart. Shouldn't bear and took her leave, just in time to brush away the tears forming in her eyes. Sansa had stood up to follow after her, but Daenerys waved her off. Jon still needed someone with him, and it wasn't Daenerys.
When she closed the door behind her, she cursed silently at herself, falling back on the wall and gazing up at the ceiling. This foolish pain in her heart felt like jealousy almost and she shouldn't have it. The love she held for Sansa was just as strong as that she felt for Jon, so she couldn't feel jealous - not of Sansa, but perhaps the situation. Never allowed to know her nephew as Sansa did her cousin. Hatred for the Usurper, for Tywin, for her own father for causing all of this in the first place. Men long dead that near ruined her life. It was them she directed her pain and rage to, not to her loves.
Things were going to be difficult for the time, and she had to do what she can.
But Jon was a new person to her now. Now that he knew about his true mother and father, would he be like he once was? Would he become distant and against them being together? That simple question filled her with so much fear.
And yet… that look in his eye, this may not have been the same Jon, but he had fallen in love with her in the old past, the one they destroyed. Why wouldn't he do so again, this time her guiding him rather than the other way around?
Hope. The ultimate balm she clutched to her soul. It would be what kept her going in the next few moons.
Finally, she heard the door open and turned to see Sansa. Her wife's eyes had a slight tinge of red and she wiped a tear from her cheek - she hadn't been crying but clearly wanted to. "Dany," she murmured, reaching out for her.
Daenerys accepted the arms round her waist from the taller woman, accepted the kiss offered and deepened it. Tongue darting in and seeking out Sansa's. Her tongue reciprocated, a languid seeking out for reassurance as they embraced tightly.
The kiss grew in intensity, but there was no lust. No overwhelming need to devour each other as had happened countless times in the bedchamber - Dany did not hunger for Sansa's body, nor did Sansa hers. Everything was clear… they either kiss, seeking their love and connection to hold each other from falling apart, or they shatter. Hearts breaking for Jon's pain and their loss of their connection to him.
Eventually, even the surest manner of love and intimacy couldn't stem the tide. Tears escaped the cage of their closed lids, Dany tasting the salt of Sansa's - or mayhaps her own - pooling around their lips, but the trembling only grew worse. Soon the kiss stalled, her sobs echoing into Sansa's mouth. The kiss broke, Sansa joining in her sobs.
All intimacy was gone, replaced by something that would shatter even the most stoic of souls. Shed of their Queenly might, their regal bearing, the strength imbued them by their experiences and their dragons, all that was left were two young women crying in each other's arms. Lost, broken, filled with the most grievous of pain.
Only Sansa served as Dany's tether in that moment, the Queen never once letting go as she buried her head in Sansa's shoulder and let everything out. Hot tears against her own skin confessing her wife's agony as well.
Eventually all that was left were their trembles, eyes red and cheeks broke apart, but still gazed into each other's eyes. Daenerys' hands holding Sansa's, squeezing. "He's never going to remember us, is he?" Dany asked, gazing up into Sansa's eyes. "Not the way we are."
"I… I don't believe that…" Sansa murmured, face scrunching in sadness until she rested her forehead on Dany's. It brought her some stability. "I gave into despair when trapped in King's Landing, but I won't here. We have… have to have hope."
Daenerys kissed the corner of her mouth. A reassuring gesture. "I'll ensure you keep up hope if you do the same for me."
Sansa nuzzled her cheek. "Always." The redhead stroked the back of her hand with her thumb. "He's still very tired. I left him to sleep - sleep is probably the best thing for him now, rather than leave him alone with his thoughts."
Dany nodded. "It would be best… gods, thinking what he went through." Tears welled in her eyes. "The last thing he remembers was being betrayed by his sworn brothers. I want to crawl into bed with him and hold him, reassure Jon that he has love and is alive but I just can't…" It took all her regal strength to keep composed. "At least he has you, as his sister."
"Aye… only his sister." Even for Sansa, able to be closer to Jon than her, there was pain. But before either could say anything else, they noticed someone enter the hallway. "Yes, Davos?" asked Sansa.
The older man, appearing apologetic, cleared his throat. "Your Graces, the Starks are on their way now to see the King."
"Has anyone told them about the King's condition?" Daenerys asked.
"Only the general details, which is why I was told to advise you on Lord Davos' behalf that perhaps it's best that you meet them first before they see how things are."
Painful as it all was, they had a duty. Daenerys shoved back all her emotion and adopted a placid expression. She reached over and weaved her fingers with Sansa's, ready to take on the responsibility.
Misery loved company after all.
It didn't take that long of a wait for Rickon, Bran, and Arya to arrive. Rickon had been the one pushing Bran's chair as Arya trailed behind with her eye reddened from tears.
"Arya," Sansa said upon recognizing her sister's state, "is Gendry doing alright?"
Arya's eye closed as the news she had to bear was painful. "He'll live, but…" she took in a shuddering breath. "The maesters had to remove his right arm to save his life. He'll never forge anything again…" a tear slipped down her cheek as fast as she wiped it away. "And now Jon's lost his memories."
"Not all of them, Arya," Daenerys corrected, bringing some relief to both her and the brothers. Best to start with the good news. "He's… he's alive and awake. Qyburn says his injuries will fully heal eventually, at worst with scars."
Relief filled them. "It's a bloody miracle, it is," Rickon said.
"Partially," Sansa added, and so she proceeded to explain how the man they knew as Aegon Targaryen this past year was gone, the return of the Jon who had died by his sworn brothers in Castle Black had awakened in his place, his confusion and lack of knowledge of any of the past year's events… It was hard for Sansa to say it all, and just as much to have to listen to it. For their part, the others remained silent and allowed it all to be explained.
They took it pretty well. "I think I'm gonna throw up," Rickon muttered, hanging his head. "So… what's next?"
Shoulders slumping, Daenerys looked at the ground. "I don't know."
"Certainly something can be done, can't it?" Rickon asked.
"Can't you do something?!" Arya asked Bran, bold and defiant in the face of adversity. "I mean… you have the greatest powers in the world when it comes to this very thing! You must know something that can help."
Bran looked at Daenerys for an instance before shaking his head. "I don't think it would work the way we want it to. I could do it, but that wouldn't turn him back to the brother we know. It's just like how Daenerys did not become her other self when she saw the memories of her other life."
"And this is not an issue of memories," Daenerys remarked with much sorrow. "Jon tried to tell us this could happen. He changed time itself for all of us. And the future he came from doesn't exist anymore… he doesn't exist anymore."
Succinctly put that way, Daenerys wouldn't have believed it to be anything but nonsense had she not seen it. Seen the visions of the horrible past, felt her own spirit immersed in madness from the same time as Jon. The Mother of Dragons was intimately familiar with the magic of their world.
"All he ever did was sacrifice himself for everyone else," Bran remarked with a curled fist. "Where's his reward?"
A silence befell upon everyone in the hallway.
"What are we to do now?" asked Bran.
Sansa shrugged. "There isn't much we can do but love him, and support him through this… even if he never returns the feelings we all know him of now…" She trailed off, meaning clear to Daenerys of her words.
Arya took in a breath and threw herself at Sansa tightly. "He will… I know my brother, if he fell in love with you before he'll do it again. Jon… can never not be Jon."
'Forgive me if I'm too afraid to believe you.' Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons and so on… she had birthed dragons from stone, ended slavery, broken the hold of the Dragonbinder… the second head of the dragon, one who brought the dawn alongside the first Stark dragonrider and the Bridge of Ice and Fire…
This miracle seemed too far-fetched for her to achieve, mad as it seemed compared to the others.
"We're here for you," she heard Arya say, hugging her tightly. "Regardless of where we end up, the Pack sticks together."