Hey everyone I'm back, No HUGE paragraph of dialogue from me this time, I've cooled down but I'm still angry; to be fair I don't think I'll ever get over what D&D have done to this show. But I can bounce back from it, can't lose hope eh?

Let's go ahead and continue down our long road to recovery, shall we?

Chapter 2: The Queen I chose

The road North was not an easy one; not one that Jamie found that easy to be honest. As he sat at a table in a dingy Inn; with a cup of ale and a bland meal of dry bread, a bowl of stew and hard cheese, he honestly couldn't remember the last time he was truly happy.

Was it when he and Tyrion joked about Cousin Orson before his trail by combat?

Was it when he made it back to King's Landing and back to Cersei?

Was it even during his many adventures with Bronn?

Was it when he reunited with Myrcella in Dorne?

No, Jamie couldn't remember the last time he was genuinely happy; every time he felt even a spark of joy it was instantly shot down with a reminder of his shame, what he was, what his sister was, what his children were.

Jamie had loved his children and he loved Cersei; he wished she could have seen past that dam throne long enough to realize what was important. If she had then Tommen and Myrcella may have survived, Joffrey was always a lost cause; there was madness in him that Jamie could never had cured.

When Tommen and Myrcella died; Cersei slipped into that same madness that Aerys had slipped into. Jamie wanted to stay besides her after Tommen's death with the hope he could help her heal, that somehow, he could bring back the youthful happy Cersei that he loved; the Cersei that would have thrown herself in front of an army to defend her children.

But that was a fantasy, that Cersei had died long ago.

He remembered the way she looked at him when he told her he was leaving; the crazed look in her eyes, the way she nodded to that abomination that used to be Gregor Clegane. Devoid of that same love he used to share with her.

Their relationship wasn't perfect to begin with; he knew that much, but at the end of the day he loved her and she loved him. The way she treated him those last few days wasn't love; she looked at him like a possession, like a toy.

Taking a sip of the foul-tasting Ale; Jamie tried to shake his mind free of such thoughts, Cersei was behind him now and he had bigger concerns. Namely the army of the dead that threatened the lives of everyone in not only Westeros; but the entire world. The Journey to Winterfell was going to be less glamorous than he had hoped; instead of travelling with the Lannister army he was staying in dingy inns by his lonesome.

It wasn't ideal; but he had sworn to fight for the living.

He owed it to himself not to break this oath.

"More ale?" the barmaid asked as she approached Jamie.

She was a pretty thing; brown hair, nice face, charming in a lowborn sort of way. Jamie simply smiled and said "No thank you; I'm fine" returning to his 'meal'.

"Just give a shout if you do" she winked before returning to her duties.

Jamie only smiled; knowing that if he and the others in the North didn't succeed, that the barmaid and everyone in this Inn would be marching in an army without a pulse. Dipping his bread into the bland stew and taking a few bites; Jamie tried his best to keep his mind on track.

He wasn't too far away from Winterfell now, another day or two on horseback and we would be there; ready to start making battle plans and help in the defence of the fortress. Then again, he wasn't looking forward to his reception; his sister had promised the entire Lannister army, instead they would only get a one-handed man.

Quite a step down if he was being honest.

Jamie noticed a group of 4 cutthroats few tables down; from their ratty old clothing, scarred faces and daggers sheathed at their sides. He could see the way they were eyeing him; they knew he wasn't just some lowborn vagabond; he had gloved his hand and covered Widow's wail so no one would see the Lannister gold.

But Jamie understood that with his looks; how healthy and tones he was, that no one would mistake him for a lowborn. The four men slowly began to stand up; eyeing him as they did, hands hovering over their daggers.

Just as Jamie was about to reach for Widow's wail; out of nowhere a steel blade imbedded itself into the table in front of him with an audible *SLAM*. The table shook and ale spilled all over the table; Jamie looked up to see that the blade belonged to a hooded man, the way he stood looked familiar.

The Cutthroats quickly turned tail and left when they saw this new man arrive; and Jamie had to wonder if this man was a saviour or enemy. But when the man pulled his knife from the table and sheathed it behind his back; he turned, and Jamie met eyes with a man he thought he had left behind.

"You're shit at staying inconspicuous, you know that?" Bronn asked with a raised brow as he sat down opposite Jamie.

"Bronn? What are you…did Cersei send you?" Jamie asked as he quickly figured out an answer; that Cersei had paid Bronn to come and kill him for leaving, much easier to have someone killed when you can't see them after all.

"If I wanted to kill ya, you would be dead already. And no, your sister did not send me; she offered…or that creepy little shit in the robes did anyway" Bronn picked up Jamie's ale mug and took a swig.

"…did you accept?" Jamie asked; wondering if he should expect a knife in the face from Bronn anytime soon.

"No, I didn't fucking accept. No offence but…actually yes, plenty of offence, your sister is a crazy two-faced cunt" Bronn retorted as he put his feet up on the table. Jamie gave him a look that practically said 'don't talk about her like that', but Bronn smirked in response.

"What? She is a crazy two-faced cunt, and don't tell me I can't call her that; because you aren't paying me anymore" the Sellsword leaned over and picked up some cheese from Jamie's plate and bit into it.

"Any reason why you are following me then?" Jamie asked with a raised brow.

"Why do you think? I'm coming North with ya, ya daft prat" Bronn replied; taking another chug of ale and signalling for the barmaid to bring more.

"I didn't think you were that loyal" Jamie replied; surprised.

"Pah! Loyal!? Fucking hell, did you forget who you are talking to? I only saved your arse at the Blackwater rush because you were paying me, I only stuck by your side because you were paying me. You and your little sad sack of a brother paid me well…minus a castle and bride; but that's beside the point" Bronn continued; the Barmaid approaching with a jug of ale.

"More ale gents?" she asked.

"Oh please…keep em coming love" Bronn winked at the Barmaid who gave him a blush.

"I think she liked you" Jamie said once the barmaid left.

"I'll fuck her before we get off; she looks like she prefers older gents" Bronn waggled his brows before taking another chug of ale. Jamie had to admit; Bronn's bluntness was always refreshing and despite his total lack of tact, he always managed to make him smile.

"Now, where was I?" Bronn asked.

"The reason you were coming north with me?" Jamie nodded his head.

"Oh yes, that little chestnut. Unlike those dumb cunts in your army; I plan on surviving Winter and that entails not waiting in the south for an army of marching corpses to gut me in my sleep" Bronn replied; reaching over and taking Jamie's stew bowl.

"…if you wanted to survive you could have just sailed to Essos, Pentos, Braavos or Lys would welcome a sellsword like you in no time" Jamie retorted.

"I was getting to that smart arse. If I sailed over to Essos without getting what you promised me; then that means I'll either die poor or have to keep working; and in case you didn't notice, Sellswords don't have a very long-life expectancy" Bronn paused to take another drink.

"Wait…you are coming North to fight in the war…so the Dragon Queen can reward you once we are done?" Jamie asked with a furrowed brow.

"And there we are, looks like you're not as fucking stupid as they say you are" Bronn clapped his hands condescendingly.

"You are taking a lot of risks here Bronn. How do you even know if the Dragon Queen will want to reward you? What if she has me executed the moment that they see we don't have an army marching behind us?" Jamie asked.

"Number one; risk taking is what Sellswords do. Number two; she will because I will be giving her important information regarding your crazy bitch of a sister and what she has planned, and Number three; then I'll be the man who single handily delivered Jamie Lannister, the man who killed her father and betrayed her trust directly to her…sounds like a win no matter how you slice it" Bronn smirked as he held his mug to his lips.

"…And what if I let it slip that you are the one who injured her dragon on the Blackwater rush?" Jamie asked with a smirk of his own; Bronn nearly chocked and sat straight up when Jamie said that.

"You wouldn't" he stated.

"Are you sure?" Jamie asked with a head tilt and a pout.

"…Fucking Lannisters" Bronn swore with a shake of his head.

"Suppose your days as my bodyguard aren't quite over just yet, Ser Bronn" Jamie smirked as he leaned back.

"I better get that fucking castle when this is all done" Bronn grunted before taking a particularly violent swig of ale.

The cold winds howled in the reaches of the far north; snow and ice bellowing so hard they would cause frostbite within mere moments. The North beyond the Wall was totally devoid of most life these days, barely a few rabbits and mice managing to survive in their burrows, safe from the howling wind and the creatures that roamed the plains of cold unforgiving ice.

Not a single living human lived North of the Wall, the last to die North being Thoros of Myr and the few Wildlings that accompanied Jon Snow on his mission to retrieve a Wight.

The howling wind drowned out most sounds now that Winter had come; many trees would be torn from their roots by the harsh blizzards and any living thing caught in said blizzards would share the very same fate.

But that didn't stop whoever was riding through the snows.

Very few animals survived the coming of the White Walkers; Horses became their mounts, Direwolves, Bears and Mammoths joined their ranks, as did many other predatory animals in the far North. But here; treading through the snow was a very strange sight.

A huge, magnificent best with a thick fur coat and two massive antlers sprouting from its head, an Elk. And riding atop this mighty Elk, was a man; dressed in mottled black and grey with a shredded cloak and a black scarf covering a cold, pale face.

The cold did not bother this man in the slightest, as anyone that could see would know his hands were black and frostbitten; yet that did not stop him gripping the reigns of the mighty Elk.

"Easy boy, not far now" the man spoke with a thick Northern accent.

Soon the man and his Elk came across the devastated husk of a Heart Tree; its bark now a blackened ebony as opposed to the usual white of the trees, all of the leaves had burnt away to a crisp and the cave entrance before it was littered with the obliterated remains of undead wights.

"Whoa, Whoa, easy boy, easy…we're here" He spoke again, comforting his mount that continued to snort and huff, steam exuding from its nostrils.

The man leapt off of the Elk and lead it into the cave mouth away from the biting cold; he didn't mind the blistering winds but he needed his mount for the foreseeable future. Once he had what he came for; he would need to make haste quickly.

"Stay here, Boy. Get warm" the man pats the Elk before walking deeper into the caves.

The magical sigils and runes of the cave no longer held sway as its creators lay dead; strewn about the interior, butchered like pigs and left to rot. The man cautiously and respectfully stepped around the bodies of the last of the children, closing their eyes before coming to the roots.

There, suspended in the roots of the great Heart Tree was the corpse of the former Three Eyed Raven, Brynden Rivers, the last Greenseer North of the Wall. A massive gash that had dam near cleaved him in two.

The man bowed his head in an act of respect before approaching and closing the Raven's eyes as well; the Walker's magic hadn't taken the Raven, what use would a crippled old man eternally entangled in tree roots be?

Looking below the corpse of the former Raven, the man spotted what he came here for. Ramming his fist into the roots; breaking them apart and tossing them aside, the man grunted as he pulled out the object of his mission.

A sheathed sword, wrapped all in black cloth.

The man unravelled the cloth; revealing it to be a folded banner, decorated with a red eyed white dragon. The sword itself was a work of art, it's cross-guard resembling a pair of unfurled dragon wings, a single red ruby lay encrusting the centre of it's hilt. Unsheathing the sword only halfway, the man stared at the beautiful Valyrian markings dancing along the rippled blade.

A blade of Valyrian steel.

Dark Sister, the sword of Visenya Targaryen.

A sword that would be needed for the war to come.

Buckling the sword into his belt, the man secured his precious cargo before returning to his mount waiting at the entrance of the cave. As the man tied the sword into his belt, he revealed that his chest was littered with stab and slice wounds that would have killed a regular man.

But this man was no regular man.

He was not a man anymore; he was brought back for a purpose and he still had yet to fulfil that purpose.

To fight for the living.

"HYEA!" The man roared as he spurred the Elk into action; snow spraying into the air as the Elk made a mad dash.

As the man rode his Elk at breakneck speeds through the snow and ice; he had but one thought, that he wouldn't be late; that he could get there in time.

That he could get there before the Wall fell.

Jon had a smile plastered across his face as he walked through the halls of Winterfell with Ghost at his side; it felt good to be home he had to admit. To be walking through the halls that made up his childhood; remembering all the good times he had with Robb, Theon, Bran, Arya, Sansa and even Rickon. But the memory in the forefront of his mind right now were the fresh memories.

Memories like waking up with the most beautiful woman in the world; sleeping softly and peacefully in his arms. Memories he would treasure until his dying day; Jon looked forward to making more memories with Dany in the future.

"Well boy? Do you like her?" Jon asked with a smile.

Ghost's dangling tongue and happy face pretty much spoke for itself. Direwolves were great at sensing the goodness in someone; they had a keen sense for that. Even at the Wall; Ghost seemed to know which brothers had good hearts and which were scumbags. Ghost loved Sam, Grenn, Maester Aemon, Pyp, Commander Mormont and Edd, but hated Slynt, hated Thorne and especially hated Tanner.

The way Ghost acted with Dany warmed his heart; as did the way she reacted to him, embracing the Direwolf as if he were a new-born puppy and not a huge beast that would easily tear a man to shreds. If Ghost loved her; then Jon was convinced, he had chosen the right woman to give his heart and loyalty to.

As he turned a corner, he came face to face with a sight he was getting more and more annoyed by with each day. Davos Seaworth; standing there with his hands behind his back…smirking.

"Don't you even start" Jon sighed as he walked to the doors to his chambers.

"Don't start what? I have no idea what you are implying, my Lord" Davos smirked knowingly.

Stepping inside his chambers; Jon let Ghost and Davos follow him inside, throwing a few fresh logs onto the hearth and starting a fire; Jon could feel Davos' twinkling eyes on him. The man's insistence really had no bounds.

"Go on then…say it" Jon sighed as he started the fire.

"I'm happy for you" Davos smiled genuinely.

Jon just looked at Davos with an arched brow; he was expecting some snide comment about 'enjoying the night?' or 'making alliances last, are we?' but instead it was a simple 'I'm happy for you'.

Sometimes Davos' fatherly nature warmed Jon's heart.

"Excuse me?" Jon asked.

"She's a beautiful young woman; from what lady Missandei has told me she has been through hell, just like you; you both deserve to be happy" Davos smiled.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Davos" Jon smiled back; stoking the fires.

"So…when are you going to ask her?" Davos took a seat.

"Ask her what?" Jon asked with a surprised glance; he knew what Davos meant but the question was admittedly a shock.

"I think you know of what I speak" Davos smirked as Jon sat down beside him.

"We have a war on the horizon Davos, now isn't the time for sappy proposals. Besides, I don't think the Northern Lords would appreciate me marrying a Targaryen Queen a few days after bringing her to Winterfell" Jon replied with a sigh; rubbing his temples.

"You know perhaps its time you stop taking too much stock in what the Northern Lords think" Davos offered.

"You aren't my hand anymore and I'm not a king, so you don't have to advise me" Jon replied.

"You are right…I don't; but I will anyway" Davos smirked.

Jon shook his head; he had to admit he liked how dedicated Davos was to helping him, unlike other advisors Jon had seen and dealt with; Davos wanted the people he served to be happy. He had seen how Davos interacted with the princess Shireen and even Stannis during their short time at Castle Black.

"You love her, don't you?"

"I do" Jon had nothing to hide from Davos.

"And she loves you?"

"Aye, she does" Jon smiled; remembering the ways Dany looked at him when they were alone.

"Most people don't find happiness in this world, Jon. But I've seen the way you two look at each other; that's not something anyone should let go of" Davos put a hand on Jon's shoulder.

"There was a time Davos, where I never considered settling down; taking a wife, having children. But since meeting her…I've never wanted anything more than that" Jon replied as Davos held onto his shoulder.

"Look at it this way; when the Dead come…do you want to have any regrets?" Davos asked.

The blowing of wind and the spray of seawater was always a welcome feeling for an Ironborn reaver; the absolute freedom of the open waters and the sounds of the water crashing against the side of your ship.

Those were the things Yara Greyjoy lived for.

For her, being Ironborn was never about the loot or the plunder; never about putting villages to the sword and establishing dominance. It was about being free; free to go wherever you wanted, to be whatever you wanted to be.

We do not Sow. The words of her house were ones that her father had spoken of regularly; we do not plough the fields or sow crops. For her father it simply meant to take from others, never make things for yourself. But to Yara it was different; farmers were poor, subjugated by the lords whose protection they lived under, slaves without chains or collars.

Ironborn had no farmers; they did not sow or plough the fields because they did what they wanted. Her men followed her into the jaws of hell because they wanted to; because they chose her to be her leader. The name Greyjoy was just a formality to her; not something she latched onto, even if she didn't have the name Greyjoy, if she were born Yara Pyke she would still command the respect she did amongst her crew.

Because she had earned it herself.

Being Ironborn meant you had to earn what you wanted; no one would simply hand it to you. And that included your freedom.

But here; stuck in the bowels of the Silence, her arms shackled behind her back and a metal collar around her neck; Yara was not free. Far from it; she was as much a slave as those sad pricks working the fields in the Reach.

Even more so; even they could walk around and enjoy a bit of fresh air.

"Enjoying the trip, Niece?" came the voice of her captor.

Yara stayed silent; she had been beaten bloody by his crew last night, a sick way of keeping the crew of mutes entertained. They had to let out their frustration somehow; they certainly couldn't speak their angers and frustrations to their captain.

"Oh, cheer up Yara. It won't be long until we are back at King's Landing; then the real fun can begin" Euron grinned as he sat himself down besides Yara; holding a waterskin full of rum. Yara noticed his hair had grown longer; now reaching his shoulder; he looked more ragged and torn than usual, but that crazed look still filled his eyes.

As the days passed, he seemed to be slipping slower and slower into madness; a self-aware type of madness, a narcissistic madness that his silent crew and obedient subjects enforced. He hadn't earned the salt throne through great deeds; he got it because he was brutal; because he was a man; because anyone that said differently would end up flayed and nailed to the mast of the silence as a warning to others.

"Why don't you just kill me?" Yara asked; eyes fixed on the floor; her face expressionless.

"Kill you? Where would the fun be in that? If I killed you; who would I talk to? Those fancy fucking mercenaries up top?" Euron said before taking a messy swig.

"About another day's sailing and Queen Cersei will have her army. If you can call them that; bunch of fancy fucking cunts in gold armour…who the fuck wears gold armour? Rich, fancy cunts that's who" Euron snickered as he wiped his mouth.

Yara couldn't stand even being near him; he may have been her uncle but they were not family. Most people in this world had a code, some sort of limits; lines they wouldn't cross; things that they held sacred.

Not Euron.

Every time she thought he had hit a new low; reached his limit; he dug deeper. He killed her father; his own brother to claim a throne; he mutilated men to keep them from scheming behind his back; he took joy in causing pain and misery. She knew that being king of the Iron Islands was not his peak; he would not settle for the station he had right now.

"Not feeling chatty?" Euron asked; dangling the waterskin in front of her face.

"Wet your whistle?" Euron teased her; dangling the waterskin just out of reach.

Euron cackled before taking another swig of the rum filled waterskin; spitting most of it onto the floor in front of her with a manic grin on his face. Standing up; Euron walked around and crouched down in front of his niece. Yara would have made a move to kick him; but the bastard had chained her legs together and onto the same pole her arms were chained against.

"That beating you took last night; I have to admit you took it well, it makes me think what else you could endure" Euron smiled as he ran his hand over Yara's thigh and up to her waist.

"What is wrong with you?" Yara shuddered at his touch.

"Wrong? Nothing. I am one of the sanest men you'll ever meet" Euron smiled as his hand went higher; violating her.

"You are worse than her" Yara hissed before spitting in Euron's face. The Ironborn king simply smirked; wiped away the spit and viscously backhanded her across the face.

"Her? You mean Cersei? Oh please, give me some credit. That dumb bitch isn't my end goal; she was always a stepping stone" Euron laughed as he stood up and walked over to a nearby table.

"What are you talking about?" Yara groaned as she swore a tooth went loose from that backhand.

"You think that is what I want? To be the bed servant of a mentally unstable brotherfucker? No, no, no…she is just a means to an end" Euron smiled as he rummaged through his possessions.

"I gave her the Iron Fleet; I ferry an army of Mercenaries to her; I gain her trust; she opens her legs for me as thanks. But how long would an empire of sell swords last under a ruler that doesn't command respect?" Euron walked around in front of Yara; now holding a grisly looking knife with a serrated edge.

"I command respect through not just fear…but reward. When my men plunder and loot; I barely take a share of the spoils; gold and jewels are just pretty things that men put value in. The same for praise from the gods and titles given by royalty…it's all horseshit at the end of the day. The men I surround myself with know it; the rest of the Iron Fleet are beginning to know it; and soon so will you and your little cockles twat of a brother" Euron raised the knife to Yara's face and slowly dragged the tip down; not enough pressure to open a wound but enough to be uncomfortable.

"My men know that whatever glories or treasures I take; belong to them through me. Titles and lands, gold and jewels, wives and sons…men hold value in these; but not me. Control over others is something that neither title, faith or riches can sustain…displays of power are all that matter" Euron smiled as he began cutting the fabric of Yara's tunic, slowly exposing her skin.

"And when the Mighty Dragon Queen and her dragons bow before me…I will own this world" Euron smiled.

"How do you plan on that?" Yara spat.

"Cersei thinks her Hand has a solution…it's a fucking stupid one. To litter the Iron Fleet with scorpions and shoot the dragons from the skies…stupid cunt. Machines do not display power; if you kill your enemy then you erase their power from the world…but bend them to you; make them submit…and their power becomes yours" Euron tore open Yara's tunic; exposing her breasts to the salty and damp air.

"Dragons and their fire forged a dynasty that lasted longer than any other rule in history. Imagine a ruler that ruled both the seas and the skies? The World's largest fleet; protected by Dragonfire, with no one to speak out against the almighty man that bent them to his will…now that is an empire that could never fall" Euron smiled as he grabbed a hold of Yara's left breast.

Yara felt like throwing up; the feel of his rough, calloused hands on her skin was enough to make her shudder, she would rather suffer a thousand more beatings than have this continue. Her uncle was insane, through and through. A man with no boundaries was barely a man at all; without morals or limits a man could do terrible things. But what disturbed her the most was how calmly he said it; how what he said made sense.

Power resided where men believe it to reside.

"I don't want you dead, Yara. I don't really want Theon dead…Death is a simple way of tying up loose ends…like your father. He was never going to bend to me; so, I had to sling him off the side of a bridge to take his crown. When Cersei grows large with my son…he won't live to be a king; he'll live to be another mute member of my crew…forever sworn to serve me…she will have fulfilled her purpose and those golden armoured bastards won't last long in the coming war" Euron continued.

"I make use of what I have, and when it has served its purpose, I discard it; that's sanity, only the weak and insane hold onto things thinking they have meaning. My crew is full of bastards; many my own, some men put stock in blood ties…but not me, I am the only true Ironborn…I see something I want and I take it; it's that simple" Euron grinned.

"The rest of the crew should be sleeping by now…no one to disturb us" he grinned as he leaned in.

Yara swerved her head to the side when Euron's tongue snaked across the side of her face. She felt like dying; this disgusting feeling creeping inside her was too much to bear. If Yara had a knife at that moment she would have used it to slit her own throat rather than endure this violation. Suddenly a fire ignited in Yara's eyes.

She was no damsel; she was Yara fucking Greyjoy, and she wouldn't let this happen without a fight. With a quick jerk of her head and a gnashing of teeth, Yara bit into Euron's face; her teeth finding his lower lip.

The taste of blood quickly filled her mouth as she clamped her jaws down on Euron's lip and tore. With a squirt of ruby red crimson and a yell of anger and pain; Euron rose to his feet, dropping his knife and reaching up to his now gushing wound.

"AAAAAAAAGH! FUCKING WHORE!" Euron roared; rearing his foot back and kicking Yara in the face. The woman spitting out blood and a tooth for her troubles; but Yara simply smirked and looked back at her scumbag of an uncle and chuckled.

"What's the matter uncle? Didn't expect me to fight back?" Yara grinned before spitting out a chunk of his lower lip onto the floor.

"You will regret that you little bitch" Euron cursed with his teeth gritted; blood dripping upon the floor.

"I don't think I will" Yara grunted as he struggled against her binds.

"Oh…I'm going to enjoy breaking you down" Euron wrapped a hand around Yara's throat and knocked her out with a swift right hook to the face.

Yara's vision went black and everything faded to darkness; when she woke up, she knew she would be in a worse position than before.

If only she knew of what was coming.

"And you are certain it all adds up?" Sansa asked; her hands lying flat against the top of the table.

"Yes, my lady, enough food to keep our men fed for most of the foreseen winter" Wolkan replied.

"Tyrion…he really came prepared, didn't he?" Sansa murmured to herself with a slight smirk adorning her face.

"The Imp has always had a clever mind for politics; what better way of softening the North up than to give them food?" Lord Royce nodded his head.

Sansa, Lord Royce and Maester Wolkan had gathered in the study; which had this morning been converted into a pseudo war room. on the table was laid a map of Winterfell and the surrounding forests; if the Dead managed to make it past the Wall like Jon thought they would, this would be the place to plan the castle's defence.

"Maester Wolkan; did you account for the citizens traveling southward?" Sansa asked; almost hoping for a snag in the Dragon Queen's efforts.

"I did my lady; the food that Queen Daenerys has supplied is well sufficient for not only her forces but ours as well" Wolkan continued.

Sansa looked down at the map of Winterfell and the gathered wooden checkers that represented their forces; those marked with the stark Direwolf representing the Northern forces, the Moon and Falcon for the Knights of the vale and a three headed dragon for Daenerys forces. The Nothern Forces were loyal to Jon, the Knights of the vale loyal to her, and the Unsullied and Dothraki were loyal to Daenerys.

9,000 Northern soldiers, including the Free Folk

2,000 Knights of the Vale

100,000 Dothraki Screamers

9,000 Unsullied

And 2 large Dragons

Minus the Lannister army on its way; their forces totalled to 120,002, a very considerable force that luckily had the resourced to fuel itself. Probably the largest army the North had seen in a long time, yet that still didn't come close to however many soldiers marched in the Army of the Dead. According to Jon; Mance Rayder led a Wildling army of 100,000 while he was in the Night's Watch, the vast bulk of which were massacred at Hardhome by a superior force of at least 150,000 dead.

There was no clear answer as to how many soldiers marched in the Night King's army, they had to take into account the countless Wildlings that had died North of the Wall, exactly how long could a corpse last before the White Walkers were unable to resurrect it?

For all Sansa knew; everything that had ever died North of the Wall could be marching in the Army of the Dead.

The staggering numbers at the Night King's disposal were enough to make her shudder; an army of 100,000 was terrifying in of itself, yet alone double or more.

"How many men march in the Lannister army, Lord Royce?" Sansa asked.

"Last I heard the Lannisters alone had six to seven thousand men at their disposal my lady; The Stormlands last numbered at around 3,000, the Riverlands combined forces also numbered at 20,000 and what remains of the Tarly forces is around 8,000 men" Royce explained; he was much more suited for warfare than politics, counting out enemy forces was simply something one learned.

The door to the study opened; and in stepped the former King in the North himself, Sansa's brother Jon. He was wearing his full regalia of his wolf fur cloak, armour gambeson and steel gorget depicting two direwolves, and of course Longclaw hanging at his hip.

"Morning, Sansa, Lord Royce, Maester Wolkan" Jon greeted chipperly as he walked over to the table and embraced Sansa.

"You seen happy this morning" Sansa raised a brow.

"Just feel refreshed; yesterday was a busy day" Jon smiled before turning to the table.

"Have I missed much?" Jon asked.

"No, just doing counts of everything at our disposal" Sansa replied.

"Our total count comes to 120,000, the Southern forces should come to around 38,000 if they truly march all their forces North, My Lord" Royce explained.

"And weapon preparation?" Jon asked.

"We've given orders for every smith at our disposal to work overtime in crafting weapons from the Dragonglass you've supplied…"

"That Queen Daenerys supplied" Jon corrected Sansa with a raised brow.

There was a small silence in the room as Sansa and Jon met gazes; obviously it seemed like the air between them needed to be cleared out. Lord Royce was already shifting uncomfortably and Maester Wolkan didn't look like he wanted to be present to see the siblings fight.

"Leave us" Jon spoke out; Royce and Wolkan thankfully taking their leave.

Once both the Lord of the Vale and the Maester of Winterfell left the room; Jon stood up straight and walked around the table. With a deep sigh he met eyes with Sansa yet again and broke the awkward silence hanging between the two.

"I knew you would have problems with her; the moment you set eyes on her" Jon sighed.

"What are you talking about?" Sansa replied.

"I'm not an idiot Sansa; when she greeted you yesterday you looked at her like she slapped you in the face" Jon replied quickly; not in the mood for mind games or mincing words.

"She isn't one of us, Jon. I don't trust her"

"She has come North to help us, Sansa. All of her armies and both of her remaining Dragons" Jon replied; leaning forward with his palms flat against the table top.

"And I appreciate that, but name the last time a Monarch was that selfless. How do we know she isn't doing this to further her claim to the Iron Throne?" Sansa asked; the look on Jon's face spoke for itself.

"You are honestly thinking about that bloody chair? None of that matters right now; all that matters is making a stand against the real threat" Jon's voice was laced with an undertone of anger and frustration.

He didn't want to be angry with Sansa; he really didn't, but her attitude was getting worse and worse by the day; as if this new strength and confidence she had found was mingling with the spoiled little girl she swore she wasn't anymore. He could understand her having trust issues; spending time with people like Cersei and Littlefinger had obviously left a grievous mark upon her.

"How do we know she isn't a threat? Targaryens are not known for their sanity or stability" Sansa replied with the same cold accusing voice she seemed to be using a lot these days.

"She saved my life…she didn't have to. It would have been easy for her to let me die beyond the wall on a suicide mission I insisted upon, but she flew North with her dragons and saved us; losing one in the process. She looks at the Dragons like her children; and one of them died…one of her sons. Does that sound like a madwoman to you?" Jon asked; fists beginning to clench in anger.

"She is not her father, Sansa" Jon stood up and tried his best to quench this flame that continued to be growing within him.

"You are right, she is much prettier" Sansa remarked.

Jon had to admit; he had trouble resisting to smile to himself, pretty was also a severe understatement.

"Tell me…did you bend the knee to save the North, or because you love her?" Sansa asked with that same tone.

Jon felt the fire ignite again as he looked up at Sansa and approached slowly; his walk not betraying his inner conflict.

"I bent the knee…after she had sworn to fight with us. She didn't need my loyalty or my word to help her claim the throne from Cersei once we were done, she didn't even ask. I chose to bend the knee because when she told me that; whilst grieving for her fallen son…I saw her; not the Dragon Queen, not the Breaker of Chains, not any of those many titles she has…I saw Daenerys…I saw her and saw that she deserved my loyalty more than anyone I've ever met" Jon spoke slowly; resisting the urge to grind his teeth in anger.

"And even then…when I pledged my loyalty to her; she said she hoped she deserved it with tears filling her eyes. She is the Queen I choose, Sansa. And nothing you say will change that" Jon finished; feeling the fire die down within him.

When Jon said the words; he could see Sansa absorb them bit by bit, her defiant look of mistrust turning to one of shame. Sansa knew her Brother was not a lair by any means; he was the most honourable man she knew next to father. In that moment; he looked and sounded so much like Eddard it was scary. She felt like a little girl being scolded by father for being a pain in the neck.

"I'm…I'm sorry Jon, I didn't mean to…" Sansa replied.

"Don't apologize to me, Sansa. If you want to know what kind of person Daenerys is; then speak to her, talk to her and her people; and you will see why I bent the knee" Jon reached up and cupped Sansa's cheek, she was still his little sister…despite being taller than him.

Suddenly the doors burst open, standing there with a terrified expression plastered on his face and sweat dripping down his brow was a Stark Bannerman. Whatever it was he wanted; it was important enough to burst in unannounced.

"My Lord! My Lady!" his voice ragged with panting.

"What is it?" Sansa asked.

"The Wall! It…the Wall has fallen!"

Well the peace and quite wasn't going to last forever was it? Had a lot of fun writing this chapter to be fair, hopefully you guys liked it too.

Also, fair warning; My Euron in this is closer to the Book version of Euron than the show (after a while the frat boy pirate just didn't do it for me) making him more of a threat just ups to tension in my opinion.

Also, who was that mystery man, North of the Wall? I think you guys know ;)

Please be sure to tell me what you thought about this chapter lads and lasses, it will help my drive and continue to drive the demons away as we inch closer to the….*sigh*…season 8 finale.

I'm sorry Emilia, I'm sorry Daenerys, you will always be our Queen, no matter what they say or do to you. With every bit of my British pride I say Long live the Queen!