Game of Thrones Season 8 - Chapter 1

Again we have a long wait until the next and final season of Game of Thrones. So once more I have decided to take a shot at predicting what will happen in Season 8. This new fan fiction is not connected in any way with my previous attempt at predicting Season 7. For those of you who read that story you know my predictions were not quite on the money. And I am sure some of the ones I make for season 8 will not be either. Nevertheless, I want to write this and so I shall. As I have done in the past each chapter will show the story from multiple viewpoints, much like the TV show does. Please enjoy and any comments are always welcome.


The Wall – Tormund

"Fuck," Tormund Giantsbane said to no one in particular as he trudged his way west along the snow trench on top of the Wall. "We're fucked."

"Aye," said Beric Dondarrion from his side. "We truly are."

"How in bloody hell did that thing get a dragon?"

"It doesn't matter how. What matters is he has it and can ride it."

"The dragon died," Tormund replied. "We all saw it."

"And how many died at Hardhome and then rose from the dead?"

"Thousands."

"If he can do that, then I am sure he can reanimate a dead dragon."

Tormund grunted an agreement. He stared ahead through the light snowfall and then stopped and looked back. Nine men he counted, five of his, four crows. Eleven in all, counting him and Dondarrion. "Is this all that lived?

Dondarrion stopped as well. "It seems so."

"The boy from down south?"

"Was in the forge last I saw, making a new hammer to replace the one we lost. If the Wall collapsed on top of the castle, then…"

Tormund nodded. "Or they got him. Don't like it. He saved us, running all that way."

"We can't go back."

"No."

"Where to now?" asked one of Tormund's free folk companions as the rest came up and stopped.

"Castle Black," said Dondarrion. "But we have no food so we will reach the next fort and hope the stairs are still intact. Then we must go down and forage for something to eat or we will never make it."

Another man, a crow, stared at Donarrion in disbelief. "We go down there, those things will get us!"

"Aye, they might." Dondarrion replied. "But up here we will starve first. How far is it to Castle Black?"

"About one hundred miles," the man replied.

"Too far to walk on an empty belly," Tormund said.

A wildling spoke up. "Might be the dead are heading the same way."

"I think not," Dondarrion said. "They will head south to Winterfell. And we've got to warn them. There are ravens at Castle Black."

"Less talk and more walking," Tormund commanded and they began to head west again.

An hour later they came to a place that had not been cleared of snow for some time. On top of it they went, and the going got slower as they sank into the snow in places. But in others it was hard on top so it wasn't as bad as Tormund first feared. If only they had some tree branches to make snow shoes. One good thing was they had almost all lived a long time in the true North and so were used to the cold. Dondarrion was not of the North but he had a fire inside him that kept him going. And the man had died six times they said, and still lived.

"What was it like?" Tormund asked him as they walked on top of the snow.

Dondarrion did not need to ask him what he meant. "Cold," he replied. "Darkness…nothingness. Not a sound."

"Death sounds like a boring place."

"I wasn't there long enough to find out."

"Six times was it he brought you back?"

"Aye. The seventh will be the last time I die. I am ready."

"I'm fucking not."

A long time later Dondarrion said the sun should have risen but as they looked east they saw nothing but clouds and grey skies.

"It's too cloudy," said one crow.

"Or the Night King brings the darkness with him," said another.

"The Long Night," Dondarrion said.

"What this?" asked Tormund.

"A legend, told to scare children, of an eternity of darkness and snow and cold."

"Sounds like life north of the Wall," said a wildling.

"Aye," Tormund agreed. "We have the same stories. But we don't scare children. We make them learn, so they are ready when it comes."

"Did it help?" Donarrion asked.

Tormund gave a sad shake of his shaggy head. "Mance tried to do what was right. Take us south away from the demons. But the crows stood their ground."

"Aye, we did," said one of the crows behind them, sounding a bit too proud for Tormund's liking. If he wasn't so tired and hungry he might have turned on the man but said nothing to him.

"They say Jon Snow saved you all," Dondarrion said.

"He did," Tormund replied. "That man is more than a crow. He sees what needs to be done and he does it, no matter what it means."

"They killed him for it."

"They did," Tormund answered. "But he's not dead yet."

"The Lord of Light has a plan for Jon Snow."

"Then he'd better hurry up and tell him what it is. We surely need a way to stop what is coming."

Dondarrion had nothing to say to that.

The sun did not rise, or so it seemed, and the cold continued. Hunger gnawed at their bellies but they pressed on. They were men of the true North and the Watch and were used to such harshness and so not one man dropped out. They were also lent speed by their fears, of what might be coming behind them. But no sign of the dead did they see.

Finally they reached the next fort and found the stairs intact…well, mostly. In a few places were rotten boards and they almost lost a man who fell though some but they grabbed him and pulled him up. Down they went, to a cold and empty fort, which had not been held by the Watch for decades.

"What is the fort's name?" Dondarrion asked one of the men of the Watch.

"Greenguard," he said. "But it hasn't guarded anything in a long time."

They looked for food but found nothing. They gathered in the cold kitchens and Tormund looked at the crows and Dondarrion. "You lot stay here and make a fire and a place for us to rest. And find a big pot if you can. We'll go get our dinner."

It took some time but they got dinner, three rabbits and four squirrels, all taken down by spear and bow. Into an old cast iron pot the meat went, organs and all, with lots of water and some pine needles for taste. More pine needles they kept aside to make a hot drink for after. They also had some pine nuts and soft inner bark, which one of Tormund's men began to pound into a powder on a flat stone with his dagger hilt.

Dondarrion looked at the food with skepticism. "Is it tasty?"

Tormund grinned. "When a man is hungry anything is tasty. Pine is good for you. Keep you well. Your teeth will never fall out if you drink hot pine water every day. Course, ale or mead is better, but we'll have to make do with what the gods gave us."

It was tasty, the meat stew savory with pine flavoring. The pine powder they mixed with water to make a sort of flour paste they wrapped around sticks and heated over the fire. The pine needle tea kept them warm inside.

They rested for some time and then Tormund said it was it time to go. One of the crows complained but Tormund said he could wait here for the demons and that got the man on his feet.

They made snow shoes and that made the going faster where the snows were deep. Three more days they walked, hunting when they could, making fires and resting in any shelter they found, including the old forts of the Watch. Game was plentiful because no one lived here for a long time. Shadowcats they heard sometimes and once they saw a bear, but after they realized it was a real bear, they made some noise and it ran off. No one wanted to chance hunting it and getting hurt. It snowed a bit but not much. The man who had fallen on the stairs had a bit of a lame leg but kept up as best he could, fear giving him strength and speed.

On the third night Tormund was on guard duty, leaning against a tree on the lee side, keeping his eyes cast away from their fire to keep his night vision. They had debated about having fires in the open, fearing the enemy would spot them, but common sense told them they would first freeze and that the enemy feared fire so it was best to have some handy in case they came.

As Tormund thought on life and of a blond beauty back in Winterfell, he heard a noise. He held his breath and loosened his sword and took out his dragon glass dagger. There, coming along the path they took was a shambling figure, wrapped up in clothing. The figure shuffled along, slow, silent, like the wights. It was almost close enough to reach out and stab when it stopped.

"Help!" cried the figure and Tormund knew it was no wight. The man reached out a hand in desperation towards the fire and then collapsed on the snow, face down.

"Man!" Tormund shouted and others came running from the small camp. Dondarrion just reached his side as Tormund turned the man over. His face was wrapped in a scarf and they quickly uncovered him.

"The boy," said Tormund and they gently lifted Gendry and carried him to the fire.

After he got warm and had some food he told his story. "Was outside when it fell. Just ran, fast as I could. Saw the road leading this way, so I kept going."

"Did anyone else survive?" Dondarrion asked him.

Gendry shook his head. "None I saw."

Tormund knew what that meant. "They are all now soldiers in his army."

"I saw the dragon," Gendry said. "And them. Coming through the gap. All of them. Heading south."

"None this way?" a crow asked.

"I didn't wait to find out."

Finally on the fifth day since the Wall fell they ran into a patrol from Castle Black. "The Wall fell at Eastwatch," Dondarrion told them and they were hurried back to the castle.

Dolorous Edd was in command and as soon as he heard their tale he rushed off to send ravens to the world. Then he came back to the kitchens where all the men not on duty had gathered.

"You must leave this place," Dondarrion said to them. "Come to Winterfell with us."

"We can't," Edd replied. "Castle Black is ours to defend."

"You can't defend it against that dragon," Tormund told him. "But maybe they aren't even coming this way. Maybe all are heading for Winterfell, and then south after that."

"We could use your men at Winterfell," Dondarrion added. "And the castle's supplies."

"That's for the Watch," one crow said.

"And how many of you are here now?" Tormund asked.

"Less than fifty thanks to your lot," another crow said.

Edd grunted. "That's enough of that. We are all in this together now. We've got plenty of food in storage, but few horses or wagons to move it."

"We take what we can," Dondarrion said.

Edd looked at him, then Tormund, and then his men. Tormund looked around and one by one the men of the Watch nodded their assent.

As they rose to get to work Edd had one more question for Tormund. "Where's Jon now?"

"Gone south to convince the brother fucker's army to join us."

"Cersei Lannister? She hates anyone named Stark. Or Targaryen."

"Well, then it's a good thing his last name is Snow."


Winterfell – Sam

"That's impossible," Arya Stark said, her voice calm and scary at the same time. "He's our brother."

Sam Tarly felt uncomfortable sitting at the table in the solar with the Starks. There was much tension in the air, and it was all his fault. Well, mostly.

Bran Stark insisted on telling his sisters what they knew, so that when Jon did arrive back in Winterfell there would be less dramatics. Better to get it over with now, Sam had agreed. And now wished he hadn't.

Sansa Stark seemed in shock, and said nothing at first. But Arya had given them looks of disbelief and said her words. Sam gave a little jump as she spoke. Her voice was cold, her eyes dead, and she just stared at her brother. "Prove it," she said.

Bran looked at Sam and nodded. He reached down and from a bag he took out the High Septon's diary and placed it on the table. "I found this book in the Citadel. It's a private diary, of a High Septon during the Mad King's rule. I…well, not me, but Gilly, she first found the passage. I didn't grasp what it meant at first, but now I do." They looked at him in expectation of more so he began to read. When he was done the passage Arya made a scoffing sound.

"Words in a book. That proves nothing."

"He was the High Septon," Sam said.

"So? Maybe he is a liar."

"Arya, it's true," Bran said. "I saw their wedding. I told you I saw Father with Aunt Lyanna when Jon was born and she died. I heard her say his true name."

"Just a vision," Arya said. "Jon won't believe it."

"He must, if we tell him," said Bran.

Sansa Stark finally spoke. "How long have you known?"

"Some of it for a while now," Bran replied.

"And you said nothing," Arya said in accusing tone. "Just like you said nothing about Little Finger until Sansa and I were ready to kill each other?"

"That…I am sorry," Bran said. "I had to make sure he could not escape, could not get support from Lord Royce. I did not want to tip him off."

"It doesn't matter," said Sansa. "It was all true, what Bran saw. We all saw Lord Baelish's face when he was accused. He could not hide his surprise when you told him what he said to Father that day."

"Lord Petyr Baelish?" Sam asked. "Is he here?"

"Not anymore," Arya answered.

Sam looked at them in confusion and Sansa told him. "Lord Baelish committed crimes against our family and has been executed."

"Oh. What did he do?"

"He started the war between the Starks and Lannisters," said Bran.

"He murdered our aunt," added Arya.

"He tried to turn me against Arya," added Sansa.

"And he betrayed our father," Bran said last.

"Oh. Well, I guess he deserved to die."

They were silent for a moment and then Bran spoke. "I know this will be hard for Jon. But he must know. He is heir to the Iron Throne."

"Not Daenerys Targaryen?" Sansa asked with some skepticism.

Sam spoke up. "She would be except Jon was born. The Targaryen's inherited through the male line, even if he is younger than a female relative. Jon is Rhaegar's legitimate son. Rhaegar's two older children died at the Sack of King's Landing. Rhaegar died on the Trident before his father died. He never ruled, but any living son of his would be heir after the Mad King…and before Rhaegar's brother and sister. So…Jon is the heir. And always has been."

"According to this book," Arya said.

"And Bran's visions," Sansa added.

Bran nodded. "Yes. Now do you believe it?"

"No one will believe it," Arya shot back. "I hardly do. If only you could show us your visions."

"No," Bran said at once. "I damaged Hodor, I told you. I will not take the chance with anyone else. Especially not my family."

"Ah," Sam began. "Jon…well…he might insist on seeing."

"So might our Queen," Sansa added.

"She's not our Queen," Arya said in a sharp tone.

"Yes, she is," Sansa retorted. "Jon bent the knee."

Sam had heard some grumblings about this in the great hall, the Northmen angered that their king had bowed down to a woman, no less a Targaryen.

"This will just mean more trouble," Arya said.

"He is still Jon," Bran told her. "He is still our leader. Nothing has changed."

"But if he is not our father's son then how can he be King in the North," Arya said to him. "You should be our leader. Or Sansa."

"No," Sansa and Bran said almost as one. "Jon did not know," Sansa continued. "He is not to blame. He is still our brother, in our hearts. That will not change."

Arya nodded. "Yes, I know. Just…why? Why did Father never tell anyone the truth?"

"Because of Robert Baratheon," Bran answered. "If he ever knew he would have wanted to kill Jon. And Father would have gone to war."

"He could have at least told Mother," Arya said, her tone bitter. "How she hated Jon, all for nothing."

"He couldn't tell anyone," Sansa said. "No one could know."

"Meera's father Howland Reed knew," Bran said. "He was there, at the Tower of Joy."

Arya looked at him in surprise. "Is he still alive?"

Bran looked at her in equal surprise, knowing what she was after. "Yes, I think so."

"Then we must send him a raven," Sansa said. "If he tells the story, people will believe it."

Sansa had just stood up when a knock came to the door and a maester walked in, the name of Wolkan if Sam remembered rightly. "My ladies, my lord, a raven…from Castle Black." His voice trembled and he looked pale. The scroll was already opened. Sansa rushed to his side and took it and began to read. She gasped and went white as a sheet.

"What is it?" Arya asked as she came to their side.

"The Wall…it has fallen, at Eastwatch," Sansa said in a bare whisper. "They are coming."

A short time later they had gathered all the commanders in the great hall and after Sansa told them the shocking news they began arguing over what must be done.

Lord Royce stood. "My lady, if it is true this Night King has a dragon, how can we stand against it?"

"We must stand until the Queen and her armies and her other two dragons arrive," Sansa said.

"There is no retreat," a man Sam knew to be Lord Glover said as he stood. "We fight and die here."

"We haven't the men," someone shouted.

"We will have more soon," Sansa said. "The Night's Watch and wildlings are retreating to Winterfell with as many supplies as they can carry."

"How many men, my lady?" someone asked.

"I know not," Sansa said and there was more grumbling and more than one voice said they should head south while they could. Then Bran spoke.

"We cannot run," he said and all stopped talking and listened. "The fight will be here, at Winterfell. Many will die, yes, but this is where it must be."

"Will we win, my lord?" young Lady Mormont asked. They had all heard of his visions, of the way he knew what had happened in the past. Sam had heard some say it was all nonsense, but others were ready to believe, even just to have something to grasp onto for hope.

All eyes were on Bran now. He shook his head. "I know not. I cannot see the future."

A great sigh filled the room. Then the rotund Lord Manderly of White Harbor stood. "The future we know not. But now is the time to act. We must prepare. Patrols must be sent up the Kingsroad to warn of the approaching danger. Word must be sent to King Jon about this dragon the Night King has so he is not caught unawares. We must gather all the people and food nearby into Winterfell."

"So it shall be done, at once," Sansa said. And then everyone stood, bowed to her and began to leave.

As they filed out Maester Wolkan and Sansa got together and spoke. Arya walked over to where Sam was.

"You said you are a maester," Arya said to him.

"In training. I haven't even forged a link yet. And never will now."

"You'd better learn, fast. There will be need of maesters, for the wounded. I've already spoken to Maester Wolkan. Your training begins today."

She walked away without another word. Sam stood there, uncertain what to do, when Maester Wolkan walked over to him.

"Sam Tarly?"

"Yes?"

"Come, we must have words."

He walked out of the great hall and Sam hurried after him. "Tell me what you were trained in so far," the maester asked as they reached the cold air outside.

"I took care of the ravens at Castle Black," Sam said. "At the Citadel I mostly did novice work. Cleaning, serving, transcribing, anything they asked of me."

"So you can read and write. Good. Anything else?"

"If you mean can I care for wounded…no. Not much practice at it."

"We have plenty of healers, but few here that can read and write. We must send many ravens. We have much work to do. You will write to King Jon. Lord Stark says you know him best so he will accept anything you write."

"What should I tell him?"

"Everything."


White Harbor – Tyrion

The fleet came on the town in the late morning. Dozens of ships, straggling into the shelter of the long firth where the grey stone made city of White Harbor was situated, filling it to capacity. Tyrion Lannister stood on the rear deck of his Queen's ship, bundled up in furs against the cold, as it was guided into an open berth at a long wharf. Ser Davos Seaworth was nearby shouting orders to the crew, getting them to make the berth in an orderly fashion. Ser Jorah Mormont was on the starboard side, staring up at the city and its many people looking towards them. Also on board were Brienne and Pod, somewhere below. Pod had tried to be a servant to Tyrion again on the voyage but Tyrion had quickly put an end to that, telling him he could only serve one of them and it had best be Brienne. Next to the diminutive Tyrion stood the tall Hound, Sandor Clegane, and the rotund Lord Varys, equally bundled up against the frigid air.

"I fear I shall not enjoy the cold very much," Tyrion said as his breath clouded the air.

"This isn't cold," said the Hound. "The real cold is up north above the Wall. Freeze your balls off." He glanced at Varys. "In your case I guess it would freeze something else."

Varys grimaced. "I feel the cold as bad as those with balls. I just have less to lose than you do."

The Hound grunted. "We are all fucking mad for coming here. Wait for them on the Trident, I say. It's warmer and we'd have more access to supplies."

Tyrion had heard him say this more than once already. "A sound idea, but if they overrun the North, that adds tens of thousands to their ranks. And our allies in the North would be most displeased if we abandon them."

The Hound laughed. "She won't abandon him."

"Yes," said Varys. "Love does make you do stupid things sometimes."

They were all looking to the bow, where King Jon Snow and Queen Daenerys Targaryen stood, close together, almost touching but not, talking and sharing glances, laughing a bit. King and Queen, but of different realms, and now lovers. Trouble to come, if not already, Tyrion knew. They pretended nothing was going on but were failing badly at it. The whole ship knew they were lovers, though no one had talked to them about it. Eight days it took to sail here, and the rumor spread soon enough. Tyrion held his tongue and decided he would confront her once they reached shore, away from prying ears and eyes. But one person knew and wanted to talk about it.

Missendei was standing nearby and had heard them. "She is just lonely," she said. "She is not being stupid."

"Yes," said Tyrion. "We are all lonely and that sometimes makes us do stupid things. But she is our Queen and cannot afford to do so. Have you talked to her about it?"

"No," the interpreter replied. "I tried to but she was reluctant so I said nothing."

"That's your job, as fucking Hand," the Hound said. "Tell your Queen to keep her head in the game before we all lose ours."

"Your Queen?" said Varys. "She is Queen to all of us now. Your King bent the knee if you do recall."

"He's not my fucking King."

Tyrion looked up at the scarred face. "Come now, we all must place our loyalties somewhere. Where are yours?"

"All right, you little shit. She's our Queen. Just don't expect me to kiss your ass because you're her Hand."

"Would never dream of it."

Then came a screech from on high and the two dragons winged over the fleet, making circles above it. Tyrion looked on shore and saw many concerned faces looking skyward, pointing, and even a few running for the presumed safety of indoors.

"Thank the gods they are on our side," said Varys.

"Yes," said Tyrion. He looked at the Hound again and felt a twinge of jealousy. He had actually flown on a dragon, a joy Tyrion had yet to be offered. "How was it, riding Drogon?' he asked.

"Hot," said the Hound. "And dangerous. Mormont almost fell off. If I hadn't been surrounded by thousands of demons I never would have gotten on the damn beast."

"Dragons are fire," Missendei said.

"Aye," said the Hound and he got a sickly look on his face.

A half hour later they were on shore and the son of Lord Manderly, Ser Wylis, greeted them. He was a large man, though not nearly as large as his father was, at least according to what Varys told them before they arrived. Ser Wylis had a large drooping mustache which drooped even more when he bowed low to Daenerys and Jon.

"Welcome to White Harbor, my King and…"

"My Queen," Jon said. "Bow to just her, not me. She is everyone's Queen now, Ser Wylis."

"Yes, my…yes. My Queen, my lords, welcome to White Harbor."

"Thank you, Ser Wylis," Dany said. "I had expected to be greeted by your father. He is well, I trust?"

"Yes, Your Grace, but now he is in Winterfell." Then Ser Wylis' face grew troubled. "There has been dire news."

He nodded to a maester who stepped forward, bowed and handed two raven scrolls to Jon. "From Castle Black," Jon said at once as he began to read the first one. His eyes grew wide and then he looked at Dany and she seemed frightened by his look. He handed her the scroll and then he read the second one. "From… Sam Tarly, he's at Winterfell."

A short time later, after the dragons were found a spot to rest and some food, they gathered in the large solar of the main castle of White Harbor, Dany, Jon, Tyrion, Varys, Ser Davos, the Hound, Ser Jorah, Missendei, Grey Worm, Brienne of Tarth, and Podrick Payne, all those who had come north from King's Landing. Ser Wylis had food and drink served and then they began to talk.

"This is a serious setback," said Ser Davos, and if ever there was an understatement this was it.

"A setback?" Ser Jorah said in surprise. "A disaster would be a better choice of words, I think."

Only Dany was sitting and she seemed in shock. "Wasn't he dead when he fell through the ice?"

"Aye, he was," said Jon, hovering close to her, as if she would need a hug soon if she burst into tears. But she was made of sterner stuff than that, a fact the wolf had yet to surmise.

"They raised him from the lake somehow," Tyrion said. "And then the Night King did what he does."

Dany grabbed the scroll from the table and read again. "Beric Dondarrion…do you trust his words?"

"Aye," said Jon. "My father trusted him well enough and so should we."

"He is an honorable man," added Jorah.

"And I trust Tormund," Jon said. "And Sam Tarly. All of Winterfell is preparing for the coming battle, Sam says. We must get there as fast as we can."

"How long ago was it the Wall fell?" Brienne asked.

"Must be over a week by now," said Davos. "Ten days maybe."

"Ten days they have been marching south," Dany said. She stood. "We rest here for one day and then we march for Winterfell."

"Aye, Your Grace," Jon said. "But I think it'd be better if the dragons went to Winterfell at once."

"They don't know her," said Tyrion. "How will they react when they see two dragons flying over the castle?"

"I know," said Jon. "That's why I am going with her."

Tyrion exchanged an uneasy glance with Ser Davos. "You would deprive us of both our leaders?" the Onion Knight asked.

"No," said Dany. "You are all leaders. I trust you all to see the Unsullied safely to Winterfell. Gather what supplies Ser Wylis' people can provide. Write letters to Winterfell to tell them I am coming. We must go ahead in case the army of the dead is already near Winterfell."

"Doubtful, Your Grace," Jorah said. "It took them a long time just to reach the Wall."

"And mere moments to break it," Jon said. "Now they have a dragon. If the Night King decides to fly to Winterfell to destroy it, it won't take him much time to get there. Then we will be deprived of our main base in the North and a large part of our army."

No one could disagree with that. The unsaid thing was that Jon's family was there, what was left of it anyway. He wanted to go there to protect them most of all, Tyrion knew. Such instincts were noble, but not the way to fight a war.

The Queen dismissed them to see to matters. Before they left Davos looked at Jon.

"Did the letter from Castle Black mention what happened to Gendry?"

"No," said Jon, and Davos looked even grimmer than usual.

Tyrion lingered behind and when only the Queen and he and Missendei were left he looked at the interpreter. "I need words with the Queen. Alone."

She glanced at Dany and at a nod from the Queen she left as well.

Dany stared at him. "I know what you will ask. I cannot give it to you."

"I see," Tyrion said. "People are talking."

"Of course they are," she replied. "He is not my first lover, you know. I was married. I was with child once. I am not a little girl you must protect."

"I know that," he said. "It's just, well, it complicates matters."

"How so?"

"His people are very…clannish, I guess is the right word. They mistrust anyone from south of the Neck. Especially anyone named Targaryen."

"I am not my father. I did not kill Jon's uncle or grandfather."

"No, of course not. But still, if they know you are lovers, they will see that as the only reason he bent the knee to you. They will be suspicious of your influence on him. It will make him seem weak and foolish. They will think you are the reason they are in this war and are dying."

"They are in this war because if they don't fight they will all die. All of us will."

"True, but…"

"Enough. I will not keep away from him. Not now, not ever."

Tyrion now knew what was happening. "Do you love him?"

She blushed and he knew it was true. "I…I know not."

"Does he love you?"

"You seem to think so. But we have not talked on such matters. And you and I are done talking on it as well."

"Well…then I guess I'd better stay quiet. Just promise me one thing."

"Yes?"

"When you get to Winterfell, try to be discrete. The less the Northerners know about your relationship with the man they named King, the better."

She stared at him and then nodded. "As you wish."

Outside the main castle gate Tyrion found Ser Jorah waiting for him. "We have a problem," Jorah said.

"More than one. Which are you speaking of?"

"The Unsullied. They are not clad for winter. Tough they may be but the cold does not care how tough a man is. It will kill him anyway."

"Yes. Let us find Ser Wylis and see what stocks of clothing he can spare."

As they walked Jorah brought up the other matter. "Will she stop seeing him?"

"No. I tried to persuade her by pointing out how you Northmen would take ill of it, but she basically told me to mind my own business."

"She is strong willed. It's what makes her special."

"There is no need to tell me that."

"We all love her, in our own way, even you now."

"I…yes, I suppose so. She does inspire that in most."

"Let us hope inspiration is enough for what is to come. Let us hope she can do the right thing when the time comes."

Tyrion stopped and looked up at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Viserion," Jorah said. "When she sees him across the battlefield, will she have the will to kill him? To kill her own child?"

"He is already dead. So I do not see why she would not do the job."

"Let us hope so."

Tyrion was disturbed by the idea she may hesitate to kill Viserion. And that would be a problem, a colossal one, as they had no way to kill the Night King's dragon except with the two they had.

They walked some more and asked a soldier where Ser Wylis was and the man directed them towards a warehouse.

"How were your brother's men fitted for winter?" Jorah asked as they neared the warehouse.

"I know not."

"He is taking a chance coming north."

"We all are."

"More than demons want to kill Ser Jaime. Our Queen for one may still want his head. The Starks as well. I have been talking to Brienne. She says Lord Brandon Stark was injured in a fall from a tower years ago. At a time when your brother and sister were in Winterfell."

"I was there as well," Tyrion said, knowing where he was going with this. "Now you are going to tell me the North blames Jaime for pushing him from that tower because he saw…well, he saw things he shouldn't have seen."

"So is the rumor. Then there is the matter of the Red Wedding."

"Jaime did not plan that. He was a prisoner when all that happened if I do recall."

"Still a Lannister. As are you."

"The Queen will protect me from any Northern sense of justice."

"But not your brother."

Tyrion sighed. "Then let us hope he is smart enough to stay away from Winterfell."


King's Landing – Cersei

"He left by the Gate of the Gods, Your Grace, and rode north," Qyburn told her.

"The guards did not try to stop him?" she asked.

"No, Your Grace. He is your brother and the army commander after all."

Of course they would not stop him, not unless she gave the order. But she couldn't. On a knife edge Jaime's life was and all she had to do was tell Ser Gregor to cut him down…but she couldn't…he was her brother, her lover, the father of her children, and child to come. And now he had abandoned her, to go on some foolish ride of redemption.

They were in her solar, with the massive Ser Gregor nearby as always. Qyburn was giving her his daily reports on all that went on in the city and realm.

"The Starks hate him," she said. "The Targaryen bitch will feed him to her dragon for killing her father. He is a fool if he thinks he can regain his honor."

Qyburn had nothing to say to this so she let it go. "What else? Where are our enemies now?"

"The Unsullied are gone on the ships to White Harbor and the Dothraki have ridden up the Kingsroad. The capital is free of any enemies, Your Grace."

"Just the ones outside," she said. "How many have we hung today?"

"Five and twenty," he said. "Mostly petty criminals. Plus a merchant who was hoarding flour, two rapists, and an old woman who was overheard saying she would be happy when the real rulers of Westeros returned. I infer she meant the Targaryens."

"Hang any who show the least bit of dissent."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"Where is that…thing?"

"The wight? In my rooms. I have been examining it."

"And?"

"By all appearances it was once human. A man, to be exact. The bone structure is human. It has skin and teeth, but in a state of decay. The blueness of its eyes faded when Jon Snow stabbed it with the dragon glass. Now they are a dull brown."

"How could it be alive?"

"I know not."

"You managed to keep Ser Gregor alive."

"He was poisoned, not dead, Your Grace. This Night King has powers beyond our understanding."

"One hundred thousand, she said she saw. It must be an exaggeration."

"Possibly. Or not. Ser Bronn got one of the people who came south to talk, a Podrick Payne, squire to Brienne of Tarth."

"I know who he is."

"He and Ser Bronn are old friends from when they served your brother together. He was well into his cups and he talked and talked. After a generous donation of gold Ser Bronn told me what he talked about."

"Do tell."

"Doings in the north mainly. Before Jon Snow took control of Winterfell, he traveled above the Wall to try to convince the wildlings to come south. There was a great battle at a place called Hardhome, where the wights defeated a wildling army…overran is a better term. Tens of thousands died. Jon Snow and some of his Night's Watchmen barely escaped on their ships with a few thousand wildlings. Apparently the Night King raised thousands of the freshly dead in front of Snow and his companions as they rowed to their ships."

"Did they attack their ships?"

"No. Snow told the truth of that it seems. They cannot swim."

"Good. If things get out of hand we will have a place to retreat to at least."

"Where, Your Grace?"

"Essos…or the Iron Islands."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Has there been word from Euron Greyjoy?"

"Not yet, Your Grace. It is too soon."

"What else did Podrick Payne say about doings in the North?"

"The Stark sisters were not getting along."

"Sisters? You mean Arya Stark is alive?"

"Yes, and finally made her way home. Brandon Stark is also alive, it seems, though still a cripple."

"Brandon Stark. They should have let him die after he fell. Is he Lord of Winterfell now?"

"No, Your Grace…it seems he does not want the title. Jon Snow left Sansa Stark in command and Arya did not take this well when she returned. She has also become quite proficient in the use of a sword. Arya Stark, I mean."

"I care not how well she fights. If she kills her sister maybe I will offer her the position of Warden of the North when all this is over. Or her crippled brother. Tyrion may not have killed Joffrey but Sansa certainly played a role in helping that old crone put the poison in his cup."

"Perhaps," Qyburn said. "Nevertheless, it will be difficult to bring her to justice unless we win the war."

"When the Golden Company arrives and the Night King weakens the rest we will strike."

"Yes," Qyburn said and she saw he looked troubled.

"Say what you will."

He hesitated and then spoke. "If the Night King wins the battle for the North, his armies will come here. Perhaps we should…"

"No. Never mention it again. Our forces stay here. That is final."

"Of course, Your Grace. As a precaution I will prepare a ship for your safety…just in case."

She nodded and he took that as a dismissal and left her. As he neared the doors she had another thought.

"Tell Ser Bronn I need have words with him. As soon as you find him."

"Yes, Your Grace."

She dined then, alone now that Jaime was gone. The servants were scared to even look at her, and merely bowed and spoke softly when she asked anything of them, in a hurry to leave her presence. They did not love her and never would. Fear would do to keep them in line, as fear kept her father in power for so long…only to be killed by his wretched son.

She had him, here in front of her, and he even asked for her to kill him. She could taste the satisfaction, and the words almost passed her lips. But then she thought of her unborn child, and what the Targaryen bitch would do if she killed Tyrion. Burn the city to the ground, no doubt.

But she had only two dragons. Something was amiss. Qyburn did not mention it so perhaps Podrick Payne did not know what happened to the other dragon.

As she finished her meal Bronn arrived. Another of Tyrion's pets. She thought to have him killed many times, but he still had his uses. And he was brave without a doubt. Reports from the battlefield say he wounded one of the dragons during the battle for the wagon train.

He walked in with his usual swagger and dipped his head. "At your service, Your Grace."

"I have heard of your conversation with Podrick Payne."

"He is a talker when drunk. As am I when well paid."

"Yes. Did he mention what happened to her third dragon? Only two were at the Dragonpit."

"Nope. Could be the one I wounded. Maybe it's having a rest on Dragonstone."

"Maybe."

She stared at him and he looked back, not a care in the world. "I need you to do something for me."

"Name it and it is done…for a price."

"Of course. What is the price?"

"Your brother…not the Imp…promised me castles and lordships and gold. I've seen the gold, but none of the rest…yet."

Sellswords. She hated them but had their uses. And she had best get used to them if she planned to deal with the Golden Company. "I will draw up the papers stating you are a lord of the realm…once you do me the favor."

"Sounds fair. What is it?"

"Find Jaime for me and bring him back here."

"Where's he gone?"

It was no lie, he seemed genuinely surprised. "North, on the Kingsroad. He left this morning, alone. He shouldn't be too far."

"Not in this snow."

"What?"

"It's snowing out. Looks like a blizzard brewing up…Your Grace."

She stood and went to the balcony and opened the doors. A cold wind blew in and she felt a shiver. Snow was gathering on the balcony railings.

"Winter is here," she said.

"Aye," said Bronn.

"Go. Find him and whatever you want is yours. Gold, castles, whores, titles, you name it. Just make sure he is unharmed."

"What if he don't want to come back?"

She closed the doors and turned around to look at him. "Remind him that the Starks hate him and that he killed the Targaryen whore's father."

"I think he already knows all that."

"Well, then do what you must. You are a man of action. Do something to make sure he comes back…but unharmed."

Bronn gave a theatrical bow and left her.

Jaime wouldn't want to come back, but he had to. He would die up north, one way or another, and if she could stop it she would.

Cersei went back to the doors and looked through the glass at the snow outside. She had loved the few brief winter snows they had as children at Casterly Rock. Infrequent, and brief…but this winter would be neither. It would last for years…and maybe none of them would be alive when it was over.

But she would be. A house in Pentos would be nice…or maybe the Iron Islands…but that would mean accepting Euron Greyjoy as her husband. If she had to she would, but only as a last resort. She intended to live, and her child to succeed her, and anyone who got in the way would die.


The Kingsroad – Jaime

"Scared the wits out of everyone," said the fat man sitting at a nearby table. "Thought they was going to rape and burn and steal and all that. Then they just rode through and not a hair on anyone's head did they disturb."

"Bloody savages," said his reedy companion as he sipped his ale. "The Queen should have killed them all. Now they will run riot all over."

"That's what I'm telling you, they didn't…run riot, that is. Just rode their horses north. Had a big bunch of wagons too, filled to the brim, but they didn't steal none of it. Not from around here least."

"Still foreign savages. The Queen will put them to rights someday."

"Yeah, but she ain't got dragons like the other one has."

"Best keep quiet about the other one," said his friend in a lower voice. They both looked around, eyes lingering on Jaime for a moment, but they did not know who he was.

Jaime sat at a corner table, back to the wall, staring out across the inn common room. It was half full, with the two talkers, some merchants, a few men who looked like they had been digging ditches all day, and the innkeeper and his serving girl.

They were talking about the Dothraki of course, riding up the Kingsroad towards Winterfell. Jaime was glad they had left already for he no desire to meet them all alone. The gods only knew what they would do to him once they found out who he was, truce or no truce. Especially if they knew Cersei had broken the truce.

He was not surprised. Well, he was, but in the end he should have expected it of her. She insulted his lack of wits, or maybe his lack of deviousness was more like it. Hunting, riding, fighting, yes, that was what he loved as a young man…and her. How she treated him sometimes made him wonder why he still loved her.

The serving girl arrived with his supper, a bowl of mutton stew, warm bread, and ale, and thankfully the pieces of meat and vegetables in the stew were small. A man who could not cut his meat would attract attention and that was not what he wanted. He was letting his beard grow again and the greying of his temples was a far cry from the golden locks he once wore so proudly. His clothing was not grand but not of a poor man either. But his speech would give him away as high born so he said as little as possible. Worst of all was that damn golden hand. Any man who saw that might take it upon himself to get rich quick by cutting Jaime's throat while he slept.

The girl smiled at him but he ignored her as he ate, keeping his fake hand under the table. She left after he gave her two silver stags, one for the meal and one for his room for the night. He had plenty of money but would have to husband it, and make sure no one knew how much he had.

Two days he had been on the road and he had not gotten far. The damn snow continued and so he was moving slower than he liked. Cersei had threatened him and might still find a way to make his life hell.

No sooner had he had this thought than the door opened and let in a blast of cold air, which caused a course of oaths to erupt and shouts to close the door. As Jaime looked up his heart sank.

Bronn grinned and walked right over to his table, sat down and without a word reached over and took his mug of ale and took a long drink. He put it down and turned to the serving girl.

"Two more cups of ale and a bowl of that stew. And more bread."

"Will you be wanting a bed?"

"Aye."

"All's left is the common room. Two coppers for the night."

Bronn looked at Jaime. "You got a room?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll be sharing with him."

The girl nodded and walked away.

Jaime began to speak. "Why are…?"

"Later," Bronn quickly said. "I'm cold and hungry and there are too many ears here."

"I'm not going back."

"Later."

They ate in mostly silence, Bronn's bad table manners the only noise. When done he let out a loud belch, shouted his thanks to the cook, and then ordered two more ales.

"We'll take these to our room," he told the girl and she led them upstairs. Bronn paid a copper for some wood for the hearth and in a few moments had a fire going. Jaime sat on the narrow bed.

"The floor is yours," he said.

"Not the first time. Give me a pillow at least." There were two on the bed and so Jaime tossed him one.

Bronn took his boots off and his cloak and put them by the hearth to dry. He stirred the embers and got the fire higher and then sat on the only chair in the room, a wooden high backed one.

"I'm not going back," Jaime said as he took his own boots off, awkwardly with only one good hand. But he was used to it.

"Thought you might feel that way. You're fucking mad, you know, heading north."

"How so?"

"The Starks hate you."

"Why do you think so?"

"Cause Pod told me they think you pushed the little Stark boy from a tower when you got caught fucking the Queen."

"A lie. He fell, was not pushed."

"Fair enough. But you did kill the dragon Queen's father, aye?"

"Yes."

"She'll feed you to her dragons."

"She saw me at the parley in the Dragonpit. She never said a word to me."

"Other things on her mind, I suppose." Bronn drank his ale down and looked at the cup in Jamie's hand which he had not even sipped. Jaime handed it over without a word and Bronn took a big gulp.

"I'm not going back," Jaime repeated.

"She told me to find a way to make you. So do I have to knock you out and put a sack over your head?"

"Try it!"

Bronn laughed. "You and me been dancing a lot the last few years. How many times you won?"

None was the answer so Jaime said nothing. "Right," said Bronn. "In the morning we'll head back."

"I can still kill you in your sleep."

"Aye, but I doubt you'll do it."

"Why are you doing Cersei's bidding? I thought you hated her."

"Aye, but she's in charge now and she can give me all you and your brother have been promising me for years."

Jaime laughed and was happy to see Bronn looked concerned. "She's a liar. She makes and breaks promises like most people break wind. She tore up a parchment with Robert's death bed wishes in front of the whole court. How many lies have passed her lips over the years I know not."

"Maybe so, but we still need you. The army needs you."

"Good gods man, why do you think I am here? Hasn't she told you?"

"Told me what?"

"The Lannister army is not going north."

"Aye, I know."

"And?"

"So we will need you when the war among the people continues."

"There will be no war among the people. The Night King will win!"

"But she's got dragons!"

"And they can be hurt! You did that yourself."

"Lot of good it did. Didn't kill him."

"He still has a hundred thousand soldiers and every living person who dies becomes one more. You didn't see that thing, how fast it moved, how determined it was to kill us."

"I heard. So, we leaving in the morning or not?"

"Yes, I am heading north, where the real war is and where every sword is needed. You can go where you want."

Bronn stared at him for a long moment. "Fuck. Going to make me earn my lordship, are you?"

"You can always come with me."

Bronn said nothing to that and Jaime said no more. He laid down on the bed, pulled the blankets over him with his good hand, and in his bone weary state was soon asleep.

The dawn light through a broken shutter slat awoke him. He looked at the floor and Bronn was gone. The fire had died down so Jaime got up and added the last few sticks of wood to the embers and soon had it going again.

Just then Bronn came in with a sack over his shoulder.

"For me?" Jaime asked.

"Our food. Bought what I could from the innkeeper. It's going to be a long trip."

"It's only a two day ride back to King's Landing."

"Aye, but we're not going there."

"What?"

"All right, you convinced me. Well, maybe not you, but I sat in that chair for a long time and knew I could never stay around your sister and keep my head for long. Especially if I came back without you."

"You can still try to take me."

"I could, but we been through too much together. And that little shit of a brother of yours is up there, as is Pod and many more who will need our swords."

Jaime nodded and felt a sense of relief. He would not be traveling alone after all. But Bronn had a price.

"Before we move you tell me some truths."

Gods. "What truths?"

"Brandon Stark?"

Jaime hesitated and thought to tell him to go to hell, but if it was redemption he wanted, confession was the first part. "He saw us…together. I pushed him," he said in a low voice, his eyes cast down, the guilt too strong even after all this time

"Who knows?"

"Only Cersei…and now you. Tyrion has long suspected. Anything else?"

"The children, yours or Roberts?"

"Mine," Jaime replied in irritation. "You knew that already."

"Aye, but you needed to own to it."

"So now you know. Anything else?"

"I'm sure I will think of something as we ride."

"I'm sure to be looking forward to it."

After a quick hearty breakfast they got on their horses and headed north on the Kingsroad.

"So what's the North like?" Bronn asked.

"Cold."

"Aye, I figured that much."

"Big and empty. More so now I suppose."

"Good ale?"

"Yes."

"Whores?"

"Tyrion would know better than me. But yes, they have them."

"Good. As long as there is drink and women, no place can be too bad."

"We are not going on a tour."

"I wouldn't know what one of them is."

On they rode, heading for they knew not what, but more than likely it would mean their deaths, one way or another. And yet they kept going, whereas any sane man would have turned around and ran. But there was no running from what lay ahead, the demons and Jaime's past. Both would find him eventually. Best to get on with it, and then at last he could find redemption, or the peace of a grave. But then he had an awful thought.

"Bronn, if I die, make sure you burn me. If I come back as a wight you are the first one I kill if you don't."

"Fair enough. And you do the same for me."

"Of course."