1

Tywin

The chambers of the lord commander were far more comfortable then the regular accommodations at Castle Black. He chuckled to himself as he stood by the fire, goblet of water in hand. The race for the command position had been a difficult one. It had come down to a single vote after 4 ties, but he managed to defeat his opponent. Thorne had not been impressed when he lost the ballot. The real trouble would be Maester Aemon, however. No doubt the old man would cause trouble as some means of vengeance for his dead family. Of all the times to become Lord commander, he mused, he had most definitely picked an interesting one. The wildlings were demanding to be allowed south of the wall, the country had been torn apart by war, and his new soldiers had produced proof of the others. He stared at the skull burning in the flames. They had dragged in a walking corpse of all things, bound in chains. The dead had awoken, to take the living.

He would need to decide what to do with Tormund Giantsbane and the other 'free folk'. Apparently the king In the North had gotten himself killed in the Forrest north of the wall. Now with no king Tormund had managed to secure leadership of the surviving wildlings. If they could be trusted to aid in the fight against the dead, then perhaps he would allow them to cross. Alternatively, he could just allow them to die out there in the cold wastes of the north. That way they could takae down some of these dead men with them. Although, he sighed, as he poured his cup onto the fire, that wasn't really an option. Not unless they wanted to give the enemy more meat for their army. He watched in fascination as the water droplets rolled over the skull which by now had begun to crack with the heat.

Life in the North was cold, and things would only get worse. As ever, the starks would eventually be right. Winter was coming. And if the reappearance of the others was anything to go by, it would certainly be a cold one. He was shaken from his private thoughts as his door was thrown open. A brother burst into the room, eyes wide. Tywin raised an eyebrow as he moved to sit at his desk. He glared at the young man whose name he had not yet learnt. "what is it?"

"sorry to disturb you, commander, but there are some refugees fleeing north from the Iron Born. A couple hundred by the looks". Tywin nodded thoughtfully as he stood up to head into the courtyard with the Steward. As he stepped out into the yard, he gazed briefly towards the wall. It stretched hundreds of feet above and away. For the first time in his life, something unexpected occurred to Tywin Lannister; he felt small. Shaking his head to ignore the feeling he made his way down into the yard. Sure enough about three hundred men, women, and children had arrived at the castle. Their leader stepped forward to speak.

He was an old man, easily the size of king Robert. Bald on top, a white beard hid his neck. He wore little more then rags. It was clear the smallfolk had ran with little more then the clothes on their backs. Some had brought bows and there were even a few with hammers. The leader bowed his head before him. "Rorst is me name Ser. These people have no where else to go. The Iron Born destroyed our homes so we came here. We're prepared to work in return for protection". As he gazed out at the sea of faces, Tywin nodded. He offered the man his hand. Rorst happily shook the offered hand, weeping tears of joy.

"Have all your men and boys with 10 name days or more, other then smiths go to the armoury. If you are to stay safe at the wall you will aid in its defence. When the wall is once more made safe, and the North secured, the women shall be sent to settle it". Rorst seemed shocked by the orders. He stared at him as if he had heard wrong. The old farmer cleared his throat nervously. "Milord", he asked, voice quavering, "are you expextin the Iron Born to strike this far north?" Tywin's response was to shake his head.

"No Rorst," he replied as he turned his back on the man, "I expect the dead to attack the wall". With that he left the man standing in the yard. He did not look back as he gave the order for a group of four rangers to be roused. He moved back to the refugees, pushing through the crowds as he went. On his way to the stables, the sun rising on the horizon, he spotted Rorst. He walked over to the older man and waited for him to finish. The farmer was directing his people throughout the castle. He turned, starting upon seeing Tywin.

"Get yourself a horse. Find four men armed and willing to go with you. Have them mounted as well. You are coming with my men and I north of the wall". Tywin did not bother waiting to see if the other man was following him. He stalked into the stables throwing a saddle over one of the horses. Swinging himself onto the beast's back he rode it out into the yard. As he did so he spotted Rorst and nine other men, half of which were rangerS, make their way into the stables after him. Within half an hour they were armed, supplied and north of the wall.

"Where are we going?" Murmured one of the younger rangers.

"to speak with the wildlings. About Survival".

.Jon

The battle was over; they had won as the survivors threw down their weapons in surrender or ran from the field, a great cheer went up amongst the men. Beside him, Edmure patted him on the back, and rose his sword in triumph. The Tully lord let out a great roaring cheer. Several men standing around them laughed at the auburn haired man. Jon sheathed the blade Daeron had given him as he ran a hand through his hair. Suddenly, a hushed silence fell over the men. Next to him he heard Edmure let out a gasp and break into a run. He hastened to follow.

Edmure dropped to his knees and he lost sight of him through the crowd. Pushing his way through he was shocked by the sight. Lying side by side, each caked in blood were Aegon and Daeron. It was immediately obvious they were dead. Edmure was by his brother-by-law's side starring in shock at his body. Jon made his way over to the pair, glaring at Aegon's corpse as he passed. He dropped to his knees on Darrin's other side. He couldn't really believe it, even as they sat there next to the corpse. Daeron had seemed a pillar of strength. And now he was gone. Jon sat there, a hand on his friend's chest. He felt a tear run down his cheek, and heard ghost let out a mournful howl.

He reached down, scooping his friend up in his arms. Silently, he knelt to grab Bright Flame. He slid it into the Scabbard at Daeron's side, and walked towards the gates. As one, Edmure and the rest of the army walked with him. He barely registered the gates sealing shut behind them as they went. Without thinking, he carried the fallen king to the castle, past the town and port. Gazing up at Bethany's decapitated corpse hanging off the dragon tower, he felt an intense feeling of hate overcome him. He pushed the castle doors open and stepped into the massive antechamber. Gazing around, he was struck by a sudden thought. He found himself wondering if Daeron had considered before he left that he might never see home again.

He found a massive bed chamber with a double bed. The room was well furnished. A magnificent tapestry above the bed head drew his attention. It depicted the Alleryon family standing in a Forrest clearing. Standing proud in the centre, on hand on his cane, was John. He carefully walked towards the bed, and reverently placed his lost friend upon it. Within moments Edmure walked into the room and let out a sigh at the sight of the body and Jon standing over it. He nodded respectfully to the other man. Edmure walked towards the bed, nodding back. He reached over to Bright Flame and unsheathed the magnificent blade. Gazing at it for just a moment, he placed it in Daer's hands. He placed it upon Daeron's still chest. The two men collapsed into chairs on either side of the bed. Edmure let out a sigh. Jon glanced up at him.

"We need to get word to Lucarion," the older man was saying now. "Someone needs to tell him what happened. And Day must be informed; we can't move without her orders". Jon warily ran a hand through his hair. He nodded slowly as he stared at the cold corpse. There was much that would need to be done. Lying there on the bed, Daeron looked so peaceful. The idea he was dead was difficult to accept, as though he would wake from a dreamless sleep. He would smile and tell them to get back to work.

He didn't know how long they sat there. It must have been a few hours. The sun was now high in the sky and Edmure was fast asleep. Jon himself had slept earlier in the morning. Neither had been prepared to leave, and so slept right there next to the body. Two horrible screams rent the air. Jon glanced up to see Dany and lady Ceryse standing there. Ceryse had covered her mouth with her hands and Dany was openly crying. She was the first into the room, throwing herself onto the bed beside him. She threw her arms around him and wept. The sound was the most painful he had heard in his life. As lady Alleryon made her way into the room in a more composed manner, he hastily stood up from his seat. She placed a hand on his shoulder in gratitude. She collapsed into the vacant chair and kissed her son's forehead.

"How can I mourn a husband and two children?" he heard her whisper. His heart bled for the woman who had seemed so strong when they first met. She had lost so much in one day. Both her oldest and youngest child were dead. He stood guard over the two mourning women, lost in his own silent grief. The three of them stayed there together, taking strength from each other's presence until nightfall. Lady Ceryse stood and slowly walked from the room. Watching her go, Jon made his own way out to find a room to get some sleep. Dany had fallen asleep on the bed a few hours before. Sequestered away in a comfortable guest bedroom, Jon stared out at the moon in the sky. Now to fulfil the prophecy they would need Lucarion to take the iron throne and become the king of life at Hard Home.

Lucarion

The celebrations of the renewal of the Stark-Frey alliance were in full swing. He was seated at a table with Jon Umber and other lords. Based on the noise outside the castle, the party for the men was in full swing. Frey servants carried meats such as venison and pork throughout the hall. Most of the guests were in their cups. Lucarion himself, unable to shake the uncomfortable feeling in his gut, had elected for water rather then wine. Stark and Frey had agreed to new terms: Frey would allow their men to travel north on the morrow and uphold their alliance. In return, both Stark girls would marry Freys. If Brandon and Rickon Stark were found alive, they would be wed to Frey girls. It seemed a major diplomatic issue had been averted.

Frey nearly caused an incident when he ordered Stark to leave his Dire wolf outside the castle. He claimed the beast to be dangerous, and ordered it be penned up outside the castles. Stark had near flown for the old man. Lucarion and Robb's uncle had been forced to hold him back. The feast now well underway, Lord Walder stood and the hall fell silent. He smiled clapped his hands and called for music. As the song "Alysanne" began to play, Frey gestured to his daughter Roslin and cast an expectant look at Stark. The king in the North smiled although It did not reach his eyes. Standing slowly he moved over to the Frey girl he had been expecting to wed.

When the song ended, replaced by "Flowers of Spring", Lucarion stood. The dishes served had been poor and the company loud and obnoxious. Moving away from the tables he stepped up to Stark and Roslin. The king in the North kissed her hand and moved towards one of her sisters. Lucarion smiled warmly at the young woman. She returned his smile nervously. He held a hand out to her. She glanced at her father; he'd nodded and she took Lucarion's hand. He gracefully led her around the room. Roslin Frey was a skilled dancer it seemed. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you enjoying the feast?" he asked her as he twirled her around. She smiled at his attempt to make conversation and nodded shyly. As the music began to swell she gazed into his eyes. There was something about her gaze. Something that seemed not quite right. She spoke up as they continued to sway to the music. "Tell Me my prince. How goes the campaign?" He beamed at her bid to continue the conversation. "It's not too bad, my lady. But it is annoying that Stark lost his seat". She nodded thoughtfully and the music once more came to a halt. He stepped back, kissing her hand as he did so. He turned and strode casually towards the doors. He wished to step out of the hall for some air. Perhaps take a walk through the camp, and see what the men were doing.

On the way out, he bumped into something hard. Glancing up, he recognised the pale features and pink dress of Roose Bolton. He hastily apologised to the northern Lord. The older man waved him off. In his quiet voice, he assured no harm had been done. As Lucarion dismissed himself, Bolton inclined his head respectfully. Lucarion politely said farewell and left the . He made his way through the castle and down to the Forrest. Finding a secluded tree, he leaned against the wood. Allowing the cool night air to wash over him, he smiled contentedly. As hqe made his way back to the feast later, a sudden thought struck him. Roose Bolton had been wearing mail. That was what he had slammed into earlier.

Dread once more gripping him, he broke into a run. For several moments the castle was eerily silent as he ran through the deserted halls. Then, as if rousing from a deep slumber, music came slowly once more to life. He stopped at the double doors, and listened. The music was a recognisable yet strange choice. "The King Without Courage". It had been written as an insult to one of his Targaryen relatives. He couldn't remember now which one. From the other side of the doors the music slowed. He heard Frey speaking.

"your Grace we have shared Bread and Salt. I have wined and dined you and your men. Words have been spoken, and oaths sworn on both sides. But I fear I have not shown your grace the hospitality you deserve, heh. Now, your Grace if you will permit, I wish to send my new queen a wedding gift". The next thing he heard was the twang of crossbows being fired and screaming on the other side of the door. There was a thud as though something had struck the doors. He heard jeering laughter and more screams. Finally, mercifully, the noise died down once more. He heard the old weasel speaking once again.

"Heh, the king in the North arises. Seems we killed a few of your man, Your Grace. Oh, but I'll make an apology, that will mend them all again, heh." The old man's voice sounded cold and angry. Robb Stark gave no reply, at least none that he could hear. He waited a few moments listening at the door. He heard footsteps coming towards the door. Without a single thought or moments hesitation, he turned and ran.

His heartbeat echoed in his throat, terror struck him like an anvil. He refused to stop running however. He knew that if he did he was a dead man. He arrived at the castle doors and threw them open. He was immediately surrounded by chaos. It felt as though he had been swept up in a storm. All around fires burnt through the camp site. He heard pained whimpering and howls, followed by cruel laughter. There were Frey and Bolton men butchering the Starks everywhere he watched. He could just make out Black Mouse and the other unsullied he had brought with him fighting the attackers. They had formed a shield wall and we're pushing their way south, away from the carnage. He needed to get to them. If he did not then he was going to die. He broke into a desperate run. He ducked a swing from a Frey and barrelled into a Bolton Archer, knocking him to the ground. The body of another Stark fell on top of him. He grabbed the northerner's sword and shoved it into the Bowman's throat. Blood gushed out, some of it striking his face. He tossed the body aside, leaped to his feat and kept moving. He saw a Stark soldier set upon by three Freys but did not stop to help. A Bolton charged towards him, driving him to the ground. He rose his borrowed sword to block the swipe of the men's axe. He swept his foot out and knocked the other man to the ground. The Bolton rolled out from under him as he swung. He felt the axe bite into his ribs and hissed out through the pain. His lack of experience with a sword began to show.

'I need a damned spear' he cursed. Biting his tongue, he leaped back from the axe and swung low. The Bolton casually dodged his attack. Once more the axe hit, digging into his right shoulder. He snarled as blood gushed down his arm. He lunged forward, intending the stab the northerner in the throat. A Frey charged him from the side, only to be stopped by an arrow. His strike missed, piercing the other man's hand. His grip on the axe slackened. A second arrow flew, impacting with the Bolton man's eye. He fell to the ground landing face first. A spear flew Lucarion's way. A shout went up behind him and he felt himself barrelled into the ground. Brynden Tully was lying on his chest, longbow in hand. The old knight stood and helped him to his feet.

Lucarion nodded in thanks to the older man. Tully nodded back. He held out a hand, gesturing for the sword Lucarion held. "You give me that," he began, handing over the bow and a Quiver full of arrows, "and take this instead. You'll thank me later". Lucarion needed no more convincing; he knew he was beyond terrible with a sword. Taking the longbow, he strung an arrow. The pair moved off once more. He could see the unsullied much better now. They were only about forty metres behind them. A Bolton horseman rode straight for the Blackfish from their right side. Before Lucarion could raise his weapon he was upon them. He swung, missing the older man, who swiped at the horse's legs. The beast leaped over the blade. As the soldier made a charge from the other direction, Lucarion was faster. His shot found the mark, and the dead men fell from the saddle. Tully grabbed the reins and assisted the injured man onto the beast's back.

They quickly caught up with the retreating unsullied and made their way south. Behind them the massacre of the Starks continued.

Daenerys

She awoke some time in the afternoon. She wasn't really sure how many days she'd spent lying there now. It couldn't have been more then two full days however. She tightened her grip on Daeron and buried her head in his chest. He lay there without moving. He did not even blink as she ran a hand across his cheek softly. As Tears ran down her own cheeks, she instinctively placed a hand on her stomach. "I should have told you I didn't want you to keep fighting. Maybe then none of this would have happebened". She whispered. He blinked, arm wrapped around her.

"We both knew this would happen eventually. I had to go back out there". He murmured softly in her ear. She shook her head and felt the tears splash upon her hands. She wiped her eyes. He smiled kindly as he stared up at the ceiling. She glanced up at the tapestry over their heads. Despite herself, she felt a tiny smile grace her lips. She kissed his hand softly and gazed lovingly into his eyes. "I'm glad you're with your family". She told him softly.

He blinked once more, and tilted his head to gaze into her eyes. The love she saw in his burned with more intensity then she'd ever felt. He spoke quietly once more. "You're my family Dany. You and the baby." He smiled lovingly at her and gripped her hand. She smiled as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. He lowered his head to her ear. "There's something I need you to do sweetheart. Wake up". She shot up with a start, and glanced next to her on the bed. There, right where they'd left it lay the body, cold and unmoving. He still griped the sword resting on his chest.

She slowly rolled over and sat up. Climbing off the bed, she bent down and kissed him softly. Before standing, she ran a hand through his hair. With a gentle sigh, she carefully retrieved the sword from his grip and closed his hands once more. She would give the sword to Lucarion, she decided. He would be appointed her new Lord of Starfyre hall. "I'll say goodbye later with the rest of the family" she whispered in his ear. With that she turned and left the room. Stepping out the door, she found Jon waiting for her in a chair placed against the wall.

He stood hastily as she walked towards him. She smiled at him as she approached. The look on his face was clear. Are you alright, it said. She nodded and wrapped her arms around him in a brief hug. Careful to mind the blade, she released him. She gazed at it as they walked, before her gaze fell to the empty scabbard he wore on his belt. She smiled at his thoughtfulness. It was then she noticed something unusual. Running along the length of the blade were silver Valerian Glyphs. Nyke se Dawn. Isse se brōzi hen glaeson, gūrogon issa bē, cast issa qrīdrughagon she read, raising an eyebrow. What was it, some sort of ancient ritual she mused. Jon noticed her perplexed look.

"Any idea what it says?" He asked her. She nodded, still staring at the blade as she did so. Finally, still trying to guess what it meant, she answered. "Nyke se Dawn. Isse se brōzi hen glaeson, gūrogon issa bē, cast issa qrīdrughagon. I am the Dawn. In the name of life, take me up, cast me away". She could feel his eyes on her as he stared at her. He gently took the sword and flipped it over. He passed it back and she noted the next set of glyphs as well; Bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys. The night is dark and full of terrors. She repeated the words to him in shock. As far as she knew, that was a prayer. None of this was making any sense to her. She handed him the sword to put away as they entered the great hall.

She gazed around the hall. At the high to one side sat Edmure and Melissa, whose head was buried in the Tully lord's shoulder. It was obvious she had been crying recently. She briefly wondered when the other woman had arrived. At the other end of the room, stood staring out the window was Ceryse. The older woman appeared tired and stiff as she stared out at the morning sky. Near the middle of the table sat Tyrion. Johanna sat on his knee, looking around and repeatedly calling for her brother and twin sister. It brought tears once more to Dany's eyes. She slowly moved to the table, falling into the centre seat next to Tyrion. She smiled tenderly at her foster-sister as Jon dutifully took up a protective position behind her chair.

Tyrion smiled sadly at her. As she started piling food onto her plate he reached over and gently placed a hand on hers in comfort. She smiled and gripped his loosely, smiling sadly. She could see the dry tear tracks down his cheeks and the lines under his eyes. He let out a long-suffering sigh, before clearing his throat. "he always was reckless, that boy. As I see things now, Dany, Aegon and Bethany are gone. The Martells will have Sailed home with their tails between their legs. We have no idea on the Tyrells. Perhaps both the vale and Reach will remain neutral. All that remains is to reclaim the north, subdue the Iron Born, and defeat Stannis. Ideally we should get that out of the way first". Dany nodded warily. She didn't really want to discuss strategy, but Tyrion was her hand. If he didn't offer advice, he wasn't doing his job property.

Ceryse turned and glared at them both. Without a word she marched over and slapped her brother across the face. Tyrion clutched his jaw and stared at his sister stunned. She glared at him and cursed. Dany was stunned; she'd never seen the woman who'd raised her talk like that to anyone. Ceryse glowered at them both. "Two of my children are dead," she spat at the pair, "and you want to talk about Stannis and the Martells!?" she slapped Tyrion again and then Dany. She reached out and seized the other woman's hand before it struck.

Now it was her turn to glare. She stood and gazed imperiously at her foster-mother. "I'm willing to overlook that, because you're hurting. But I guarantee you, you will never do it again". For a moment, Ceryse seemed to shrink back. Then, taking her daughter from her brother, she turned and stalked from the hall, head held high. Glancing at one another, Edmure and Melissa hastily followed after her. Collapsing back into the chair, Dany ran a hand warily through her hair. She turned to Jon behind her. "would you please go and have a pyre built in the courtyard?" she asked. He nodded with a pained expression on his face.

Once they were alone, Tyrion threw her a strange look. She raised an eyebrow at his expression. "What is it?" He hesitated for several moments before responding. "You're going to go through with the cremation now?" he asked, surprised. She shook her head. "No, I'm just getting everything ready for it. We still have to wait for Lucarion. He nodded slowly. The look on his face was enough to tell her he was hesitating on bringing something else up. She waited for him to continue. After a moment, he spoke, "what are you going to do about Lucarion? When Daer was alive the two of you made him heir".

She sighed, unsure if she should tell him. Perhaps it would not be a good idea to at that moment, she reasoned. She wasn't even sure herself if it was something worth worrying about. She'd need to speak with a Maester to confirm her suspicions. She placed a hand on her belly and stood up. She left the room to supervise the set up for the ceremony. Then once that was finished she would find the Maester.

Lucarion

They had been running for days. Eventually they came exhausted to Riverrun. The guards threw open the gates to give them entry. Lady Stark was waiting for them when they arrived. He cast an uncomfortable glance at Black Mouse, unsure what to do. The unsullied commander looked as uneasy as he felt. The Blackfish stepped forwards to speak quietly with his niece. Lucarion watched as the woman collapsed in the older man's arms. He winced at the beyond distraught look on her face.

Beside her a young boy who looked like a young Jon bolted from the courtyard. Lucarion was about to go and offer his condolences to lady Stark when the Maester ran towards him. The old man handed him a Raven scroll. Peeling it back he carefully read the words. He smiled upon seeing who it was from and that it had been sent from home. The smile fell from his face as he read the words. He glanced up at the Maester. "saddle me a horse". The old man nodded.

Lucarion

First of all, how are you little brother? I haven't seen you since father's funeral. I hope your campaign is going well. I imagine Moat Cailin wasn't fun to assault, huh? Well, you can fill me in when you get here. We retook Starfyre Hall. Bethany's dead; the people of the town revolted against her. They strung her corpse up on the Dragon Tower. We also got Ceryse and Johanna back. But I think you had better get over here fast , kid. Something's happened, and it's bad over here.

He tore the letter to pieces. One of the servants rushed over with a spear and a proud looking horse. He smiled his thanks at the younger boy as he leaped into the saddle. As he rode off, he called over his shoulder, thanking Ser Brynden for saving his life. Driving the horse to its limit he rode through the Riverlands. The countryside had been utterly destroyed in the war. Aegon'S soldiers and the Lannister forces had burnt the lands. He could see bodies strewn over the countryside. Some were soldiers, yet too many were smallfolk.

The ride took three hours. As he spotted his beloved Starfyre in the distance, he grinned and drove the horse even harder. There were Wardens once more standing guard at the gatehouse. He rose a hand in greeting as he declared himself. As he rode through, sure enough, there was Bethany's body, still left hanging. He sneered at her headless corpse. The first thing out of place were the two pyres built side by side in the main square. Next was the Targaryen banner flying over the castle. All questions on his mind were forgotten however, when he spotted his mother and baby sister seated on the bottom step. He leaped off the horse, leaving it standing there.

Ceryse spotted him, and jumped to her feet. He ran to her, she and Johanna ran at the same time. They met in the middle, clutching one another and weeping tears of joy. As they pulled apart, his mother cupped his face, as if refusing to believe he was real. She ran a hand through his hair and let out a cry of joy. He pulled her firmly back into his embrace. She cried on his shoulder. He cast an eye around the yard. From the castle cane Tyrion, Jon Snow, and Daenerys. The Alleryon Bannermen were all making their way over to them from behind him. They stood in two diagonal lines, heads bowed, on either side of the pyres. He glanced at his mother. "Where's Rhaenyra. And where's Daeron?"

"Dead", she whispered. He stared at her in shock. There was no way it could be true. His older brother was too stubborn to die. And Rhaenyra. Oh poor, sweet little Rhaenyra. He stared up at the castle. Jon Snow had stepped back into the darkness. Now he returned, and there was something in his arms. He couldn't tell what it was. It looked like a set of armour. He extracted himself from his mother as he walked over to see what he was carrying. As the other boy drew closer, it struck him how stiff the armour looked. Then, like a mace to the gut it hit him. It was Daeron, it was all true. The brother he'd said he hated was lying there. And he was dead.

Snow carried the body towards him. As he went to pass, Lucarion stuck out a hand to stop him. The other boy looked at him. Lucarion held his hand out for the body. Snow shook his head and made to pass once more. Lucarion moved to stand in the way. "it's play," Stark's son stated, speaking softly. "I've got him, I can do it". At that, Lucarion felt his blood boil. He shook his head, and struck the other boy across the leg with his spear. As the bastard staggered, he punched him in the head. He fell and the body he'd been carrying struck the stone floor with a resounding thud. He glared down at the bastard, even as he vaguely heard Dany screaming at them to stop.

Snow was nursing an injured Jaw bone. Lucarion glared at him as he knelt to pick up the fallen corpse. He sneered at the other boy. "Worry about your own brother", he hissed, walking towards the Pyre. He heard Jon groan, and then speak. "Robb", he asked, "why? What happened? Answer me!" Lucarion did not look back as he dropped the body into the bed of wood. "Dead. Frey murdered him". He briefly wondered what the look on his face looked like, but still refused to turn around. Daenerys ran down to help the bastard to his feet. Tobias Ainsworth gently placed his sister on the identical pyre. He walked over and placed a hand on Lucarion's shoulder. Together they stared silently at the lifeless body of his once energetic body. Placing a hand on his lost friend's shoulder the new Lord Ainsworth turned on his foot and moved to fall in line with his fellows.

He stood beside the pyre as he waited for the ceremony to commence. The torch in his hand shook as his entire body trembled. Somehow, he knew, the shakes were not a result of the - admittedly cold – weather. He closed his eyes as he waited. Their Bannermen had closed ranks, standing in two rows, with Edmure, Melissa, Tyrion, Johanna and Jon standing in front of them. Daenerys stood between the two pyres. They were waiting for his mother, who they had decided would light his sister's fire. The doors to the palace opened, and she appeared.

She was wearing a black dress with Lannister crimson trimmings. Upon her breast, roaring with pride, stood the Lannister lion. She appeared dignified as she walked, her head held high. Yet he could see the pain in her eyes. He knew having to do this was destroying her inside. She moved through the small crowd of nobles, still looking as proud as she could bear. He smiled at her, in gratitude for her courage. He would need her to be brave enough for the both of them, before the night was through. She stopped next who her brother, and glanced down at him apologetically. He shrugged as he handed over the torch. Nodding over at him she took the last few steps towards her own pyre.

She gazed down at Rhaenyra and placed a hand gently on her cheek. Removing the hand, she placed a final kiss upon his baby sister's cold lips. Then, unshed tears glistening in her eyes, she lowered the torch. She stepped back and Dany moved around to her. She gently retrieved the flaming torch from her. Moving back to her original position, she lit the second half. She knelt, opening the box from the Dragon Tower. As he watched, uncaring of Daeron's blood from her hands staining them, she tossed three petrified dragon eggs onto the fire. She turned to gaze down at Daeron. She nodded affirmatively to Lucarion. He held the torch ready to throw.

As he did so a thickly accented voice shouted at him from across the courtyard. "stop" the mysterious new comer called imploringly, "you must not light that pyre". He tilted his head to see what the commotion was all about. Others were looking as well now. Across the courtyard, running through the town market came a woman in crimson robes. Her skin was white with a beautiful pearl white sheen. Behind her came Randyll Tarly and two Tyrells. The woman came to a stop next to him. She seized his torch, tossed it aside then grabbed his brother's body from the pyre.

Tywin

He expected the cold. With winter so close to bear, even south of the wall the weather was turning. It made sense that the frozen north, the real north, would also be cold. The snow fell in a slow sheet, blanketing his black furs and sable cloak. Around him, the smallfolk who had sought refuge shivered. The rangers seemed to hardly notice and, riding two abreast behind him. They trudged on carefully, keeping their eyes open for tracks in the fresh snow. The air soon turned bitingly cold as they rode closer to their destination. The snow seemed to fall faster and heavier.

He had expected the blood upon the ground and trees. They knew the dead were attacking the free folk. Knew that the war was coming. The rangers had seen it all. Those who had survived Mormont's ranging still told the tales. How the weights had fell upon them. How 'Sam the Slater' had killed an other. He wasn't sure he believed all the stories as yet. Despite his doubts, the rangers with him were still on edge. They knew. They knew the real dangers of the woods.

And of course, as they reached the camp site, he had expected the mistrust. The Wildlings hated the Watch with a passion. Most still called them all 'crows'. The giants didn't trust them because they were humans. Tormund didn't trust him because he was a new variable. An unknown. Convincing these people to trust him would not be easy. But they needed them If they were going to survive. They needed their warriors..

Tormund trudged towards him through the snow. The Giantsbane gazed intently up at him. When he spoke, it was with a strange accent, and half the words were curses. He begrudgingly welcomed them. Asked them forcefully why they were there. The farmers were uncomfortable. Even the seasoned rangers seemed uneasy. He wasn't sure if it was because of what they were there to do, or something else.

"I want to let you south of the wall. In return, fight with me". The wildling regarded him with suspicion.

What he did not expect were the inhumane cries. He hadn't expected the sudden attack, or the wildlings to die in such numbers.

He hadn't expected the dead to be so countless or relentless.

And as the walkers appeared on the mountain looking down on them, he spotted a creature of nightmare. Sat upon a dead horse, skin as blue as a frozen lake was an other more terrifying then the others. Perhaps it was the unholy way his eyes soon. Maybe it was the crown-like spikes upon its head. Or perhaps it was what happened next.

For as they sat upon their respective mounts and glowered at one another, something else he hadn't expected happened.

The thing smiled.