Grief and rage were emotions too strong for duty to battle.
For a while, Daenerys Targaryen thought she could win it. When the crow came to her bearing news of the topple of the Twins, she was reminded that on the other side of a land filled with unimaginably horrifying monsters, existed kingdoms and castles she laid claim to. This was her land. Viserion was, at best, dead… but there were other children that needed her.
And, for a while, Daenerys Targaryen met success. Putting emotion aside and giving crisp commands to Snow surprised even herself. She knew they were necessary. She needed to stop Cersei Lannister before she was tempted to steal Winterfell or Dorne from under her nose. And, with a war with dead men looming, Jon was best suited to rally the troops.
Mayhaps it was a sign of worry that being firm in decisions was a sign of surprise. All this while, she thought like a dragon, dealing fire and blood to those who opposed her, wiping the unjust to herald its opposite. But what did that bring you? a sneaky voice inside her said. Olenna, Jorah, Tyrion, Viserion…
While Daenerys waited in vain for Viserion, ice winds slicing through her skin with laze, the reality of her transience was as clear as it was cold. She commanded eight-thousand Unsullied, nearly a hundred-thousand Dothraki, and had allied with men of Dorne, the Reach and the North, but none of that turned her skin to steel. When the stars did not align for her child, it plummeted to the White Walkers like a poor sparrow, and if they chose not to for her, fate would barely shrug as she was defiled, raped or beheaded.
In that moment, warm tears ran down her cheeks, breaking into a thousand shards as they touched the snow.
Duty lost the battle, but not without a final hurrah. It gave her the sense to wish for private sanctuary before tears streamed like summer springs. Her duty as queen reminded her that none could see her cry, not Dolorous Edd, not Jon Snow. For the sake of saving her authority, she forced herself to weep alone.
When Jon found her, the tears were dry, but eyes still red and swollen. One look at his anxious countenance, and she thought they would escape her again. He finally tried to put voice to his apologies. “We should never have come,” he said, approaching her. “I could not imagine that the Night King had the power to do… what he did. I ask your forgiveness. Whatever punishment you have for me, I know it will be just.”
She knew he felt immense guilt for his part in the death of Viserion. She ought to have been angered enough to wish to feed him to Drogon, but she was not. All Jon said and did, she knew, was in honesty and good faith. He would have never hidden his tears from you, the nasty voice persisted. If you cannot be more decent than a boy raised as a bastard, do you really deserve the Iron Throne more than him?
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said, the painful grit of duty returning. “If I had not seen them, I would never have believed they existed. I should thank you. Now I know the truth. I know I can trust you.”
“You can,” Jon said eagerly. “I will defend the Wall. The Night King will not cause the fall of Westeros, not when its best chance of peace and prosperity stands before me.”
At his words, guilt assaulted her from a hundred different ways. He thinks you’re capable, the nasty voice spoke, but you know that to be a lie. She thought how he would react if she disappointed him, the men on the Wall and the entire realm, if Drogon plummeted from the sky and ended her with him. The thought alone slayed duty and resumed the onslaught of tears.
Alarmed, Jon wrapped his arms around her. “It will be all right,” he was muttering, though a thumping heart betrayed his words. “It will be all right.” He gently kissed her head. They began to separate. It will be all right.
She did not know how it happened, but for the briefest of moments, grief, rage and duty were overcome by the force that brought them together.
It was but brief, and before she could comprehend what was happening, they parted. Jon’s eyes were a blend of fear, guilt and a wonderment of consent. It was only after they kissed again did Daenerys Targaryen realize how much earlier it ought to have been done.
It will be all right.
Somewhere outside, the crows had lit a fire, and smoke and light drifted into their chambers like ghouls. As two flesh became one, Daenerys caught a glimpse of the wall facing her, and on it, saw no shadow of another parting from him.
*
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