I Am Not a Woman, I'm a God - Jonerys [18+]

I am not a martyr, I'm a problem

After failing to end Viserion's suffering, Daenerys and Drogon flee back to Winterfell to regroup. The lines are weakening. Daenerys and Jon fight to endure.

I apologise for the long delay! I have no excuses other than I got in my own way. I hope this makes up for it. Thank you!
~*~

Daenerys

The burn in her throat demanded vocal release; the screaming wind and a growling Drogon agreed with it. No words could ease her ruinous regret as it devoured the last bud of hope she'd dared to let grow. Only a ringing silence existed within her. Excruciating failure accompanied her as she fled.

A sour taste in the back of her mouth refused to shift as her shoulders shook and curled inward, hands tingling as Drogon's heat melted the frost encasing her stiff fingers despite her thick gloves. If she tried to speak now, her voice would crack and fail, and there was nothing she could say to make any of it better. She led them to their deaths.

Ripped them away from their homelands to bring them to a country that reared up and fought back, aged magic and mismatched Gods playing with their lives. An iron cape settled around her shoulders as they coasted through the night, the snow-capped forest and roiling battlefield invisible to her in her misery.

A prickling in her chest made her feel lightheaded as she choked down a mouthful of saliva and tried to clear the bitterness lying heavy on her tongue. Tears of rage and grief streamed unbidden, salt drying on her skin as her mouth worked, but no sound came out. Her voice was torn to shreds from screaming and pleading, the tears freezing on her wind-chapped cheeks.

Every part of her wanted to run, run as far as she could, and find some place safe to lick her wounds. Her belly was so full of knots that she couldn't get enough air into her lungs as Drogon carried her away from the terror they'd scarcely survived.

Her thoughts turned inward, torn between wanting to forget all that had transpired and reliving it again and again. Viserion still lived. She failed to end his suffering and the threat he posed, risking three other lives in the process. She tried never to look back and regret the things she felt were right in the moment. But it was different now.

Numbness held her rigid in her seat as she saw nothing of the world around her and dreaded telling Jon how close she'd come to falling to her death. The wound on Drogon's neck had bled a little as they raced away, a trickle slowing to a drip that didn't seem to bother him. She couldn't find the relief that should bring.

A searing pain in her heart robbed her of the last shards of restraint, and she allowed herself to cry and mourn her failure silently. Adrenaline still seeped through her veins, slowly emptying as they put distance between them and their enemy. She knew how hollow she would feel once it was gone. If Jon were to come to her now, she would crumple.