The Best and the Last

Summary: Daenerys and Jon approach the final and only real war as the best and last. Occurs directly after S7 finale.

Part 1

Their armies gathered—thousands of them all—those that trained on their father's knee, men who had spent but a week with a weapon in hand, men who knew no life but war, and those that had no choice but to fight and go down fighting.

Men she had taken from across the sea to this war, she thought, to succeed here and build their lives anew or to perish in soil that was not their own. She watched them now, the disciplined Unsullied who had sailed with her and the wild Dothraki that rode hard to meet them—so different in style and manner, yet both at the same place in the world, sworn to her, their lots cast with hers.

And the snow was a pristine blanket that shrouded the world.

Daenerys pressed her palm on the weathered skin on Drogon's neck, comforted by his warmth, the life that pulsed inside of him so inviting she dared to close her eyes. And remember—a life in exile just these years past. She had been exiled in paradise.

Knowing that the Army of the Dead marched in this winter brought a chill to her beyond what the snow brought. It was dread she quickly quashed with the determination.

"I did not spend my life to come and lose what my blood had built," she whispered quietly to Drogon, to herself. She thought of Viserys and his mad, undaunted belief that he would come home to Westeros in glory, her brother who was raised to know he was meant to wear a crown, that lost prince who would never step foot on this land again.

While she had grown to know no other purpose than to dedicate herself so the rightful heir could take back what was his, what the murderer Baratheon had usurped. Much as he had deserved his death, Viserys loss had propelled her onto a quest for a throne she had never before thought would be hers. But destiny was ever to be her compass. The star that had fallen on the day she was born tracked her fate through the sky. Since the Khal crowned her brother, every step, every decision, every move was towards Westeros, the crown, the throne.

As the last of her blood, this was.

Daenerys straightened, and looked up above her at the sound of Rhaegal's cry. She watched her child glide and twist in the air, striking awe into the hearts of those who saw him.

Perhaps it was not the war with Cersei she had prepared for. Jon Snow had said that the one war that truly mattered was beyond the wall.

With the Dead.

Viserys had perished before he could even hope to take back what was taken; Khal Drogo gone before he could hold Rhaego, whom he wanted the most in the world.

She had not been born to rule, a third child, a female even. Daenerys was never intended to be Queen.

But circumstances had made her Queen.

However else this war would end, she had felt the sands of Dragonstone sift through her fingers. She had trekked the path to the castle where she had been born. She had stood in the dragon pit where the end began for the Targaryens.

She knew before she turned that he was approaching. Daenerys turned her head slightly and nodded in acknowledgment, not meeting his eyes. As he neared her Daenerys felt the warmth of his gloved hand on the small of her back through the thick gray cloak around her.

"Your grace, you should take shelter from the cold," he said to her, the sound of his voice breathless in the winter. "Daenerys."

At this she could not help but look surreptitiously, not long, never too long. The dead was coming and there was no time for what could be. She was queen, and now that they are here her responsibility was to keep as many of her subjects alive through this war. "Do you have word, my lord?" she said abruptly.

"Not yet," was his answer. She could feel his gaze on her, searching. Daenerys nodded. "You can use some respite from the journey before—"

A small smile teased her lips, remembering their negotiation for mining dragon glass in Dragonstone. Despite Jon's urgency to fight, it seemed, her role was to nudge him. "There is a no time for rest, Jon Snow."

And then she felt the gentle pressure on the small of her back. "You have time," he urged her. "We will ride to Winterfell. We will need to replenish supplies. Winterfell has arms and food we can use to replace what had already been used this fortnight."

Reluctantly, she agreed. "We had best prepare to replenish supplies for when my army arrives."

"And have a rest in front of a fire," he added.

"The Northern lords are loyal to you," she said absently. "There must be reason we have not had word in the days we waited for the Dothraki. They know you bent the knee."

They would see her and Jon did, he assured her. But Daenerys had never been one to lie to herself. She was a Targaryen, and the last Targaryen on the iron throne had all but destroyed the Starks, causing thousands of the Northern men to fall.

"My sisters, my brother… They would not betray me. Sansa will hold the North together, and the North will stand behind Ned Stark's bastard son."

If the united North was with Jon Snow, he may have hope of surviving this war yet.

Above her Rhaegal's pained cry once more. For a moment her heart stopped, an image of Viserion falling through the sky and sinking into the icy waters flashing through her mind. "He is unharmed," he told her. Yet still the sound her dragon made was strained.

Daenerys called out to Drogon a command, and her dragon flapped his mighty wings and rose. Rhaegal and Drogon flew in circles above them, and then with a thud, sending snow up and around him, Rhaegal landed.

Daenerys called out in curt Valyrian, but Rhaegal fretted. Turning worried eyes at Jon, she told him, "He had not been the same since—"

Jon nodded. He took one nervous step towards the agitated dragon, whose every breath and movement was a hundredfold more overwhelming than training Ghost. Then again, Ghost had been a pup when Jon held him.

These dragons were her children, she told him.

Surely, children would not mean harm.

With a low rumble in his throat, Jon approached Rhaegal. Daenerys watched him closely, prepared to interject should the worse occur. His trembling hand reached up and forward.

"That is close enough," Daenerys said softly. "Come no closer and let him come to you."

The dragon's breath was hot, even hotter than he imagined. Jon could see the weathered skin of the dinosaur as his expression changed, as he calmed down. He did not move. Slowly, Rhaegal touched his nostril to Jon's unsteady fingers. "Good," he whispered. "Good," he repeated, and Jon knew he was speaking more to himself.

And then calmly Rhaegal turned back and flew up to join Drogon.

When he looked back at Daenerys to invite her, he found her staring at him far longer than she had since getting off the ship.

"Your grace," he said again. "Daenerys—"

"There is no time, Jon Snow," she said again.

Inside that cabin, all time stood still. In the dim light, on that cot, winter was far away and their world was just the two of them.

"There is no time."

"Your grace," he called to her again, more urgently, more desperately. He waited until she stopped in her tracks and turned her head. Once again, she would not look him in the eye. At least he knew she was listening. "When the time does come," he intoned, "I would have you know—"

"What would you have me know, Jon Snow?"

"I would have you remember, your grace, that I am the same man I was on that ship, and you the same woman—"

And then finally she raised her gaze to him, "I know that. And that is what I cannot lose."

tbc

Next chapter, Winterfell