The Dragon & The Wolf (Daenarya)

chapter 12

Inside the cave the passage of time meant little. Without the cycles of sun and moon to mark the days Daenerys's only sense of how long they'd been there could be counted by how many times Drogon came and went. How many times he reignited the fire in the cave's mouth, ensuring them protection from the Undead, and allowing Arya's body temperature to continue to rise.

The longer they remained, the louder and more insistent the growling of her stomach became but her body would need to be patient. She'd eat when she was sure Arya was okay and not before. Likewise, her injury didn't deserve her attention. Thirst was an easy enough demand to accommodate given the large amount of snow they had available. Gathering snow, she held it over the fire. As it melted she used her palms as a crude cup, slurping greedily.

Not even the horrible situation they were in was enough to keep Daenerys from feeling a sliver of joy at having Arya back. Inside the privacy of the cave there were no demands on her, no interruptions, no duties beyond keeping Arya alive. Here, she could hold her and feel the familiar scarred skin against hers.

She laid there on her side, pressed tightly under Arya's limp arm. She vowed to stay awake, regardless of her exhaustion, determined to be ready and willing if there was anything she could do for the unconscious woman. Vows aside, everyone had a limit and Daenerys eventually reached hers. She dreaded every blink, afraid sleep would come, terrified she'd lose Arya forever while she was dreaming. The first major change in Arya since she yelled her love and fell back into the pit of Wights happened while Daenerys wasn't awake to notice.

When she returned from her nap Daenerys didn't realize the significance of the subtle change. Even as she wiped the sleep from the corner of her eye and yawned, she almost missed it. Under her head, under her ear, the very distinct pumping of Arya's heart. She was alive! She looked to the cave entrance and saw a blazing fire that covered the majority of the opening. Drogon had been there as well. Daenerys knelt over Arya's body, and set her head down on her chest carefully, anxious to confirm it was Arya's heart she was hearing and not her own. Satisfied, she put two of her fingers against Arya's neck the way she'd seen Sam do to check her pulse. It wasn't her imagination, she could feel the rhythmic thump in her neck too. It was faint but there. Daenerys had done this many times since dragging her into the cave, but this was the first time it was strong enough for Daenerys to feel confident in its steady beat.

Suddenly Daenerys was overcome, not only with emotions but with the long list of things that needed to be done before Arya woke. Their clothes had been dried but their weapons, those used in the battle and the ones purchased in Braavos had been discarded at various points. She needed to venture out and find them. She also wanted to get Arya's bag. She didn't know what the Northerner had packed, but she wanted to be able to present the contents to her as soon as she was alert. Lastly, she needed to check on Drogon. He'd been too wounded to fly after his fight with Viserion. She couldn't fathom how they'd return to Winterfell without him.

She pressed her warm lips to Arya's chilled forehead. "I'll be back," she whispered. Emboldened by the fact that Arya survived, she lowered her mouth and placed a second kiss directly on her lips. "I love you too," she said, replying to the last words she heard before Arya tried to sacrifice herself.

Aware that any clothes she wore would be destroyed as she walked through the flames she didn't dress, choosing instead to only gather her clothes, roll them together in a neat bundle and then hide them as best she could between her stomach and her arm. Hopefully, her skin, immune to the heat would leave her enough to keep from getting frostbite.

Nearing the fire covered opening Daenerys felt the sting of pain. She looked down to assess the damage. Since she'd been cut, the wound had only caused minimal discomfort. If anything, she felt cold more than pain. The flesh around the opening was like ice to touch and the edges of the gash were lined with some sort of frozen crystals. Only a thin strip in the center was warm enough for blood to drip freely and even then, it wasn't a concerning amount. Under the direct warmth of the flame though those crystals melted, the pain flared, and the trickle of blood became a stream. She immediately worried for Arya. If Arya's wounds were like Daenerys's, they'd need to be repaired before the ice crystals melted and she lost even more of her already limited blood supply. In direct contact with her dragon blood Daenerys was surprised it hadn't melted the ice away from her skin already. If she needed another reason to be highly motivated, now she had it. Time was of the essence. She stepped through the flames and into the frigid cold.