Tears streamed down Arya's face when the report of Jack's death finished. She ruffled Ned's fur, and the cat watched her cry and head-butted her over and over. Thomas stood behind her chair, trying to console her, fearing the worst about Jon as the reports came in. Then the reports came in that Jon, the Dothraki, and the dragon were alive and being healed. They were badly banged up but would survive. The dragon had one wing and a foreleg in bad shape, which would require high-level healing. The Dothraki had a large gash on his forehead where a rock had stopped his free-fall tumble after hitting the ground. Jon had a really bad shoulder and would also require long-term care. Arya breathed a sigh of relief at her brother's state and got up to continue the business of defeating these bastard Zons. Ned followed her meowing.
At the crossroads between the King's Road and the road between Barrowton and White Harbor, a black wagon stopped. The driver was in conversation with several volunteers heading for the fighting. He asked if the road to the west would bring them to the fighting, and the people said yes. A handful of strange copper coins hit the ground, and the wagon took off to the west in a cloud of dust. Later, when he was on the wind train heading north, he mentioned that wagon and the eerie feeling it left him with to one of the train's staff. The staff member mentioned it to the telepath, and the report of a strange black wagon heading towards the fighting from the south quickly spread.
The environs of Deepwood Motte were like something out of a child's nightmare after the battle. The forest was on fire, and buildings in the city were still burning. Bodies lay everywhere, and teams were beginning to try to bury the enemy in a mass grave. Some soldiers and townspeople still walked around in a daze, unattended. Smoke hung everywhere, giving the scene a surreal miasma. Throughout the battle, Gawen Glover had been everywhere, supporting his people and ensuring that aid reached those who needed it quickly. He and the new commander Von were doing an accounting of their losses. It was bad. More than 2000 soldiers, volunteers, and specialists had been killed. In the city, more than 500 citizens had died, and 63 buildings were lost. The two decided that, rather than 1000s of funerals, they would hold one big one, and planning began. In the end, a huge pit was dug, and the enemy bodies were burned away from the city.
5 days later at the Zonian encampment, the ragged stragglers of the battle began arriving. They grouped up outside the walls, afraid of Jun Wei's wrath. When Hao arrived, he goaded them to enter the walls. But Jun Wei was more stunned than wrathful; he listened to the accounts by his men about the dragon's attack. Of the 20,000 troops and 5,000 workers, fewer than 8,000 came back. They had lost 2 giant slings and one of his 7 great mages, and the only thing they had to show for it was a wounded dragon and a few thousand Westerosi dead or wounded. He was at a loss for words. He retreated to his inner sanctum to try and figure out a way forward. He needed revenge for these shameful defeats these little enemies had heaped upon him. He screamed for his advisors and intel men to give him a victory.
Drena received word about the battle and its outcome. She put her people on high alert for Zonians fleeing the battlefield. And they came by the 100s. Many were mad with terror and threw themselves off any cliff or embankment near the sea. Most of those died, but some that survived began swimming towards Zon. Her people let them swim; the fish would eat well for a while. Drena's people managed to corral nearly 1,000 Zonians who were glad to be anywhere the dragon was not. They meekly complied with capture and sat dazed and in constant terror. It took a flotilla of boats to send them all back to Brandon's Rest. Brienne's camp was utterly overwhelmed by nearly 4000 deranged and mindless fleeing Zonians. They gratefully allowed themselves to be captured and clustered in groups, shivering in fear and eating and drinking whatever was offered. It was going to take months of wind trains to shuttle these prisoners down to King's Landing, because word had come from Brandon's Rest that they could hold no more of them.
3 weeks passed, and the city of Deepwood Motte was well on its way to healing and rebuilding. Drogon had been healed until he regained consciousness, and then he and Jon and Qotho had slowly limped back to Brandon's Rest. Strange reports were coming in from the Tower of Westeros; it seemed every ship in the Zonian fleet was docked or anchored near the encampment wharf. Tyrion and the intel team had interviewed a few of the incoming prisoners, but gained little useful information, except for 'dragon' from them. The day of the mass funeral at Deepwood Motte was upon them, and Sansa had ridden a windtrain to be there. The whole day was somber and of remembrance to celebrate the sacrifice of those who had perished. The lady of Deepwood Motte had a statue brought from her Old One's grove to stand upon the mass grave of the Westerosi dead. They commemorated it with prayers and ceremony. Then a report came in from the Tower that the gates of the Zonian encampment were open and no one was inside.