Cersei leisurely took the steps down, more and more crude stone steps until she reached the bottom. The two guards bowed, deeply, "Your grace," they muttered. It still filled her with a certain kind of pride, what those two words meant now. No longer queen consort, no longer that miserable life next to that fat drunkard that Robert was, unbearable as he was. Not queen mother either, but those thoughts didn't come to mind. She locked them away, as if there was a tiny wooden chest with metal locks somewhere deep in her memory, and now she's thrown away the key.

The guards knew the drill. After all, she's become a frequent visitor lately. And who could blame her? There wasn't much else to do in the Red Keep. There weren't many to talk to either. It was boring, oh so boring, her only entertainment being these visitations. She didn't come too often though, in fact she came down here quite rarely compared to how much he enjoyed these visits. It's safe to say that she literally could not stomach it, even though the days of her morning sickness were long past, this place could make her retch for half a day even. But when she came, when she had something to say, she felt it was worth it.

The guards opened the iron door in front of her, and she stepped in, holding the cloth she's soaked in lavender in front of her face. Still, the stench was unbearable.

She looked at the source of it. The girl was beautiful, she truly was, big black eyes and curves to make any man crawl. But she wasn't so beautiful now, was she. The body that laid in front of her was swollen, skin in shades of grey. She leaned closer to see and smiled to herself, yes, the maggots began their work, finally. She didn't step close to it, whatever liquids a rotting body could muster were now flowing freely in the cell, mixed with the waste the other produced.

She heard the knock of the chair against the stone wall by the door and nodded a thank to the guard. This was her routine. She sat and waited. She didn't mind the wait, once it's over she'll have to remove the cloth from her face and she'll have to breathe in the unbearable stench, while she speaks. She leaned back on the chair and waited.

She always moves, sooner or later, and Cersei noted with a small grin that this was still true as she lifted her head to face the Queen. Oh, that rage in her eyes, that hatred, Cersei adored every moment when she could see it and take it in. Payback, it was.

"I see the maggots began their work," Cersei said, flinching as the stench hit her, "It won't be long now, really. Soon you'll be able to see what your daughter was really made of. It's unfortunate that it comes with the unpleasantries of all this…" she gestured on the floor between the woman whose eyes were piercing her and the rotting pile of flesh, "but Qyburn assured me, once the body drained all its liquids this will all stop as well. Soon enough you'll be able to sit on a dry floor, you'll only need to keep it dry yourself."

"I would suggest you move to the corner, but I see you used it for other purposes," Cersei noted nonchalantly, the pile of shit in the corner not missing her attention, "It's a shame. That corner was of higher ground, now you'll have to sit in these… fluids. Though I can see that you don't mind, considering the state of your attire."

"Do you need any assistance?" She asked, as if she actually cared. She was good at this, pretending to care was her second nature, nurtured in throughout the long years of being Robert's queen. "I mean, in the corner. You know I could ask the guards to help, perhaps lift your dress while you crouch there, I am sure they won't mind? Unless you mind them seeing your naked backside as you… well as you do that. But considering what I know of Dornish bastards and your ways, I wouldn't think that you do. You only need to ask, and I'll order them to help you."

What a folly, Cersei thought, as the woman's eyes lingered on her, her mouth full of the cloth used to keep her silent, what a lovely little folly this was.

"I came to visit because I've had some news," she said then, "News that you may find quite interesting, the bastard that you are. Though I am quite sad to be the bringer of bad news to you in such a hard time as this, but it is always better to know." She pretended to be sorry, her sorry eyes settling to meet the woman's burning gaze. She was probably going mad by now, Cersei thought, perhaps she can't even fathom any of this anymore. But no, she could, Cersei could see that, the hatred and the rage in those black eyes were so very real.

"It seems that your Queen has forsaken you, my dear," Cersei said, "I am so very sorry. You sit here waiting and hoping for her and her dragons to come for you, I am sure. But no, it's not to be. She found herself a new bastard. And while I would lament her decision to leave you here, I must admit, her new bastard has certain advantages over you. He has a cock. He's said to be quite handsome, you know in that rough northern kind of way."

"Yes, my dear," Cersei continued, registering in triumph that the pair of eyes on her awoke more and more, that the woman listened to her every word. "That Targaryen bitch you hailed Queen was here, not much more than a moon's turn past, in Kings Landing. She couldn't wait to rush north with all her armies and her dragons, not even sparing a single moment to ask after you, she was so eager to be by the side of this northern bastard. It's understandable really. Which girl wouldn't want the adventure of a monster hunt by the side of a bastard hailed the greatest swordsman ever lived? I'm sure you know all the songs about love, and damsels rescued by valiant nights. Marcella used to love them so much when she was a child. Your Queen is off to live like the ladies in the songs with her own handsome bastard, hunting monsters in that grey waste of the North."

The woman broke eye contact then, her gaze fell to the ground. There it is, Cersei thought. She was right, again. Ellaria Sand was hoping, she was offering those silent prayers to whatever Gods would listen to her, for the Targaryen girl to come. Her lips curled into a triumphant smile as she stood.

"I would tell you not to lose hope, after all, what do we have without hope?" She said softly, "But she won't return. I wasn't certain when, but you see I cannot let some foreign bitch fly around on the back of her pet dragons over my Capitol and my Kingdom, just as much as I cannot let any bastard to believe they have the right of claim in my kingdom. I didn't allow that to you and why would I treat her northern bastard any different than you? Now is time for me to ensure that that the saviour you so longed for doesn't return. Now, I have the means."

Ellaria Sand lifted her eyes once more. Cersei could see, the rage, and the hatred there, but there was something else. There weren't tears, there was no sobbing, she was way past that, albeit much to Cersei's regret – she used to be more entertaining back then. But it was there, in the blackness of her eyes, and Cersei could now see it. See that she broke her.

She walked toward the door, but looked back in her usual fashion, "Euron Greyjoy sends his regards, by the way," she said with a smile, "I've just come from meeting him at the docks where he disembarked my twenty thousand fresh troops. And elephants! Gods, have you seen an elephant before? It is a marvellous sight. There are dozens of them, perhaps when they return after dealing with your bitch Queen, I'll keep one to myself. As a memento."

"I must go now I'm afraid. A Queen doesn't have much time to spare." What a funny lie, Cersei thought to herself, "Ruling seven kingdoms is a weary work of long hours, I just wanted to make sure that you are all right. Until next time, my friend."

And with that she stepped out of the cell, and rushed away on the corridor, a guard behind her. At the steps she turned. "Make sure you keep feeding her with whatever you are feeding her. Just keep stuffing it down her throat, I don't care how. Keep her alive." With that, she turned and rushed up the steps, hoping she'll make it out to fresh air before she'll become unable to hold back the urge to retch.

Jon stood behind a tree and watched as a flock of ravens flew past. They didn't look particularly different from any other flock of ravens. Not until one of them turned its head slightly, scanning the cliff where he and his men hid behind the trees motionless, and Jon could see the same icy blue shining eyes that all the dead had. He took a deep breath. The plan was in motion.

They watched in the distance as the ravens circled, and as arrows found their marks in them. But not all of them. One escaped, then another, flying back in a straight line from whence they came. No plan can work perfectly, Jon thought as he motioned for the men to move, to rush out and settle on the cliff, laying down on the cold icy stone. They all began brushing snow all over them. It wasn't much but from high above the sky, it was still better than their armour-clad figures. They've left their cloaks behind, they'll need that to warm themselves during the retreat. Jon just hoped the boiled leather will hold their body heat for long enough to reach the camp, even after laying under snow. But he knew they won't lay here for long. The storm was already brewing visibly to their left, moving closer and closer. And under it, they were rushing as well. Jon said a silent prayer that this will work.

In the end they decided not to use fire, they've had so many dragonglass arrowheads in the shipment that what little number of arrows they had could be fitted. It was for the better, they would've struggled to keep the arrows dry under the snow while they waited and then to alight them. It was a weak plan. But for once, something worked without a plan, and Jon was glad that it did.

There they were. The storm lifted above the cliffs just as Jon expected. They didn't seem to be in a particular hurry. They were just walking, in tight groups. And there were walkers, on horseback. To Jon's shock, there were other things too. Mammoths, bears. He couldn't see direwolves and his heart eased at that, but shadowcats walked with the wights.

Jon glanced ahead in the distance, waiting for the signal, for Dany to take flight and burn the path ahead, locking them in. They still didn't fill the path, they were taking their sweet time Jon thought, as if the land was theirs. It wasn't theirs. It belonged to the Nights Watch. It'll never be theirs, if Jon could help it.

Finally, it seemed they are reaching the end of the narrow path. Jon felt the slight movement, and knew the earth shook somewhat down below. Drogon took flight. Soon enough the dragon emerged with Dany on its back, and just like that, in its first flight it breathed fire crossing the path as it came out from between the mountains. The other two dragons followed.

"Now!" Jon shouted, and their archers jumped as one. Jon nodded with a smile to see the other side, to see Tormund, as the freefolk and Umber men stand and fire just as those beside him did, lines of men appearing all along the long cliff edges on both sides. He watched as it unfolded, as the arrows hit marks. A walker dropped from his horse and wights across the path fell. Jon laughed aloud. Mammoths, shadowcats, bears fell, as arrows found their marks. It was working, Jon's heart pumped in his chest in triumph. "It's working!" he shouted watching another walker drop in the distance, now truly dead, and wights around him falling like the lifeless corpses that they were meant to be.

He heard the noise from the north. Gods help us he thought, birds were approaching from the north. These were not living birds, they separated in two columns. "Swords! Protect the archers!" Jon shouted as he drew his sword, and then they were on them, the archers falling on their knees to allow movement above their heads as they kept on firing down the path. Jon cut off a raven, before he fell on his knees as well. He needed to see. He needed to know when to end it. His eyes caught side of two men on the other side battling an eagle, that seemed to him more of the equivalent of a giant to men in size. One of them fell with a cry, to Jon's shock quickly disappearing among the wights. And then they began to climb.

Jon blew his horn, three times, and just as they started they moved as one, ran back from whence it came while still battling the wights. As he reached the treeline he looked back just to see the silver dragon flying above the path breathing fire on them. He turned, and he ran.

It took considerable time to escape the mountain, while the shrieks of wights kept filling the air. The birds weren't on them anymore, they were around the dragons. Jon looked on worried as they were circling around Daenerys, but he couldn't change the plan now. She was up there in the sky, there was no way to protect her. He blew the horn again, as he swung atop his horse, and they rode as fast as the horses could carry them toward the camp.

As he reached the camp, he noted with relief that the word didn't describe the place anymore. The unsullied were way ahead, as planned, and those who stayed behind were all mounted now, ready to move. He glanced back only to see that Daenerys was still burning wights. They were atop the cliffs now, taken over the high ground where Jon and his men stood tall to ambush them, and they were running along the path of their escape.

"We have to move!" Edric shouted from afar to Jon, and Jon nodded, but didn't move.

"She didn't hear the horn!" he shouted back, just as Howland Reed appeared next to him. He blew the horn once more, but he knew he's too far away, if she didn't hear him at the edge of the mountain she won't hear him now. Dread filled him as he saw a spear launched, and Drogon swing to one side to evade it.

"We have to go, Jon," Reed said to him then and Jon turned.

"Go," he responded, "Go now! GO!"

Edric, on his way to them, heard the command and turned, and Jon blew his horn one more time to convey it to all the men. The sound of horses picked up, as the men behind Jon retreated, as he watched the spears flying in front of him, aiming at Daenerys and her flying children.

"Rhaegal!" Jon shouted then, not because he thought it'd work, but merely in desperation. He blew his horn again, but he could tell that she didn't hear it, he could see that she focused on burning them on the cliffs and in the path while staying alive. "Rhaegal come to me!"

He watched as the green dragon shot up in the sky and began to his direction. Finally, Dany saw her child flying toward south, and followed suit. Jon turned, begging the horse silently to run for its life. The dead were off the mountain, rushing toward him.

He was behind, way behind from his men. He could make out where they were ahead of him but could not see them, they only looked like a condensed storm of snow blown up high from the ground in the distance in front of him. He could hear the shrieks behind him, too, and knew they were close. They were fast, incredibly fast when they wanted to be. Jon saw the dragons circling back ahead and flying past him and felt the warmth of fire on his back as they began to protect his retreat.

Jon couldn't tell how long it took for him to finally catch up with the men, but when he finally did, and the dragons flew overhead, the men cheered. He rode past the columns of riders, to the front, to find Edric and Reed and Ser Jaime, and only slowed the speed once he found them. His mind kept wondering if it was worth it. They had the advantage before of being days ahead, but now they gave up that advantage. From now on, this was a true retreat, and Jon wondered if they could've made better use of what they had.

Finally, they caught up with the long column of unsullied marching. Their horn sounded, and the columns began to run once more. They had to put as much distance between them and the army of the dead as they could. It amazed Jon, I really did, how these men who trained to kill all their lives, ever since they could walk, were capable of running for hours upon hours. But they did so from Castle Black and they did so now. As long as the horses could carry the men, the unsullied would run beside them, somehow Jon was certain of it.

Riders appeared in the distance ahead and Jon once more rode ahead, Edric following his lead.

Knights of the Vale. Jon stopped as they reached each other. There was no time to report, but Jon learned as much as Bronze Royce sending them to see why those carrying the last shipment didn't return in time. And he could see on their shocked pale faces the effect of learning that the wall has fallen, that the army was retreating in haste. Looking ahead, he could make out the Last Hearth in the distance. They had to reach it before nightfall.

"I should've sent messengers ahead," Jon said, his fist hitting the table. Those few in the hall who stood around that table knew better than to speak. "I should've warned you to leave this accursed place already, but I ordered you to leave, what's taken so long?!"

Among the men stood little Ned Umber. "My gran, your grace," he muttered the words with some hesitation, "My gran refuses to leave. I told Lord Royce to leave but he refuses to leave without me, and I could not leave without gran, your grace. I am sorry, I really am…" the boy sobbed, fighting the tears of fear. To him, Jon was the good king of all the stories he's ever heard, and now, the good king was scolding him.

But Jon understood. The boy lost family in Robb's war, and lost the rest of it in his. He was but a 10 year old carrying on his shoulders all the worries and responsibilities of a lord in time of war, and he's done so admirable. He couldn't give up on his last family and Jon couldn't fault the boy for that.

Jon's face softened. "Gran must be a hell of a northern lass," he said. "Take me to gran, let's see which of us have more balls."

Some of those present chuckled as the boy turned, and the posse began its way through the corridors, all the while Jon and Royce giving commands to guards, knights of the Vale and Wolves. They were to leave this place, tonight. As much as Jon hated the thought of sending them out into the wild, he had no choice. There wasn't a day between them and the army of the dead. For a moment as he stepped through the door behind the boy, he wondered if he just lost this war. If his little ambush and his lack of foresight to send a messenger ahead has lost him this war.

Gran was old, very old, Jon thought, and obviously bed ridden, too. And sickly, she kept coughing, and as Jon stepped close, he could see the linen in her shaking hand was covered by patches of blood. Judging by the stale air, the windows covered in thick linen and the smell of waste, she's been laying here for some time, too. Her skin hung on her arm, not much more than joints and bone as it shook the linen to her mouth to address each bout of caugh. The old lady wasn't going to survive this war, whether the wights took her or not.

Jon looked back at the men, at Edric, his head motioning toward the boy, and Edric understood.

"Come along, little lord," Edric said with a pretence laugh as he took the boy in his arms, "you ought to show us what else is to be done. You're the lord of this keep, give us the orders then." He walked out with the boy without further ado.

"Leave, all of you," Jon said lowly, harshly. They all rushed out of the room as he could tell, his eyes never leaving the frail body in the bed. Jon sat down and took her hand, when the steps in the room ceased.

"You are the king in the north then." She said, making a vain attempt to sit up, so Jon leaned and pulled her up on the pillow.

"Aye, I am," he said softly.

"You have Stark eyes... Can you see why I am not leaving this place," her eyes were stern, so stern they could cut into Jon's core.

"I do."

"I told that foolish boy," she said then, interrupted by yet another caugh, "I told him to leave me. Whatever these dead men are like, what can they do that won't be done anyways."

Jon sighed at that. "They can make you walk again, until all your flesh rots off your bones. They can make you fight that little boy, perhaps even kill him," he whispered.

The old lady suddenly grabbed his arm with her free hand, her strength startling him. "Then you do it."

Jon felt the blood rush in his body, his skin crawl, his heart rise in his throat. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, silently taking in what those four short words meant to both.

Jon leaned forward and took the bucket from under the table beside the bed. The smell of human waste turned his stomach, as he's dragged the bucket close. He gently lifted her arm to hang above the bucket.

Then he swallowed, took a moment, pressed his eyes closed as a silent prayer to the Gods to forgive him for what he was about to do rushed through his thoughts. He glanced up once more, and she nodded, her face resolute. She was ready to die a long time ago. Jon took his dagger, and cut through her wrist, his other hand locking fingers with hers.

He's sheathed the dagger and took her free hand. They were silent, Jon cursing himself to be damned all eternity, wondering if they could've taken her, if they could've saved her, if there was any other way, even though he knew there wasn't. Then his thoughts fell silent. He watched as blood gently flowed into the bucket in a steady column, his eyes fixed on the life flowing away at his hands.

"Thank you," he heard her whisper and looked up. A tear flowed down her heavily wrinkled face, as her eyes settled in his. "Thank you for letting my die in my home."

It didn't take long at all. Soon she drifted off, and Jon let go of her hand, his fingers taking the wrist to lay the uncut hand on her body. He could still feel a barely-there pulse, the sign that she was still there, about to depart. He stood, for a moment taking in the sight. Gods forgive him, he thought.

He turned only to see Daenerys standing by the footboard of the bed. Whatever was on his face, whatever emotions he couldn't hide in his eyes, they compelled her to rush to him, to hold him, and Jon didn't feel strong enough to resist. He wrapped his arms around her as she did around him, burying his face in silver hair.

"I shouldn't have…" he whispered.

"You had to," she responded, parting from him to look into his eyes, as her hands cupped his face. "You had to, because the other option was far worse. She had a choice, it was her choice."

Jon stepped away from her then, walking toward the door. "I'll tell the men to build a pyre. We ought to burn her body before we leave."