The Last Stag • Game of Thrones

49.

Chapter Forty-Nine.
She Shines for Us

Renfri was having another restless night.

The dreams had plagued her for weeks now, but they had gotten worse since they had departed King's Landing two weeks ago. Visions flashed before her unconscious eyes. 

Visions of her father, bleeding to death in the woods. A shadow man materializing out of nowhere, murdering her uncle in cold blood. Lord Karstark looming over her as he unbuckled his pants. Robb Stark's body being paraded around with the head of a direwolf. Ren's blade murdering the Free Folk. An icy hand wrapped around her throat. Jon Snow's dead body, his cold curls between her fingers. The Great Sept of Baelor bursting into green flame. Tommen's body, wrapped in a golden shroud. Blood pooling between her legs as her son was torn from her. 

Fire in the sky at the Goldenroad. Lord Kear's dead eyes staring at her as she hit the ground.  Daenerys Targaryen pacing in front of her cell. Blue-eyed wights, teeth gnashing, knocking her off Goji and tearing at her flesh, digging their teeth into her skin. Thousands of terrified commoners, their screams, trampling over her dying body. The Red Keep collapsing into ash, the flames roaring around her. 

Each night, a different memory taunted her. Each night, Renfri woke up screaming.

So she had resigned herself to consciousness. 

Renfri slowly exited her chambers on the ship, a single candle in her good hand lighting her way. Over the last fortnight, her body had finally started to feel better. The sharp twinges had faded to small pangs, still painful, but bearable. She only needed the cane now to walk long distances, although she suspected that she would continue to have a limp for quite some time. 

She made her way down the hall, her robe swishing against the wooden floor. Ascending the steps, she finally moved onto the deck of the ship, the calm waves gently rocking the boat. 

She leaned over the railing, breathing in the salty air of the Bay of Seals. They were well into the North now, a considerable chill setting over the air.

Her eyes flickered upwards, tilting her chin back towards the sky. The moon illuminated the open sea, stars shining brightly around it. 

"Hello, father." She whispered, swallowing a lump in her throat. 

The blue said nothing back. It never did.

And she felt his gaze anyways.

Footsteps alerted her to a new presence. Ren turned, the moonlight bouncing off of her loose black curls.

"Sorry, erm." Jon cleared his throat. "I didn't think anyone would be up here."

Ren tore her gaze away from him, looking back to the sky.

"It's okay." She called. "There's enough stars for both of us."

She felt Jon come to a stop by her side. He pinched the wick of his candle, the flame fizzling out. They stood in silence, taking in the brilliant night sky.

"You know," Ren murmured quietly. "When I was in King's Landing, I used to look at the moon and wonder if you were out there, looking at the same one. Were you?"

"Most nights." Jon answered. "Back before it all went to shit."

Ren let a sharp breath out of her nose, closing her eyes.

"It went to shit long before that." She mused. "And here we are. Breathing still."

"A rare commodity these days."

"'Tis." Ren smiled. "We, the lucky few. Who would have guessed?"

"I always knew." Jon's eyes flickered to her, just for a moment, before he looked back to the stars. "Wasn't so sure about myself, but I knew you'd pull through. And look at you now. Lady of Last Hearth, Hand to the Queen."