Warg Maiden
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones
A/N: This chapter addresses shock and grief. The characters address how grief differs for each of them and the person they have lost. If not, they struggle to focus on the task at hand instead of grieving.
Chapter 73: Recovery in Grief
Imogen's POV
Fenrir
Son of Sigrid and Callen.
Husband to Boudica.
Father to Imogen, Ethan, and Aiden.
Magnar of the Dires of Lunar Haven.
Died in the Godswood of Winterfell.
He sacrificed himself to save his daughter alongside his direwolf, Valko.
Those were my thoughts as dawn approached. When the tears stopped, Jon adjusted me into his arms. He reached forward to close Fenrir's eyes to let my father be at rest. I was so exhausted staring at my father's remains. Ghost and Skadi came to our sides as the shewolf nudged against me. I winced, though lost in the motions, as I petted her.
Jon spoke, and Arya made her way over. Their words were lost to me as Arya left. My attention turned to Bran. The greenseer stared at me, giving a nod, yet he, too, held tears. There were so many deaths, not only from Fenrir but many more from those fallen in the Godswood to the fields of Winterfell.
The survivors, my people who came to my aid, move closer to mourn their Chief. The strength I had vanished. As I leaned against Jon.
Jon…Jon came.
I do not understand. He was in the sky on Rhaegal. Why is he on the ground? It doesn't matter. He came and helped me in defeating the Night King. For I doubt I could have done it alone. Not in the state I was in.
Everything hurts. Feeling the shattering of my whole body. As if all my bones had been crushed in an instant. The soreness in areas where those in the Army of the Dead's soldiers were struck. Let alone my head…my head hurts. I tried to grasp everything.
The Second Long Nighy has been prevented.
The Night King and the Three-eyed Raven are no more.
The Army of the Dead has been defeated.
And my father is dead.
I just want to sleep. But I don't want to go into that darkness.
Stay awake, I thought to myself. Stay awake.
My head was spiraling, and I couldn't ground myself. I cling to the closest thing, which is Jon's sleeve. He secured me closer to him.
Jon is here, I thought.
"You…came…" I whispered, wincing as it hurt to speak.
The pain in my throat made its presence known.
"Aye, I did," Jon murmured, then groaned.
Slowly, I adjusted my head to look at him, "You're…in…jured."
The spiraling continued while the exhaustion tried to take me. Desperately, I tried to stay awake, though why? The darkness…..I didn't want to go into the darkness…. but I had to stay awake for something else.
Fenrir is dead, and Jon is injured.
I could not move. The numbness takes over. The shock was settling in. My body just wants to sleep, except I have to stay awake.
"Imogen," Jon murmured, tightening his hold.
I hummed in response, clinging to his arm tightly, fighting off the sleep. My eyes linger on Fenrir; though eyes closed, those gray eyes will never express devotion and determination. Going down his body to see the stab wound on his torso, as his blood stained the snow red. A sob escaped, grasping the fact that my father was dead.
Fenrir risked his life to rescue me. Sacrificing himself so I could survive. The burden of experiencing all those deaths from the Army of the Dead until his heart could not take it. I can still feel those deaths. I had lost count. The shattering was the worst, for they were the White Walkers' deaths. All those connected to the Night King.
Now Fenrir was dead, and I was alive.
It was supposed to be me.
My body was cold and numb.
As if it was dying but not at the same time.
Everything was spiraling.
The only thing that partially kept me grounded was Jon. As he kept me secure by his side.
"Imogen," Jon murmured again as he cradled my face, gingerly changing my focus to him. "It was not your fault. Fenrir chose to be the Lone Wolf."
But the pack survives, I thought.
My eyes stung as the tears fell. Jon rested his forehead against my own. The wolves moved closer, providing warmth, except all I felt was coldness.
Time vanished, and I let my mind go blank yet stayed awake as dawn approached.
Stay awake.
Stay awake.
The sound of running could be heard. I turned my head to see the direction of the source, as Jon's family and my own coming. The guilt had swallowed me once more, and I was unsure how to face my mother or brothers. Thus, I watched Sansa and Rickon making their way to Bran. They hugged each other.
Bran was still here.
The realization that the Three-Eyed Raven was no more. However, I don't feel justice or satisfaction. Only tired. All I felt was nothing.
Stay awake.
Stay awake.
"Fenrir!" Boudica sobbed as she fell to her knees and held her husband.
The twins knelt beside her, resting their hands on her shoulders. As tears fell.
It should have been me.
It should have been me.
It should have been me.
I blinked, did I blink? When I opened my eyes, I saw Boudica in front of me. She held my face while wiping the tears away. The grief and pain written on her face from losing her husband.
Stay awake.
Stay awake.
"He would have died with that wound," Boudica said firmly, though her voice was breaking. "He would have died a thousand more to save you."
The tears continue to fall on both our faces. Boudica seemed to notice something as she carefully removed her glove and placed it on my neck. I winced as her touch was like fire on my skin. Everything was cold.
"How long has she been like this?" Boudica asked, her attention to Jon.
"Since…Since Fenrir's death," Jon managed to say, pain in his voice.
"You're injured too," Boudica noted.
I tried to speak, but nothing came out.
Boudica took my face, her green eyes staring deep into mine as if staring at my tattered and destroyed soul.
No matter how I tried to stay awake, the weight of the cold dragged me into darkness.
.o0o.
Jon's POV
Jon stared at Imogen as she lay in bed. The last few days have been rough for the survivors the moment they've killed the Night King. It was like the Battle of the Bastards all over again. There was no satisfaction or true victory. Maybe the Maesters and Bards can make a joyful tune, but it was an overwhelming disaster for Jon.
There were so many casualties.
Even though the Army of the Dead had turned to ashes, the fallen were in devastating numbers. Sansa and Rickon took charge, as those who were brought to the shelter had taken the wounded inside, saving those who were close to dying. After tending to Imogen and himself, Boudica instructed and led everyone with Maester Walkon's and Eirwin's assistance. Ethan and Aiden, with the youngbloods and those able to move, started removing the dead outside of the castle.
During that time, Imogen had slept.
It was to be expected after she had experienced multiple deaths while her body still lived.
Let alone a frozen body, as Boudica assumed the touch from the Night King had stolen her warmth. Jon should be active, leading it all, yet his body could not move. All over his body hurt, especially his side. Maester Walkon examined him. Thankfully, he did not break a rib, yet there is a chance of a minor fracture. There were other injuries, yet Jon could not remember, as bruises decorated his skin inside and out.
Therefore, the moment he cleaned up, Jon had laid in bed with Imogen in his arms. Both were nearly naked except for his trousers and her with her dire undergarments. She was cold as ice, yet Jon kept her close to keep her warm with the furs on top of them. Ghost is on her other side, and Skadi is on the ground with her head on their legs. They managed to put the fully grown direwolf inside the castle.
All trying to get Imogen warm.
But sleep could not stop the nightmares.
Despite the deep slumbers, sobs and tears escaped from Imogen. Jon held her close, kissing the top of her head and face while rubbing her back. His attempt to wake her was unsuccessful, yet he managed to get her to sleep peacefully once more. Let alone the violent twitching. Jon ignored his discomfort, knowing what little knowledge he had about wargs: that this was the soul grounding itself back to the body.
Jon slept on and off, unsure how long it had been.
When he woke up, he was unsure how long he had slept. A part of him wanted to stay and tend to Imogen, but when Boudica returned, exhausted, she told him she would take care of her daughter while he focused on his duty. It pained him to leave, but Jon knew he must.
He dressed, and just as he left, he checked on the women one last time, finding Boudica under the covers with her daughter in her arms, humming a lullaby. One Jon had never heard. With nothing else to say, Jon returned to his duties as king.
The damage was terrible.
Viserion destroyed a quarter of the battlements from the north and entry to the Godswood. If not, the damage between Rhaegal and Viserion was demolished in the courtyards, with inner curtains and parapets. The bodies had been removed from the inside, yet countless bodies were out on the field, organized by their origin. What was left of the fortification and parts of the Wolfswood were used to make funeral pyres.
Ser Davos, thank the gods, Ser Davos was still alive as he went over the numbers and damages. If not, the casualties. Right now, it was at fifty-thousand. When that number left Ser Davos's lip, the guilt struck Jon. Ser Davos said the majority had been from the Dothraki and those in the vanguard. In other words, the Free Folk, the Arryn Infantry, and the Unsullied.
Ser Davos also went over the confirmed deaths.
Ser Jorah Mormont was dead. He died protecting Daenerys. Jon was surprised, wondering how Daenerys ended up on the ground that Ser Jorah had to step in to protect her.
Lady Alys Karstark.
Theon Greyjoy
Lord Beric Dondarrion.
Lord Commander Eddison Tollett. Jon paused, taking a moment of silence to honor his fallen brother.
Lord Overton died in his attempt to rescue Lady Lyanna, who was captured by a wight giant.
When Jon asked about Lady Lyanna's condition. Ser Davos gravely reported that she was in critical condition. Only time will tell. Jon swallowed hard for the she-bear.
Then Ser Davos mentioned Melisandre.
Jon frowned at this, suspecting she had a part in the Dothraki weapons being set ablaze.
"How did she die?" Jon asked.
Ser Davos held an expression Jon could not grasp as the Onion Knight said, "She gave it all up and turned to ash."
Jon was confused by that statement and about to ask what he meant when he was redirected to solve an issue. Never to discuss about the Red Woman again.
Day and night merged as the clean-up continued. Jon fell back to the state after the Battle of the Bastards. He was thankful he was not doing this alone, as his siblings and those of his council were there. Daenerys had the Dothraki and her remaining Unsullied help in the cleanup and collecting the fallen, yet the two have not spoken. When Jon was close to falling asleep, he returned to bed with Imogen in his arms, praying that she would wake.
It has been like this for the past several days: collecting the dead, the restoration, and checking on the survivors.
When Jon had a moment, he would check on Imogen, but she still remained unconscious. The people under watch kept changing. Either it was Boudica, the twins, Gilly with Little Sam, or, to his shock, Karsi with her girls. When Jon found Karsi, the Chieftess had her daughters warming Imogen while she pulled him to the side.
Jon stared at the Chieftess, recalling that her injuries from Hardhome had prevented her from battling. Her face was covered in scars far more profound than the scar on his eyebrow from Orell. The woman leaned on her staff as the two stood at the door.
"Anything?" Jon asked.
"She still has not woken," Karsi answered. "How many deaths she has experienced is beyond me."
Jon frowned at this, for it brought back memories of the void of darkness—how there was nothing after death, only pain and coldness.
"Her body is getting back to normal," Karsi reported.
Jon sighed in relief. Knowing everyone was doing everything so Imogen wouldn't succumb to hypothermia, as Maester Walkon called it. Frozen body, whatever it is called, the fact Imogen was physically getting stable might be a small blessing. With all the people providing warmth, the direwolves, the bed warmers, the fireplace, and warm liquids. All in an attempt to keep her alive. Yet the question would be how sound her mind is.
Karsi stared at the bed, seeing her girls hugging Imogen while one tried to braid her hair.
"Sometimes I wonder if death is a mercy for a warg instead of knowing what it feels like," Karsi murmured.
Jon prevented a scowl.
"I had lost my husband, father, and brothers," she murmured as sorrow could be seen in her blue eyes. "It is never easy."
Jon nodded in agreement as he thought about the time he received news of Ned Stark's execution. Not thinking, he broke his vows and left Castle Black to join Robb in fighting against the Lannisters, wanting to kill all those who were a part of it. Even if it meant his execution after the war for his desertion. Only Sam, Pyp, and Grenn help him back through his grief.
Then Sam told him about Robb with Lady Catelyn and Talisa's murder at the Red Wedding. Jon did not know Talisa, yet knew a pregnant woman should never be killed in times of war. Lady Catelyn… he pitied her, knowing she died trying to protect her children. As for Robb, it struck Jon so hard that he mentally shut down. Reliving the good memories yet could not cry with Ser Alliser and his followers everywhere. Knowing Robb wouldn't want tears, Jon hid his emotions and focused on the task.
It was Ygritte's death that got him. In the heat of battle, he was willing to be killed at that moment as he cried, holding his first love in his arms. He feels the betrayal and pain he has caused for her, all because he thinks he is doing the right thing as a Brothers of the Night's Watch.
Along with his Brothers Grenn and Pyp, all dying in the Battle of Castle Black. All three deaths made Jon numb, and he wanted to end it all for the sake of peace or something along those terms.
There were other deaths, and he mourned silently for them but did not shed a tear. Commander Jeor Mormont, Mance Rayder, Maester Aemon, Ollie. If not those who recently died in the second long night. Jon had fallen into acknowledgment, yet grief had not claimed him just yet. He had to be as strong as the King in the North. But a small part of him wants to hide and just…. he wasn't sure.
And here was Karsi talking about grief.
One of the girls came over. Jon couldn't remember her name.
"Mum, she's crying," the girl said. "I think she is sad again."
Karsi forced a caring smile, "It's alright. We talked about it."
The girl paused and nodded.
"Why don't you and your girls take a moment," Jon offered.
Karsi stared at him, then nodded, calling for her girls, saying they would be back. Once they were gone, Jon removed his cloak and gloves, along with Longclaw. Ghost was still on the bed, resting his head on Imogen's torso while Skadi had sat up watching him.
He removed his jerkin, undershirt, and boots but kept the rest of his clothing on. He got into the bed and carefully took Imogen's into his arms as Ghost moved some. Jon noted that Imogen's body was no longer cold. As color could be seen in her cheeks. Her face was cleaned from the war paint, and her hair was free from its confines, with a few specks of white powder. The tears fell, yet she did not wake. The tears made her eyelids red and puffy as the tears stained her face.
Jon wiped the tears away.
"I need you to wake," Jon murmured, combing his fingers through her hair. "None of this is your fault. Your family needs you. I need you."
He kissed the top of her head.
"I love you."
The exhaustion claimed him as he dozed off.
He didn't know how long he slept. Only that something was touching his chest, tracing his tattoo. Slowly, he opened his eyes, seeing slight movement. A hand, mainly a lone finger, touching him. The movement was soft and almost childlike. Carefully, Jon took the hand that the owner lifted her head.
Silver eyes stared at him, though bleary around the irises from tears.
They did not illuminate like they used to.
Just silver pools staring back at him.
It took Jon a moment to realize Imogen was awake. Still keeping his poise, though cautious, not wanting to scare her, he let go of her hand and cradled her face, pressing his forehead against hers. He was unsure where her mind was, not sure if she had lost her sanity. Either way, Imogen was awake.
Once more, she said those words, though faint as sleep and dryness claimed her throat. The words of the Children of the Forest she once said back on the battlement. He had his suspicions about what she said in the way it sounded. Still, he would like her to speak them in the common tongue.
However, Imogen held pride.
"I love you," he murmured.
Jon may not be a poet who can explain his feelings about her. For he was not Sam or any of the nobles who woo women. Not like the bards and the murmurs. Yet, staring into her eyes, he wanted her to know. This is probably the first time he told her while she was awake. His fingers tangle in her hair, showing his affection.
A glaze coated her eyes as she touched his face.
"I love you too," She murmured.
A small smile lifted his lips as he leaned in to give her a kiss. It was a soft kiss as their lips moved against one another, but no passion would lead to anything—only to express how they felt. They were not one for words but actions. Jon knew that, but saying those words meant something more.
Once they pulled back to breathe, Imogen nuzzled her face to his chest.
They both had a long recovery. Not only physically but mentally and emotionally. They had lost many of their people, allies, friends, and family. The fact Imogen was awake and appeared to have a sane mind might be a blessing. All because of a father's love, who sacrificed himself to save his daughter.
Jon will be forever indebted to Fenrir Stark.
As he held the woman he loved close.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
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