Games of Thrones Season 8 Chapter 10
Apologies for the delays in this chapter. I work at a university and we had midterm exams last week. I also have a bit of a cold. This chapter is a bit shorter than usual as I have had very little time of late, but I decided to send it out now as I may not get a chance to return to it for a week or so. Enjoy.
Kings Landing – Cersei
She stood on her balcony in the Tower of the Hand and looked over the city, the city she had first come to as a girl with her father and mother and the man she grew to love. That was before the monster came and took her mother away. She had thought the world would be hers. Cersei saw and met Rhaegar for the first time and fell in love like all the young girls did. She was only eight years old, but knew she would marry him some day and be the queen of the world. But like most dreams this one did not come true.
Many she could blame but it all went back to Tyrion. The little monster had killed her mother, had allowed himself to be kidnapped so her family was dragged into a war, had killed her father, had sided with her enemies, had let the other monsters think they were weak and so more of the ones she loved had died. She should have told Ser Gregor to kill him when he had been standing before her. But she had been with child then and had hoped for some kind of future. That was all over with now. She would die, alone, but not before those who had done this died as well.
Cersei turned and came back into her rooms, where it was warmer. Qyburn was waiting for her, standing, and Ser Gregor was by the door. She sat at her desk and nodded to the chair opposite where Qyburn now sat.
"Report."
"The ship has sailed for Braavos, Your Grace, the courier and letters secure. Now all depends on the gods and the weather."
"Let us pray we have some luck. It is time we had some on our side. And the rest?"
"The city defenses are quite irreparable, Your Grace. It would take a thousand masons and their assistants a hundred days or more just to repair the outer walls. If we had the masons and their assistants, the brick and mortar, and the money to pay them."
"So the city is quite defenseless?"
"Quite, Your Grace. All the commanders agree. Whether the Starks and the Targaryen woman win in the North or this Night King prevails, we should not stay here."
"Agreed. What is the most powerful fortress in all of Westeros?"
"I am not a military man, Your Grace, but I've heard it often said Harrenhal is quite formidable. I did spend some time there and its walls are so very high and thick."
"Yes, but it has fallen, several times now. And it is north of here, closer to our enemies."
"Then I would have to say Storm's End, Your Grace. It has never fallen as far as I know."
"Yes, Robert often boasted of his family's home's strength. I found it rather wind swept and rainy the few times we visited, but it was very solid and hard to attack from sea or land. Yes, it will do nicely."
"I shall begin preparations at once. Who shall be coming with us?"
"No one that is not necessary. I will not have a gaggle of useless mouths to feed. We may be under siege for years."
"Surely the fighting men are necessary, Your Grace?"
"Yes, they are. Including the Golden Company. Send them by ship as soon as possible. As for the rest, my servants, my guard, and all the Lannister men will join us. We will go overland while we still can before the snows get too deep. Send word to our few allies to join us there. You have two days to prepare."
"May I suggest we leave at night, Your Grace? To avoid any unpleasantness when the people know we are going."
"Fine. And one more thing. How much wildfire is left?"
"Quite a lot, and we are making more. It is our only true defense against these wights and other enemies."
"Take most of it with us, in a separate wagon train."
"It will be hard to get men to agree to drive the wagons with such a dangerous substance."
"Offer them gold. If they still say no, hang the leaders."
"Of course, Your Grace. You did say most of it. What about the rest?"
"Put it under the Red Keep. When we leave, set it off. I will not have that whore take over my throne."
"A splendid idea, Your Grace. However, I fear it would take much to destroy the Iron Throne."
"As long as the place is a ruin I care not if that chair gets even a scratch."
"I will begin at once, Your Grace. By your leave."
"Wait. There is the matter of the Dornish."
He was already rising from his seat and sat again quickly. "I believe you dismissed their demands as the ravings of lunatics, Your Grace."
"They are. But I have reconsidered, all except for in the matter of Ser Gregor. Send this Lord Yronwood a raven. We agree to all terms except for that one. If he wants to join us tell him to send his army to Storm's End. Who is in command at Storm's End?"
"Ser Cortnay Penrose I believe, Your Grace."
"I vaguely remember him. What do you know of Ser Cortnay?"
"Older than I am to be sure. A prickly man it is said. And loyal to the Baratheons."
"There are no more Baratheons, at least in Robert's line."
"Your Grace, your late husband did sire many bastards."
"Who are inconsequential. As are any cousins and what not. No, with Tommen's death the titles pass to me. Let us make a writ of that at once. And tell this Yronwood if he arrives before I do to occupy Storm's End. If Penrose resists, kill him."
"It shall be done, Your Grace."
He left her then, and she noted how eager he seemed to be done and gone from this place, his sour mood of late changing in an instant. So would many more of her so called loyal subjects' moods when they got the word they were leaving. Qyburn had heard of the mutterings, of how they said this place was death trap, getting colder, and that they should flee south while they could. She resisted the idea at first, because this was the capital and the Iron Throne was the seat of all power. But then she recalled Robert's words, when drunk as usual.
"I hate that ugly iron chair," he grumbled at dinner one night. For once he sat with her and the children, but still he drank himself into a stupor. Jaime and Ser Barristan Selmy and the other Kingsguard were standing nearby, as was the Hound, standing behind Joffrey's chair. "Hard, uncomfortable, not a place to sit long. I should have it destroyed."
Joffrey gaped at his father. "But…it's the seat of power, Father."
"That's where you are wrong!" he shouted and Joffrey visible winced. Robert made a fist. "This is where true power lies, boy. In strength. The Mad King forgot that. Thought because his father was a king he should be too and could do what he wanted. Never forget that boy. You will be king when I am gone, but don't think that ugly chair is yours by right. If you can't hold it someone will knock you off of it!"
That was the only time she could recall Robert advising Joffrey on being a king. He was right of course. Strength was the key to power. Here they had no strength anymore, the ice dragon had seen to that. At Storm's End the walls were stouter, stronger. They could hide for a decade if they had enough food.
Yes, he had advised Joffrey, but like in all things Joffrey had never listened. He thought he was king by right, and had said it often enough, "I am the King!" They tried to knock him off the throne, starting with Ned Stark and then Robert's brothers…and when they couldn't do it then they killed him, her son, poisoned by that crone and that whore Sansa. She should have killed her too when she had the chance, so many chances…all slipped away now.
Cersei walked to her balcony again and stared north. Where were they now, those demons? Were they killing all her enemies? She hoped so. She hoped that fool Snow and the whore Targaryen and Tyrion and all the rest were crushed underfoot. Sansa most of all, and her death she looked forward to almost as much as Tyrion's. She had tried to be friends with Sansa, to be the mother that was absent, but Sansa had betrayed her. After the little monster, her death would be the sweetest of all.
Winterfell – Sansa
The attacks came at them day and night for three days. Hordes of wights charged the gates, and good men and women died defending them. Each time the dragons arose from the inner castle and came out to spew fire and destruction, and each time the remaining wights melted away into the fog and snow that seemed constant. Twice White Walkers had thrown ice spears at the dragons and twice they had missed, once barely so, missing Drogon by a hair. The Night King had not shown himself again, but they knew he must be out there somewhere, still driving his legions on to destruction.
And now the outer defenses were gone, and all that were left were inside the castle, manning the walls and the four gates. A thousand Unsullied and a few hundred Dothraki manned the east wall and gate, all that remained of the Queen's once large army. Many had been frozen by Viserion on the march here and in the first battle. Grey Worm was wounded in the left leg but still kept the command.
The south gate was held by the remaining men of the Vale and the red woman's fierce fighters. After the battle Sansa had told Jon about the wounded she had allowed into the healing ward and he had given his assent to this. And later when they were pushed back inside nothing was said about his earlier order to not let them or her into the castle. As for Melisandre, she was hardly seen, sleeping when there were no attacks, and coming forth to bring fire on the wights when there were. A few people who saw her said she seemed older, slower, less like the woman she once was.
The west gate was held by the Watch and wildlings, with few remaining, bolstered by the small folk who had taken refuge in the castle. Outside the Wolfwoods was on fire, caused by the dragons during an attack. Thick black greasy fingers of smoke climbed into the sky and the smell of smoke was everywhere. At least the fires stopped too many wights from using the woods to come close to the walls.
The north gate was held by the Northerners, few that remained here as well. Jon led them, despite his aches and pains from his attack on Viserion. His hip was cut deep from a dragon spine, and his back ached with every step he took. Only the deep snow had saved his life. All hailed him as a hero for killing the ice dragon, but Jon felt like he had failed. When they finally got him back to the castle and into his room Sansa was told where he was and what had happened and so she and Sam had rushed to his side. As Sam mended his wounds, Jon told everyone to leave except his sisters and Sam, even the Queen and Tyrion. And then he told them what the Night King had said in his mind during their brief encounter.
"Bloody hell," Arya said quietly.
"He means you must kill the one you love," Sam said right away, as he cut some linen to make a bandage for Jon's bleeding hip.
"Or she must kill him," Sansa countered. Jon gave her a look of despair. "Sorry, but it does seem that way," Sansa said.
"Do you love her?" Arya asked, staring right at him.
Jon sighed and then nodded. "Aye. And she loves me."
"There must be another way," Sansa said, fearing what they were talking about would come to pass.
"You tried to stab him with Longclaw?" Arya asked Jon.
"I did. No good. And the dragonfire didn't kill him either."
"Nor you," Sam said. "It's your blood."
"What do you mean?" Sansa asked. "No one is immune to fire. No one human at least."
Sam finished tying the bandage around Jon's hip and stood up. "She is," Sam said. "Lord Tyrion was drunk one night and spoke on her and fire. Said twice she has been in huge fires and came out without a burn both times."
"Lady Mormont said that Ser Jorah said the same," Arya added. "He was there both times, in the east, saw it all. First time was when her dragons were born, he said."
Sansa looked at Jon who was in a daze. "How is it possible?" Jon asked.
Sam shrugged. "I can't explain it. There is no history of Targaryens being immune to fire. In fact, at Summerhall, a whole bunch died in a great fire."
No explanations, no reasons, none of it made any sense. But Viserion was gone and so was Jon's sword Longclaw.
"We could look for it," Arya said. "It must have fallen to the ground after he melted away. It could be out there."
"And so are they," Jon replied as he looked at a wall peg where Lightbringer hung in its sheath. "Arya, pass it to me, please."
Arya turned around, took it down and gave it to him. Jon took the sword out and they all saw the blade again…and again it looked nothing special.
"I've lost Longclaw and only the gods know where it is now," he said. "This may not be Valyrian steel, but we know it is sharp enough." He put the sword back in its sheath and lay it on his bed. Then he tried to stand, and let out a great groan of pain and sat again on his bed.
"Stay put," Sansa said in what she hoped was a stern tone. "Get some rest."
"What if they come back?" Jon asked.
"I think we can handle it," Arya said. "Now Viserion is gone, we have a fighting chance."
But she was wrong. A hundred thousand wights were out there, their numbers fewer after each attack, but so were the defenders, and many they could not burn arose again with icy blue eyes. Many a man saw his dead comrades now fighting for the other side and felt a chill horror at the sight.
The growing list of the dead and wounded made Sansa feel powerless. Lord Royce had died on the first day and she had wept for the man who had done so much to help her in her battles with Petyr Baelish. When his men foolishly charged out into the snow he had been struck down from his horse and stabbed to death before his men could save him. They found him after the battle with a dozen stab wounds. He was burned with the rest of the dead men and horses in a great bonfire.
Eddison Tollett, dour Edd to Sam and Jon, Lord Commander of the Watch, died at the dawn on the second day. As he stood up behind the western wooden barrier to see what was what, a barrage of arrows and spears came out of the fog and gloom and one caught him in the throat. He died drowning in his own blood, gasping, trying to speak his last words but unable to. Jon and Sam were crushed, and in a brief moment of rest they and the few surviving Watch members gave Edd his final goodbye. There were so few left and all were so busy they decided not to hold an election for a new leader until there was time…if ever.
Lord Glover took a bad wound the second day, his left arm severed just above the wrist. He still lived, still insisted he could fight with his one good arm, but he was feverish and weak.
Podrick Payne had taken a dagger to the left side and lay in the healing ward, drifting in and out of a feverish delirium. It had happened at the north gate, when they were retreating inside. Jon, Brienne, Arya, Gendry, Sandor, Ser Jaime, Ser Jorah, Bronn, Tormund, and Pod were the rearguard as the Northern forces pulled back and ran inside the outer gate and across the bridge and moat to the inner castle. Jon was alike a demon, fighting with unmatched fury, the sword called Lightbringer alive in his hands, wreaking havoc on the wights, and it seemed to kill them the same as Valyrian steel and dragon glass. The others also gave a good account of themselves, but somehow a wight got through and stabbed Pod. Sandor had picked him up and carried him to the healing ward. At first it seemed like a scratch but it festered and now he was barely hanging on. They gave him a bed in the great keep in a small sleeping cell guards usually used. Tyrion and Brienne hovered over him, wringing their hands in despair when they had a free moment.
"Not you, Pod," Sansa overheard Tyrion saying late in the morning on the fourth day, his voice breaking, standing in the door of the sleeping cell. "Not you, too. The gods would not be that cruel."
Tyrion heard her approaching and turned. He was half off his feet, tired as the rest were, eyes red from lack of sleep and sadness. She had brought him a cup of broth. "Drink this, it will help you feel better."
"Thank you, but wine always seems the better choice in such cases."
"You and wine have spent far too many nights together, my lord."
He stepped from Pod's door and took the offered cup and sipped. "Ah, it's very good. My compliments to the cook."
"I believe you know her. Suzanne."
Tyrion was taken aback but just for a moment and then gave her a half smile, a slight grin. "Seems she can do more than one good thing."
Sansa just stared at him. "I care not who you bed, my lord, but please be more discrete. People know we are still husband and wife."
"Yes, my wife, who…never mind. Sorry. I will stay away from her from now on."
"Good."
Sansa was about to turn away when he spoke again. "There is a septon here, from a nearby village. Or so I heard."
Sansa knew who he meant. An old man, a traveling septon, who went from village to village in the North offering prayer and his services. She knew why he mentioned him and what he wanted. "Yes, I know of him. The writ of annulment has already been drawn up. We can go to him now if you wish."
He paused, sipped his broth, and then nodded. "Yes. Let us be done with this sham of a marriage before we all get killed."
A healer just arrived to look in on Pod. "Still the same," Tyrion told her and Tyrion handed her the cup and told her to give it to Pod if he awoke. They went outside the great keep in the cold and mist and found Sandor waiting for her, as always when he was not at the gates. "Sandor, do you know where Septon Breton is?" Sansa asked.
"Why would I know?" he asked in return, his mood darker than usual these days. "I'm not a pious man, little bird. You know that."
"Just…never mind. I will find him."
They followed her, as she walked to where the smallfolk tents were standing inside the main courtyard.
"You know, Clegane, I am amazed," Tyrion said as he struggled to keep up with their long strides.
"What bug's up your arse now, little man?"
"Just amazed at how long you have kept you head all these years, being such an insolent cur."
Sandor grunted. "Aye, I have a big mouth. What of it? Better than dancing around with words way you do. And don't say you never mouthed off to any higher borns, cause I know you did."
"Yes, but you see I am also a higher born, so it is a little less dangerous for me to do so."
"Leave it be," Sansa said in irritation. She knew he would go on forever. And she knew Sandor would not change.
"Why do you want a bloody septon for anyway?" Sandor asked.
Tyrion answered. "It is time our sham of a marriage was ended."
"Good," Sandor grunted.
"Good?" Sansa said in surprise and she stopped and looked at him.
"Aye, little bird, good. You never wanted it and neither did he."
"True," Tyrion said.
Sansa kept looking at Sandor and his eyes would not meet hers. "What?" he finally said as he looked at her, his lanky hair falling over his scars and half his face.
"Nothing…nothing. Let's go."
They found the septon, a rotund bearded man in shabby grey robes, explained what they needed, and in a short time they were back in her solar, the parchment before them, Sandor standing by the door.
"So," said Septon Breton. "The writ looks good. As you must know, normally in case of annulment there must be just cause, my lord and lady. Is there a reason to end this union made before gods and men?"
"A cold marriage bed," Tyrion said. "In fact, we have never shared a bed. Or anything else, except some dirty looks, some tears, and occasionally a meal and a laugh or two."
"My lady?" the septon asked. "Is it true?"
"Yes, all of it. A forced marriage, by his father. Wanted by neither."
"Then there is nothing more to say," the septon said. "Except of course for my fee."
Tyrion dug into a pocket and pulled out a gold dragon. "I'd give you more but all my funds are tied up in Casterly Rock at the moment."
"Not to worry, my lord, it is more than sufficient. Affix your sigil stamps in wax and you are now no longer husband and wife."
Tyrion affixed his sigil stamp as did she, and so it was done. "Good-day," the septon said and he was soon gone.
There was an awkward silence. Tyrion gave her half a grin again. "Well…I think I will get drunk now. Clegane, care to join me?"
"Unlike you I may find myself with killing to do later," Sandor said.
"Well, I am sure Bronn will help me to cel…help me."
"You were going to say celebrate," Sansa said.
"I was, but it occurred to me there is nothing to celebrate. I killed the woman I truly wanted to marry when she betrayed me. So…so…the wine awaits."
He waddled out of the room and Sansa felt sorry for him and all that he had lost.
She sat at her desk to look at some parchments with reports but then just sighed and stared off into space. She looked over at Sandor. "Will it never end?"
He knew what she meant. "Aye, it will…one way or another."
"Is this all our life will be, killing and dying?"
He shrugged. "Not much different from my life before."
"Wasn't there anything else in your life? A family?"
"You know what my brother is."
"What about a woman…love?"
"No…never."
His voice was strained and she barely heard the words and suddenly a flood of memories came back, of all the times she had been with him. "Sandor…why did you say 'good' when you heard what we were doing?"
"I said already."
She didn't know why she was doing it but she knew there was more to it, and she had to know. "That night…of the Blackwater…why did you offer to take me home?"
"I was running away. Thought you wanted to also."
"I would have slowed you."
"Had to keep you safe…do something…something…good…for once."
She stood and crossed the room in quick strides and as she did so she saw he was flinching, looking away. "No…tell me the truth…please."
Now he did look at her, glaring…and then the glare fell, flared out, his eyes dropped and his words were soft, gentle. "All my life I have been a mean dog. Killing and hacking and doing what they told me to do. Killed your sister's butcher's boy, helped Joffrey try to kill your brother, killed your father's men in the throne room, kidnapped your sister for the ransom, scared you half to death a dozen times. I…"
"Saved me from the rapists," she began. "Gave me your cloak that day in the throne room, wiped the blood from my face when I was hit, saved Arya from a certain death on the road, at the Twins, at that inn. You joined men who tried to kill you, went north of the Wall to try to unite the kingdom, buried a man and girl you found dead…"
"Cause I once stole from them. Ask Arya, she was there."
"So you were trying to redeem yourself to them. And now you are here, doing what you can to protect my family and home, the North…the world…and still you beat yourself up, think you are no good."
"Good deeds do not erase a man's crimes, little bird."
"Yes…they do. You are not a bad man Sandor Clegane…I would not have you in my service, in my home, if I thought so. I…I…"
She could not think of the way to say it, how she truly felt, but then there was a knock on the door. It was Brienne, her face ashen. "Pod, my lady…he has died."
They burned him in the courtyard, with a dozen more that had died in the healing wards. Tyrion was teary, shaking, and by his side Brienne was not much better. Bronn struggled to hide his emotions but he was having a hard time. He took the torch from a stand and stepped to the bodies piled on wood.
"Good-bye, my friend," Bronn said in a quiet voice as he lit the oil soaked wood.
Septon Breton said the funeral rites as the bodies burned. Arya and Gendry, Jon and Sam stood by Sansa's side. She did not know how to feel. Pod had helped save her life, was in as much her service as Brienne and Sandor were, but she was too weary from all the deaths to feel anything but numbness.
Just then the Queen flew down on Drogon with Rhaegal not far behind, landing in the godswood, where there was more space for them. The demons had not attacked all morning and so she went up on patrol to see if she could find them.
Jon spoke. "Let us find out what she saw."
Sansa, Arya, Gendry, and Sam followed and were soon joined by Ser Davos and Ser Jorah. The Queen was on the ground by Drogon when they arrived, and both dragons were licking up water from the godswood pond.
"Your Grace," began Jon. "What news?"
"Nothing," Daenerys said. "I saw nothing."
"They must be hiding in the forests," Arya said.
"It's already past the noon hour," Ser Davos told them. "They usually attack by now."
As they discussed what it meant Sansa stared over at the weirwood on the opposite side of the pond. There was Bran, in his chair, with Meera and Lord Reed by his side, as they had been for three days when not sleeping or eating, just talking, with Bran drifting in and out of his trances, but not telling anyone what they were doing.
Jon stood by her and looked where she was looking. "Has he said anything?"
"No," she told him. "They haven't either, not since that first day."
Ser Jorah spoke. "If he knows something, some way to defeat them, we must find out."
"Leave him be," Sam said. They all looked at him. "I mean…he is training, learning…when he's ready he will tell us."
"If we are all dead it will be too late," said Daenerys. "I must know."
She started walking towards them when suddenly a horn blew…one blast, two…then nothing more.
Jon and the Queen raced for the dragons, but then Jon stopped and looked at Sam. "Two blasts…wildlings? Enemies?"
"Or friends," Sam said.
"Or a mistake?" Gendry suggested.
"Go to the gates," Daenerys said. "I will take Drogon up for a look."
"No, wait," Jon said. "Let them rest a bit. There will be time if it is the enemy."
Without another word Jon walked towards the gates and all except the Queen followed. Soon they learned a large party of people was outside the south gate. People…not wights.
Bronn, Tyrion, and Brienne were already there, the funeral pyre still burning behind them. "Who is it?" Jon asked.
"The men on the battlements say our guests are the iron born," Tyrion told them.
"Open the gates!" Jon shouted. Up went the portcullis and the thick oaken wooden outer doors were opened.
There stood a large party of people, several hundred, some on horses, many not, with horse and mule dragged wagons full of supplies behind them. All were armed and armored for war. At their head stood Theon Greyjoy and a woman Sansa could easily see was his sister, Yara, both with the Greyjoy kraken embossed on their armor.
"Tyrion, Sansa, Arya, Davos, come with me," Jon said as he walked across the snowy bloody ground towards the iron born.
"Jon," Theon said as they approached. "This is my sister, Yara."
"Lord Snow, is it?" Yara said. "My brother tells me you spared his life once."
"I did," Jon said. "He saved my sister, Sansa, Lady of Winterfell."
"Hello," Sansa said to the warrior woman, who gave her a long look that made Sansa feel as if she was being sized up for some reason.
"Lady Stark," Yara said. "My brother said you were fetching, but not how much."
Sansa only felt confused at this comment, but knew how to act. She smiled and spoke. "Thank you. You are welcome to…"
"Wait," Jon interrupted and stared at first Theon and then his sister. "You both know the people of Winterfell have no love for any of you. Why are you here?"
"To fight the demons," Yara said. "But it seems they are gone."
"You didn't see any on the way here?" Tyrion asked.
"Aye, we did," said Theon. "Last night. We camped near Castle Cerwyn. They saw us, we saw them…and they kept going…thousands of them, least what we could see in the dark."
"Heading where?" Davos asked, an urgency in his tone.
"South," Yara told them.
"Gods," said Tyrion. "South…why did they stop their attacks here?"
"Cause we held them," said Jon. "Now they will wreak havoc on the people."
Suddenly Lord Manderly was beside them. "Have you come from White Harbor?" he asked the Greyjoys.
"Nearby it," said Theon. "Lord Manderly?"
"I am. What news have you?"
"Your city is gone," Yara said. "But your family is safe, as are about five thousands more. Your son leads them at Oldcastle."
"Thank the gods," Manderly said.
"And Varys?" Jon asked.
"Still alive," Theon told him.
"I believe we asked you to hunt down your uncle," Tyrion said. "Gave you our fleet. What has happened?"
"Euron is dead," Yara told them. Quickly they explain the story of how he died, as far as they knew it.
"She has lost the baby?" Tyrion asked.
"So Qyburn said," Yara told them. "Murdered by Euron. Listen, are we going to talk out here all day or are you going to let us in? It's cold and we have come far."
Sansa spoke right away, to finish what she had earlier begun. "Yes. You're welcome."
"Not by everyone," Arya said in a cold voice and then she turned on her heel and walked back inside the gate to stand beside Gendry.
"Sorry," Sansa said to the Greyjoys.
"No, I understand," said Theon, looking pained. She knew why, for he was coming back to the place where all his personal demons lived. "They all hate me," Theon continued. "Maybe I should stay out here."
"No," Sansa said. "All are welcome who have come to help us. Even old enemies."
And so the iron born, about four hundred and some, marched into the castle they had once attacked. As they did so, Jon spoke to her.
"Not everyone will love them. There may be trouble."
"The people will respect my wishes or they can go out into the cold."
"Fine words," said Tyrion. "Now, what are we going to do about the enemy?"
"What can we do?" Davos asked. "We can't follow them. Not in the open, in the cold."
"No, we can't," Jon said. "But the Queen and I can, on the dragons."
"Jon, that is madness," Sansa said, worry in her tone and on her face.
"Yes, I quite agree," said Tyrion. "One ice spear and he will have another dragon. Cersei wanted to leave us in the lurch. Well, now it is time she got a taste of it herself."
"How many tens of thousands will join his army when they die down south?" Jon asked. "And how many demons will come north again when they are finished with the rest? A million? Two? More?"
"Ah, yes," said Tyrion. "That is a dilemma."
"What about the boy?" Davos asked. "What about Bran? He must be able to do something."
"Aye," said Jon, his eyes set and determined. "And it's time we found out what."