Torgo Nudho

Grief

Ruins of the Red Keep, King's Landing

Once upon a time, I had no fear. I knew no fear. I was the bravest of the Unsullied - a fearless army of eunuch warriors trained from childhood by the Good Masters. The Good Masters... There was nothing good about them - the Good Masters, that is. But they were masters. Slave masters. Until they were not. Until she - Daenerys Targaryen - came along, with her young dragons. Dragons.

If I was not so well trained to have masterful command over my actions and reactions, I would shake my head with a wry smile as I recall a time I was but a mere slave who didn't have the thought to have an opinion about the existence of dragons even in the privacy of my mind, for I had nothing to fear.

Speaking of smiling, I don't think - I know - I'll never smile again, because when Daenerys Targaryen came, she not only bought all the Unsullied and made the Good Masters pay. She also bought my one and only weakness - Missandei from the Isle of Naath - although I didn't know it at the time, and set us all free with the option to serve her.

Once upon a time, I knew no fear, until I knew Missandei from the Isle of Naath; until I was face to face with death and I was confronted with the possibility of dying and never seeing Missandei again. More than that, I was afraid of the strange new emotions she inspired within me towards her. And I was ashamed.

I was ashamed because my loyalty to Daenerys Targaryen - the person who set me free from slavery - paled in comparison to everything I felt for Missandei; to everything I still feel for Missandei, even after - even after Cersei Lannister made me live my one and worst fear in a way the Good Masters would have approved, albeit they would have commanded me to do it myself.

She - Cersei Lannister, how I wish she died by my hand along with the one who carried out her order - forced me to face my worst fear - my greatest weakness - and live with it. It being something I thought the Good Masters trained out of me: pain. And numbing hollowness in my chest. And live with it, I am.

I never thought it was possible to sustain an injury to my heart, especially without a physical wound caused by a weapon, but the piercing pain I have felt in my chest since - since...

"Torgo Nudho," an Unsullied interrupts my thoughts and distracts me from the pulsing pain in my chest that threatens to overwhelm me into tears I'm unable to shed. "The Queensguard is ready."

"Good," I respond, straightening my back as I turn away from the standing Kings Landing from the ruins of the Red Keep to look at Daenerys' new Queensguard I handpicked with the Kos from the best of the remaining Unsullied and Dothraki. "The Queen has been alone long enough. Tell the handmaidens to come to the Throne Room. It is..."

A piercing shrieking dragon roar suddenly cuts through the air from the Throne Room - filled with my new constant companion: pain. Unfiltered pain. Before I know it, I find myself sprinting towards the Throne Room, for I have never heard this kind of cry from Drogon before. It's raw, it's haunting and it speaks to the pain that I feel but cannot voice like he is voicing his, hence I throw my spear down and run faster.

Just as I come into view of the Throne Room, a stream of powerful dragon fire suddenly unleashes on a target I can't see until I enter the room, but I only see the target of Drogon's fiery fury for but a moment before he screams as he is engulfed by dragon fire. I never liked Jon Snow, and I don't think I ever would, but as I watch him burn right before my eyes, I wonder what he did to deserve Drogon's fury.

My biggest concern, however, is the whereabouts of Drogon's mother Daenerys because she is supposed to be in here and I don't see her from the Throne Room doorway, and... The thought vanishes as my eye catches sight of a motionless figure on the floor in front of the Iron Throne.

Drogon crying in pain. Drogon burning Jon Snow in fury. No Daenerys in sight. A motionless figure on the floor... I don't need to look at the motionless figure to know who it is and what may have happened, but I do look. I look to confirm, even though I hope I'm wrong. I have to.

My mind goes blank as I look upon Daenerys Targaryen's motionless face, the hollowness in my chest deepens and expands, and my bones grow cold as I see a dagger handle sticking out of her chest. I take a step towards her, hoping against hope that the dagger missed her heart and she's not - she's not dead, only to earn Drogon's attention and threatening territorial growl.

He looms over Daenerys protectively and his big eyes stare down on me, and then behind me. They narrow further as they stare behind me. I know not to take my eyes off of a threat in front of me, so I don't look behind me check what he's looking at. I don't need to, because I remember the Queensguard.

"Put down your weapons," I instruct, slowly taking out my sword and dagger and putting them down with my eyes on Drogon, hoping the Dothraki follow my lead despite our language barrier. "Stay," I command, and slowly walk towards Drogon, earning his full attention and another threatening growl laced with grief.

I understand him more than I can express, but I need to check on Daenerys. I have to, even if Drogon burns me to death. I have to try to see if there's a chance she's alive and I can save her as she saved me, Missandei and the Unsullied.

I am not afraid of death. I think I actually desire it now. Why else would I risk angering Drogon further? Why else would I continue to stare him in the eyes and walk towards him as he stands guard over his mother and opens his mouth and fire builds up in his throat to burn me? If Daenerys is dead, I might as well die because I failed her, and I-I failed Missandei. I failed them.

I leave myself wide open and welcome Drogon's punishment as his dragon fire buildup reaches its climax and he unleashes it upon me. As I wait all of a half a moment to burn to death, I think of Missandei, and I remember the first time I stood before her and Daenerys with my helmet off to introduce myself as the Unsullied's chosen commander.

My loyalty to Daenerys was a given. How I grew to feel about Missandei was unexpected, a surprise. A scary surprise. Her reciprocation was a shock and a joy unlike any other. Liberating people who were enslaved was fulfilling. And fighting for the living against the undead and winning was unimaginable and enlightening.

I lived a life beyond my imagination and expectations. I rose from a vermin to a Khaleesi and a Queen's Master of War with command over all her forces. I lived a life no Unsullied has lived before. And I welcome my death as a free man.

What more could I ask for out of life except to reunite with Missandei from the Isle of Naath as I meet Drogon's dragon fire halfway? Only, I don't met Drogon's dragon fire halfway or any other way. Drogon unleashes his fire at the Iron Throne, instead of me, to my utter confusion and shock. And disappointment.

I halt and watch as the Throne melts into molten metal and runs down the Iron Throne platform towards Daenerys. I resume my course and pick her up while Drogon is distracted and rise to my feet to find him looking at me with his nostrils flaring, but he allows me to back away with Daenerys. I tell myself that if he wanted me dead, he would have killed me already, so I take my eyes off of him to look at Daenerys in my arms.

I find it hard to breath as I note the position and angle of the dagger, and the stillness of Daenerys' chest and absence of air from her bloody nose; confirmation that I failed her too. I fall down to my knees as my strength leaves me with only enough to hold onto Daenerys' body, and I allow myself only one sob. Unfortunately, it makes way for one more. And then another.

I clench my jaw, cut off the fourth sob harshly, and struggle to my feet without much success, until a big shadow falls over me and Drogon uses his head to assist me to my feet with a mournful quiet hiss. I bitterly envy his ability to openly and publicly mourn, but I'm grateful for his support; and I take advantage of it by leaning my head against Drogon's head to draw strength from him, for I have a difficult task ahead of me and I feel lost. And so, so weak. And he let's me.