1. Pyke

The scream was colder than death, and oddly familiar.

Yara Greyjoy raced past chambers to reach the sound. Feet on stone echoed behind her – the Dothraki, the Unsullied – trying to reach the source of the yell, but Yara knew she would make it first. As she came closer to the queen's chambers, dread began to cloak her. No, a voice inside her said. The sound was of a man. It cannot be.

Fortunately, Yara met Daenerys Targaryen on the way. From what little Yara saw while rushing past, dagger in hand, she seemed confused, shaken, yet very much alive. Grey Worm was close to her. Yara heard screeches of dragons outside, as if the beasts somehow knew their mother feared for her life. She rushed past Dany, heading for the door from where the sound stemmed. Unhesitatingly, she kicked it open.

Tyrion Lannister slept face down in a pool of his own blood. A glass shattered lay beside him, wine slowly mixing with the gore. Yara moved toward Tyrion's still visage, hoping he would grunt, cough or spring to his feet revealing this to be a cruel jape. Tyrion did none. The stench of death in the chambers was rank.

As Yara stood in shock, she heard queen's men enter the chamber. The silence in the room was more absolute than death itself. None dared approach the body, to turn suspicions into answers. Yara sprung into action. Even if there is a drop of life in him, he may reveal to us his accoster. When Yara tried to flip Tyrion around, the dwarf's torso turned, but his head remained stuck in blood.

Gasps of shocks followed. Behind Yara, she heard another set of footsteps enter the room, knowing it to be the Dragon Queen's. This is not my place to grieve. Yara had no love for Tyrion… and knew his killer may still be in the castle.

She ran behind bloody footprints leading to another chamber, in pursuit. Then another, and then another.

After a while, the killer seemed to have either wiped their footprints or abandoned their shoes, for the tracks disappeared. Yara did not feel discouraged, she knew these chambers better than anyone. As she raced past people and pockets of rooms, she felt she was edging closer. The dagger in her hands tightened.

As she turned right, a long narrow corridor lay in front of her, with Lord Varys in the middle of it. Charging toward Varys was… could this really be the killer? Yara could only see the back of her, from which she seemed not more nor less a youth wearing the cloth of a serving girl. Varys saw her face. His eyes widened in shock.

He knows her.

Behind Varys approached a few ironborn, trapping the girl between them and Yara. She knew what the serving girl was considering, and also knew she had little chance of stopping it. She contemplated throwing her dagger at the girl before she took her chance to jump out of the window besides… but knew if she missed, Varys could be next to die. In any way, the window opened to the Ironman's Bay, and the Salt God was in a fury tonight.

She saw the girl leap to her death. When she looked down from the window, all the cloudy sky let her see were dark rocks and a sea so frightful, even a dragon would not be able to scorch through its waters. She heard the ironborn behind Varys leave to rush to the shore to make certain, leaving Yara alone with the eunuch.

It was she who broke the silence. "Did you know her?"

Varys sounded like a man waiting for someone to ask. "Someone I knew a long time ago," he said quickly, "she was supposed to be a world away. A… A Stark pup who forsook the family name. What did she do?"

The mention of Stark brought home to Yara the reality of their situation. She stared over the black sea, letting its merry sounds in her ears before they would be replaced with the ring of swords and shields.

"Start a war."

2. Pyke

The brooch was still on his chest, red where it should have been gold. Daenerys Targaryen looked at it with tears in her eyes, but they were not of sorrow. Her men stood behind her, wary of what came after. For a while they stood in the stillness, save sounds of salt waves and the screech of dragons. Daenerys sought tranquil to make choices calm and true. But when Varys came to the chambers to give her the name, her mind became oddly clear.

"Missandei!"

The word came as a whip, startling everyone, although the Naathi scribe was right beside her. The queen's commands were brief. "Send ravens to our friends in the south. Tell them to send every man they can spare to the Iron Islands. Winterfell wants war. I shall give them worse."

"Your Grace," began Varys, but Daenerys cut the Spider off. "Do it right away. The time for talk has passed," she added pointedly. As Missandei scurried away to the rookery, silently weeping, Daenerys ordered some men to call a maester, the others to vacate. Even the Dothraki scampered in her sights.

"My queen," Varys attempted again, but the eyes of Daenerys were full of fire as she turned, next, onto the Master of Whisperers. "Maybe my father was mad for a reason, Varys. Maybe ruling Seven Kingdoms takes more force and fear than the commonfolk would like. Maybe if I was not advised to give the Starks license, they would not conspire to murder-"

"They did not," Varys added hurriedly. "It is true that the killer was Stark by blood, but she acted of her own volition. My little birds sing songs of a girl from Braavos, serving the God of Many Faces-"

"Arya Stark may serve the Drowned God for all that it matters," retorted Daenerys, angry at the interruption. "It does not change her blood, nor her deed. The Starks must pay. What kind of queen must I hope to be if such treason is left unpunished?"

Her claims were met with silence from Varys. The eunuch turned his back to the queen, in the direction of the fallen dwarf instead. "There is blood, to be sure," he said finally, with a sadness Daenerys did not expect. "Tyrion Lannister was a just man, a good man. After what his own kin did to him, greater men would have been driven to despair and death. If it were not for my appeals, he would not have come to Meereen for the queen across the water. I will not blame myself for this," he added, although Daenerys suspected otherwise. "His death is tragic… and it is also an outrage that cannot not be tolerated. But I do not believe one act of injustice can be avenged with another. Someone must be punished, but must it not be those who deserve it?"

Varys had the truth of it. If Arya Stark was not sent by Winterfell, she would be marching her armies on the wrong people. Dany could not wage war on a house for crimes they did not commit, but the death of Tyrion Lannister could not go unpunished either. There was a balance she had to find.

"I shall send a raven to Winterfell telling them what has happened," she said finally, struggling for tones calmer. "I shall command this bastard king to bend his knee. But I will not make the mistake of waiting at Pyke for his answer. We must sail for Barrowton."

3. The Wall

The stew at Castle Black was sour and crusty, but Bran gobbled it like wolf devouring sheep. Food helped lessen the visions, and with a full belly, Bran saw the common hall clearly. Meera Reed sat beside him, gulping the stew with equal exuberance. Around the hall, hunched sullenly over their bowls were few dozen men in black. The wildlings have not reached Castle Black yet, Bran knew, although he did not know how. In front of them was Eddison Tollett, Acting Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, staring at them with eyes big and black.

No amount of reiteration could convince Dolorous Edd that the broken boy in front of him was heir to Winterfell. At the very least, Bran was grateful the watchers let them pass the gate. The fact that the Night's Watch allowed wildlings to cross the Wall was for their favour, and though Bran was content with the men in black treating them as such, Meera did not stop insisting Castle Black send ravens to Winterfell about the return of their lord. They finally did, more out of precaution than anything, with a shoddy sketch of his face.

"I think I understood something about your visions that may help, Bran," said Meera cautiously, when the common hall finally left them alone. Bran felt a sense of dread, knowing he was in fear of what was to come next, even though not knowing what. "You were able to see clearer with the Three-Eyed Raven… but that may not only be because of instruction. Could it be the weirwood trees?"

The dread that lurked in Bran now felt fresher; he suddenly wished Meera had not said that. True, his visions were never entirely clear, and when he touched a weirwood, they became stronger. He had considered that and knew it to be plausible, but every time he thought of that a picture of the Three-Eyed Raven came to his mind – old, tired, trapped in a cave, waiting for death.

Days after meeting the Three-Eyed Raven, Bran had to concede to himself that even he could not heal his legs. Knighthood was not for him… but Bran hoped he could be of some help in the battle to come, perhaps slipping into the skins of a soldier to help in the war against the dead. Were they all for naught? Is my destiny to simply find a tree and curl inside of it?

4. The Northlands

"Look into the flames, Clegane."

The walls of the abandoned cottage felt less like home, more a prison. Perhaps it was the company Sandor kept while hiding from a storm that looked likely to stay till spring. He had stopped asking himself the point in accompanying Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr to the Wall. Or was it beyond? Clegane did not even know where at this point – all he knew was that it was somewhere north. His life was lost. If anyone gave him a task, he shut up and did it.

Somehow he thought telling Dondarrion would help, but the moment he had, he instantly regretted it. Dondarrion pounced on the chance like a dog on bones, giving him sermons on the Lord of Light and how Thoros changed his life (changed his deaths, rather), destiny, purpose and the rest of it. When Thoros joined in, Sandor ultimately relented. "Logs are burning," he began his examination dismissively, but Dondarrion and Thoros urged him to persist. So he did. Besides, the two were shit for company.

It took him sooner than expected, but when he saw it, he knew they had to part ways. He did not know why, but he felt it not right to tell them where he was going. Thoros seemed more understanding than Dondarrion. "When the storm ends, go where the flames take you," he said simply, "but no further."

5. King's Landing

Randyll Tarly did not have a hair on his head. Jaime Lannister felt Tarly may resent him for it, but that was before he realized he had no sword hand himself. I suppose that makes us even.

While Cersei held court, Jaime did what he was instructed. They needed allies, Jaime knew – apart from the two of them, the lack of royalty in the Red Keep was troubling. The death of Queen Margaery had brought the smallfolk up in arms. Tarly, known across the realm for his steadfastness as much as skill, was one way to win back their faith.

It would be hard to bring Tarly to their side, though. Lord Randyll had agreed to meet with the Lannisters out of respect for the Iron Throne, but Jaime knew he wanted war with them as much as the Queen of Thorns. But Tarly was Westerosi, born and bred, so Jaime attempted to reason with him in his language. He told him about the Unsullied and the Dothraki, about the reserves of gold held by the Tyrells, once earned by the miners of Highgarden and now destined to fall into the hands of savages and eunuchs. The bald man did not show it, but Jaime knew the lure of money would nab his attention. Even men of honor do not refuse a sack of gold for their troubles.

He entered Cersei's chambers with hope. He found Cersei ready to cry with joy. Jaime could not remember the last time he saw giggles escape her. She stopped when she saw him. Always my sweet sister, trying to show herself tough. "Euron has interesting news," she said. "The ironborn on Pyke have revealed to him a most favorable development. Daenerys Targaryen courts war with Jon Snow. The time to strike is now."

Jaime was shocked. "Winterfell at war with the Targaryens? What made this happen?"

"Any alliance between Stark and Targaryen would never be easy," said Cersei. The girlish smile was now back. "Lesser so when Daenerys Targaryen's Hand is murdered."

Daenerys' Hand… Tyrion?

The silence from Jaime was all that was needed for Cersei's grin to revert to stone. "Listen to me," she said. "The minds of our two greatest threats are distracted. The time to strike is now. Gather every man you can spare and prepare to march. This is our chance to win more of Westeros-"

"Fuck Westeros," Jaime heard himself say. "Our brother is dead, the same brother we grew up with in Casterly Rock. I know you had no love for him, but surely you can spare a moment instead of pretending you are as stern a ruler as Father."

Cersei's countenance refused to budge. "The time," she repeated for the third time, "to strike is now. You need to leave. This is an order." Cersei always began conversations with lack of emotion, but Jaime had not expected her to prolong that until now. This was something new. Jaime felt himself hesitate. "Is this about what happened the other night?"

Cersei maintained the silence, making Jaime silent. In the quiet, Jaime wondered how long Cersei delayed before telling him of the death of Tyrion. He wondered what more Cersei was keeping from her twin.

"Prepare to march," she said.

6. Winterfell

Rage would carry Jon Snow through. Through the raven sent by the Mother of Dragons, he had learned, with relief, that his sister was alive all this time, only to learn further that she was swallowed by the blackness of the sea.

He cared not for slain dwarves or family names fallen. Arya was the closest to a sister the bastard boy had, before he gave her up for brothers in black. He had done his duty as well as he could, but somewhere, could not do the duty of deserting ties of family. Despite what he heard of the wars while on the edge of the world, Jon hoped they were all lies, that one day he would enter an inn at Mole's Town to find Arya, Robb and Bran together with Lord Eddard Stark, all waiting for him, beams on their faces. But that was a green boy's dream, a dream for spring that would never be found in icy cold winter.

Chaos echoed across stone walls of Winterfell as the lords discussed war. Jon was glad the northmen shared his fury. He had declared war rather than bend the knee to the people who killed his sister, and he felt glad he did. Suddenly, Daenerys Targaryen was less a possible ally and much more a threat to the north. "She thinks I will swear her fealty. She wants me to meet her at Barrowton," Jon told the bannermen. "And I will, but only with the might of the north!"

Roared Wyman Manderly over the cheers, "The Targaryens are a southron house. I shall like to see how they fare on our lands!"

Amidst shouts of victory and war, Jon saw Littlefinger participate in none. Jon's rage gave way to doubt. What is this man thinking of now? When the hall finally fell silent and Baelish spoke, Jon was surprised to hear his usually eloquent speech falter.

"I am no northman," he said, "even though I have pledged my house to the Starks. But if we are to be defeated, if our king is to die or be captured on the snowy shores of Barrowton, what must become of the north when Queen Daenerys marches to Winterfell? Will these walls keep Lady Sansa safe," he said, voice cracking, "or will the Mother of Dragons show her no mercy as well?"

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, Jon wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. Theon Greyjoy passed these walls with twenty men and nearly ended the Stark bloodline. If Daenerys Targaryen truly had a three-headed dragon, as rumor had it, no castle in the north would hold it. If Jon was to lose, the north needed Sansa to keep the Stark line alive, to fight the army of the dead when the time came.

He is a slippery man, Jon thought, looking at Littlefinger, but I cannot believe he wishes harm on my sister. Besides, I would rather fight Daenerys Targaryen with loyal northmen than slippery ones like him. As king, Jon had to make the hard decision no one could. But before he said it, Sansa Stark did.

"You speak truth, Lord Baelish. Daenerys Targaryen has a massive army," she said. Jon liked that she did not mention the three-headed dragon to not coin facts to rumors. "You have proved yourself loyal in the Battle of the Bastards. Will you prove your loyalty again, when the north demands it, by giving me shelter in the impregnable castle of the Vale?"

7. Pyke

Everywhere around Theon Greyjoy, men prepared for war. Ships began loading with fish and barley. Captains commanded to soldiers battle plans and strategies. The Unsullied marched across salt shores with unsettling precision. Ships from Dorne and Highgarden began to arrive, docking on the iron islands. The dragons above yelled with impatience.

His sister was to stay in Pyke and rule, and Theon would be better serving Daenerys in war than with the ironborn, whose disgust for him had only increased after he had throttled the poor boy. Theon knew the queen needed him – he was the only one on the island who lived his life in the northlands and had, however briefly, even conquered Winterfell.

'Prince of Winterfell'… that seems so long ago. The wounds of the War of Five Kings were many – the death of Luwin, of Ser Rodrik, of Bran and Rickon. They may never be healed, but when they felt to be finally forgotten, more war loomed, and more loss.

I want to be over with war, but what else am I to do?

A few ironborn had pledged their swords to the queen. Theon did not want to, even if he knew he must. This entire war was built on lies. Yara saw Arya Stark leap into the Ironman's Bay and inferred her death, even though they never found her body. Jon Snow may have bent the knee if he was not told about Arya's death. Arya may not have died at all. She was tough, she may have swum across the waves of the bay, seized a stray vessel. She must. Please, not her too.

Theon went into the sea to escape the glares of the ironborn. Alone, cold waves engulfed him and the smell of salt brought with it memories. Theon remembered very little of his memories at Pyke, but he recalled the time he came here to convince his father to pledge for Robb Stark. It was a place he hardly recognized, with people who did not recognize him either.

The smell of the sea began to change. Theon saw shades of crimson among blue and black. He began to pat his body in panic, but realized the blood was not his. Robed in red and grey, he saw the body float down to him in eerie stillness. Reek felt his heart tumble, scared of what he was to see, hoping he would be mistaken.

Her face was older than when Theon last saw her, but there was no mistaking the long face, the skinny hands, the brown of her hair nor the color of her eyes – grey, lifeless and lost.