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chocolate-tequila · 5 years

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[[A little something to entertain myself while I wait for Sunday. This focuses on Sansa after the Night King has been defeated (finding Arya/Bran, finding Theon, running into Daeny)-- I wrote this without putting much thought into it, so pardon any inaccuracies/misspellings. As always, thank you for reading! ((Theonsa/Jorleesi-- the relationships aren’t really the focus.))]]

As soon as the dead fell before her, Sansa turned to the exit. She gave Tyrion’s hand a gentle squeeze before she raced outside, the cold of the night chilling her. She needed to find her brothers and sister. She needed to be sure they were still alive. She did not know where Jon or Arya may be in the mess of the battle, but she knew where Bran was stationed. She would find him there. Theon, too.

She lifted her cloak and ran as fast as she could, adrenaline coursing through her. She had spent so much time in the godswood recently, it was the best setting for quiet thinking. The cold wind tore at her exposed skin and her red hair fell from its braid as she raced on, taking every shortcut she knew.

Arya was hunched over in the snow when she arrived, Bran still seated safely in his chair. “Arya,” Sansa breathed a sigh of relief, running to her sister and wrapping her in her arms.

“I did it,” Arya whispered, her body sinking into her sister’s embrace. “I killed him.” It was a statement, not a brag.

“Killed who?”

“The Night King,” Bran responded, his voice dull, without emotion.

Sansa’s eyes widened, starring at a shell-shocked Arya. She turned back to Bran, “Is Jon alive?”

A pause from Bran before, “Yes.”

It was then Sansa realized who was missing from the scene. “Bran, where is Theon?”

Bran’s gaze looked past Sansa’s shoulder, his expression passive. Sansa turned to where he looked, and felt her breath hitch in her throat. Theon’s body was sprawled awkwardly in the snow, the white powder dark underneath him. “Arya, take Bran home. Find Jon.”

Neither sibling protested, or if they did Sansa did not hear, she was already running the short distance to Theon’s body. She collapsed in front of him, her eyes burning as tears fell down her cheeks. “Theon,” She cried, taking his hand in hers. She closed her eyes, not able to look upon his face. She felt her body stiffen when Theon’s fingers laced through hers.

She forced herself to look at him then, nearly sobbing when she saw him blink. “Theon,” she said again, forcing herself to gain composure. The spear was lodged in his stomach, but he was still alive, somehow. Sansa knew he would not stay that way. He had been here, lying in the snow, bleeding out and suffering, for who knew how long. The thought caused another strangled sob to spill from her.

“You’re a good man, Theon,” She choked out, forcing herself to smile at him. Blood pooled from his mouth. “I love you,” she said, this time unable to control the sound of sadness in her voice, the sob that escaped from her. She pulled the dagger from her coat, her hand shaking as she placed the blade lightly against Theon’s throat. “I love you,” she said again, before dragging the blade swiftly across his jugular, ending his suffering in one fluid motion.

She fell against him, sobbing uncontrollably, her body shaking.

Sansa didn’t move again until she heard footsteps approaching. She lifted her head from Theon’s chest, and rose to her feet, standing in front of his body, holding the dagger out in front of her. She relaxed only a little when Daenerys appeared from the shadows of the trees, but tucked the dagger away. She looked exhausted, and terrified. “Sansa? Where is Jon? He was coming to save Bran last I--”

“--He’s with everyone else. He is okay.” Daenerys nodded. “Are you?” Sansa wondered, eyes trailing to Daeny’s blood-soaked cloak.

Daeny followed her gaze, a hand resting over the mess of dried blood. “It is not mine,” she said, sadly. “Ser Jorah--” The words died in her throat. Sansa did not need to hear them.

Only then did Daeny see the body behind Sansa, and Sansa could see the sadness she had been trying to hide return. Daeny’s eyes moved from Theon to Sansa, and their gazes locked.

Wordlessly they threw their arms around each other, falling into the snow, their bodies shaking as they both began to cry again. Sansa gripped the back of Daeny’s cloak with her hands, and she felts Daeny’s hands weave through her hair. They understood each other’s pain. Their hearts were shattered for lost love.

They sat locked in an embrace until the first rays of sunlight began to filter down. “We had better return. They will be looking for us,” Daeny said, breaking their hug. Her eyes were red, Sansa’s were too. Sansa cast one last glance at Theon, using her palm to shut his eyelids.

Daenerys helped Sansa to her feet, and together the two women walked back to the heart of the North, side by side.

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lodessa · 5 years

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[Modern Au] But I wish you would write a fic where Daenerys is in one of those timed speed dating things. Jorah walks in not knowing what is going on because it's usually a pub. So he and Dany talks and hits it off and basically they never switched and everyone was angry at them. (Lol, I dont think Dany would need to speed date but it would be hilarious seeing it.)

“Do you mind if I sit here?” a low voice asks, a little rough but warm.

Daenerys twists her head back away from where she’s been tracking her friends’ across the room, wondering why on she let them drag her to this thing. The man in question is older than the general crowd to be sure, but she can see he’s rather fit from the way his t-shirt clings to him and his eyes are the most piercing blue.

“I suppose that’s the idea, isn’t it?” she smiles, holding her hand out across the table towards him. “I’m Daenerys… though most people just call me Dany.”

“Daenerys,” he says, like her name is a gift and not a burden, as he takes her hand in his own, neither squeezing too hard nor limp but firm and comfortable. “I’m Jorah. It’s a bit crowded here tonight, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she admits, “This isn’t my usual scene.”

That’s putting it lightly. This whole speed dating thing really seemed like a ridiculous idea, but Jhiqui, Irri, and Doreah had been rather insistent and she knew they were worried about her.

“It’s not usually like this,” Jorah furrows his brow a bit with a raised eyebrow.

“You do this a lot then?” she asks, suddenly suspicious. Why would someone frequent this kind of thing unless they were some sort of pick up artist? Though she doesn’t get that vibe from him. He seems friendly enough, but unassuming.

“This place is right between work and home and they’ve got decent prices,” he shrugs and she starts to get the impression he’s not talking about this speed dating situation, possibly that he doesn’t even know it’s going on. Which actually makes more sense somehow.

Giving him another once over, he’s definitely dressed more casually than most of the people here, though that fitted v-necked t-shirt and the way his belt is slung around his hips are altogether doing him more favors than all the sad sport coats she’s witnessing across the room. This feels like a man who knows what he is and isn’t looking to apologize about it.

“Ah, my friends dragged me,” she points in the direction of Doreah, who responds with a wink. “They think I’m going to shrivel up and die if they don’t force me to go out and meet new people.”

“You don’t seem in any danger of shriveling, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”

“My husband died last year,” she tells him, not sure why she wants to do so with him. When the idea of this was broached telling strangers her business had seemed anything but appealing. “Motorcycle accident… So that’s why they are worried.”

“My condolences,” Jorah says, as if he means it but without being overly dramatic or showy about it, and then he adds, “It’s hard losing a spouse, but even harder when it happens suddenly and you don’t have any time to get used to the notion.”

The way he says it makes her feel as though he speaks from experience. There is a tension in his well defined jaw, in his broad shoulders.

“You too?”

“I am both a widower and a divorcee,” he owns. “I’d tell you it gets easier, but I know when people told me that it was anything but welcome.”

She can see other men approach their table, looking impatient and annoyed as Jorah fails to give ground. She finds she’s glad though, that she wants to keep talking to Jorah more as much as she doesn’t want to engage in smalltalk with the rest.

“It’s already easier,” she admits. “Drogo and I weren’t actually together all that long, and I knew his work was dangerous. I do get lonely though.”

“Perhaps I ought to leave you to these fellows buzzing around this table like yellowjackets then,” he looks a little chagrined.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” she can tell him honestly. “But I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to buy me a drink.”

“Me?” he asks, as though he really had just been friendly, and for a moment Daenerys feels a bit foolish.

“I mean, not if you wouldn’t like to. But I am rather enjoying talking to you.”

“I would very much like to,” Jorah presses his lips together and swallows. “Though, I think if I get up to go to the bar I’m going to lose my spot.”

As he adds that last bit he glances in the direction of one of the guys who is sort of hovering in wait.

“I thought, maybe you knew someplace a bit quieter around here,” she suggests, realizing that he’s right.

“Following a strange man to a second location, you really are fearless aren’t you?” Jorah chuckles, and there’s something about his smile that makes her feel warm and at ease.

“Not usually,” she has to say, “But I don’t know… I just have a good feeling about you, Jorah.”

She ignores the looks as Jorah offers her a callused hand on her way up. She can feel her phone buzzing inside her purse, but she ignores that too.

“There’s a place around the corner that has a pretty good selection,” he tells her, appraising her clutch, shoes, and jacket. “You strike me as someone who enjoys the finer things in life, Daenerys.”

“I suppose that depends on the way you define fine,” she tells him. She doesn’t want him to think she’s the kind of woman who is looking for her next benefactor.

“And how would you define it?” he asks, as they weave their way out of the crowded pub and outside where the sun is still up.

In the sunlight, his eyes are even more penetrating, though his body language is still non demanding.

“I think something that is fine is something that brings enduring enjoyment, not just the cheap entertainment of a moment, but the kind of satisfaction that only increases with further acquaintance.”

“Like your eyes,” he suggests, “Those really aren’t contacts are they?”

“It’s a genetic quirk of my family,” she tells him. His reaction seems genuine, not cheesy or hollow like so many who wax poetical about it. She wonders if he noticed her reaction to his eyes and that’s why he brought up hers.

“You know, you should probably respond to your friends’ before they send out a search party,” he tells her with a glance in the direction or where she realizes her phone is once again vibrating.

Realizing that they are not going to stop until she responds, Daenerys pulls her phone out to see over a dozen messages in her group text with the girls. The shamelessness of Doreah’s make her blush, as she scrolls past them as quickly as possible.

I’m fine, she types.

That was fast 😉🍆👅… is the immediate response, making her regret saying anything at all.

She turns vibrate off on her phone and stashes it back in her purse, hoping Jorah didn’t see her friends’ comments about him or beliefs about where she was headed.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me…” she feels the need to say, after seeing her friends’ teasing assumptions.

“Daenerys,” Jorah says her name and there’s something about it that makes her feel like he sees her, like really truly sees her in a way that’s more than just her measurements or whatever. “No hard feelings if you are suddenly realizing you want to go back.”

“No,” she tells him, “I just don’t want you to think that I’m…”

What is it she is worried he’ll think. That’s she’s easy? That she’s the type of girl who goes off with strange men… that a drink meant something quite different?

“There’s a coffeeshop a block over,” Jorah seems to understand somehow, even though she hasn’t said anything really. “Perhaps, that would be a better place to start… whatever it is you’d like to start.”

What does she want to start? Daenerys doesn’t know, only that if she’d left that bar without exchanging contact information with him she knows she would have wondered, would have felt a sense of regret.

“Coffee,” she agrees. “And maybe you can tell me about that book you’ve had in your back pocket this whole while, and why you brought one to a pub.”

“I could do that,” he nods, “And perhaps you’ll tell me about the dragons you were doodling on a napkin when I walked up.”

#dany x jorah #jorleesi #daenerys x jorah #lodessa writes fic #Anonymous #and sometimes tiny ficlets based on asks #sometimes more than that based on asks

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