A Song of Frost & Flame

by Chimaera1201

When Robert's Rebellion broke out, the ancient friend and ally of the Starks, House Tormont offered their oldest daughter to the Lords of the Corridor for their alliance. Powerful and respected, the Taugere family kept the way north safe and at peace for thousands of years. But a less known prophecy may declare if the world will freeze over again, or burn in the fires.

36. Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36 – THE PROMISE

Berterin sat on a stone, far and secluded from the world that they fought so hard to keep; but now felt far emptier than he'd ever imagined. The sun was rising, peaking its rim over the edge of the horizon. A sight that so many will never again get to see. How red it was, the light spilling through the clouds that hung listlessly in the distance. They won this war, the long night had ended, and dawn came again, but he felt wronged for all it cost them still despite the sacrifice of the Ardent King. He knew, he was meant to feel at least a shred of joy for what they accomplished, but all there was, was bitterness. A tear trickled down his worn cheek, leaving a chill trail behind. It felt like a part of his heart had been torn away, and it died in that night. Many had been lost, but those closest to them, that was the torture of victory. To take the lives of old and young. People you spent your entire life with, whom shared homes and hopes, were now gone. But he… He would never have the future they so often spoke of. Would never have heirs of his own. No one to continue his bloodline, and he hated all of it. How would they tell this to his mother, or his sister? News of this would devastate them both… And subtly he felt relieved that the responsibility for that, would be his father's, whom as much as he could tell, was handling the situation much better than he did. How he could remain so calm was beyond him, while his own being writhed in the emotional pain it caused, and he could but barely contain the urges to scream and cry. He'd lost someone he'd called brother as well, many years ago he recalled. He knew it. But, it wasn't entirely the same. He didn't see him die. He didn't hold his cold body, screaming his name in the end. That was the worst of it. Knowing there was no way to bring them back… A shadow fell over him, darkening the world through his already dim sight.

"Come along, son. It's almost time." His father's voice called him softly from behind. For all of the grief and spite, he wanted to run. Run far and away from here. Run home…

"Must I really?" he asked, not turning to face the head of their order.

"It's family, Berterin. Our responsibility." He reminded, and Berterin sat silent for a long moment before lowering his head.

"Yes… It is…" he finally agreed, and forced himself to his feet; his very spirit unsteady under the weight of what waited. When he looked up, his eyes met the deep green of his father's.

"It's never easy. And it never disappears. But we bear this, slowly better each day." He told, and Berterin only nodded without any words. Right now, he couldn't imagine it getting any better. They took the pathway back, walking in silence while thoughts continued to gnaw and claw, and the wound to his calf continued to throb and burn with each step. The days they played in the grand garden, racing their horses across the golden fields against each other, all the nicks and cuts from many long days of training together, the years spent apart and then finally reuniting again, only to lead to this. To the settlement of Smallember where all was gathered after the battle had ended. As they entered the grounds, he took note of the funeral pyres that had been built. Dozens of them, with the bodies already lay upon them to be burnt. And behind them, the people massed to honour the fallen. He paused for a moment, taking in all of the faces. Those who left this world, and those who were left behind. Then Berin looked back, regarding him carefully.

"Can… Can I do it?" he asked softly, his eyes still gliding over the dour expanse, imagining the pain of touching the bright flames to the wood. Berin drew a breath, and then glanced down.

"Of course." He allowed it. Berterin just looked on, over the many pyres for a moment longer, and then slowly followed his father further to the walls of the settlement where the survivors were gathered, passing one he glanced down at the face open to the sky. Peaceful and pale, and still so young. Stripped from this world before truly living his life. That life he'd dreamed of for so long, a life that would make his family proud. And now it was gone. Then he looked back at the group who was waiting, lit torches already held in their hands. And he saw him. He whom led them to this, he that brought this upon them, he whom they called "king", pallid and worn with a scar running the length of his cheek, supported by Michalis of their order. Yet, he felt no empathy. No pity. Brought from what a few hours ago was assumed to be his death bed, to see this. But he deserved it. Deserved to see what he'd done. He'd been his friend the day before, he'd even called him brother. But now, his brother was gone. It was Vaellion lying on that pyre, waiting to float away on the breeze… and he had seen but fourteen years of his life… The others said he broke his neck when he fell from his horse, he died instantly. Painlessly. But whatever pain he was spared, now lay rooted within his own heart. Insentiently, he took his place beside his father, falling into the silence that held them as those remaining also joined and the world was left with a dark, sombre ambience while several others including queen Daenerys lingered at some of the wood altars where those lay whom they shared a close companionship with, and she bid her final farewell to a beloved friend and advisor with a soft kiss to his cold brow. Then they moved back, and Jon Snow stepped forward. He'd elected to serve the eulogy, to pay tribute to their fallen. Stillness surrounded their world, and then the voice of the Warden of the North broke it.

"We're here to say goodbye to our brothers and sisters. To our fathers and mothers. To our friends. Our fellow men and women who set aside their differences, to fight together. And die, together. So that others might live." He cast a subtle glance at Rychon, trying to keep a proud posture despite his many wounds as colourless features simply stared forward. Colourless, save for his still bright blue eyes. Eyes that could set ablaze the very soul of a man.

"Everyone in this world, owes them a debt that can never be repaid. It is our duty, and our honour, to keep them alive in memory for those who come after us, and those who come after them. For as long as men draw breath. They were the shields that guarded the realms of men, and we shall never see their like again." Jon finally finished, and the lit torches were handed out. Berterin inhaled deeply, filling his aching chest with the cool winter air as his fingers wrapped around the wood, much the same as so many others. His father took another, to honour their fallen brothers, and their king one to tribute the lords that followed him. They approached the pyres, taking in the final vision of those whom would not continue their journeys in this world; and then he lowered the flames, casting them into the centre of the altar that lay before him, silently watching as the fire engulfed and swallowed what lay upon it. The pale skin turning black and melting before drifting away on the breeze as nothing more than tiny stars that evaporated in the cold. A life that was once so bright and hopeful and full of promise, now ashes. Now nothing… His eyes followed the black smoke drifting into the sky, floating to somewhere far away never to be seen again. Good bye, brother… Then he cast another glance at the figures to his right, a feeling he'd never felt before oozing out from his broken heart. Disdain. Black, cold, bitter hatred… Then he turned and stalked away, leaving them to that whatever they saw fit for themselves, and rather seeking the solitude of the undisturbed world. Rychon looked up, watching the limping form move slowly away from them, surrounded by his own ache and a sorrow that even his core could not disperse. They'd lost many, too many. Family, friends and allies all. But they who lived, could carry on and keep this world, and still honour their memory.

"Shall I deliver you to your chambers, your grace?" Michalis softly asked, coming up to his side.

"In a moment, I must tend to something first." He dismissed, and then forced himself forward through the breathless pain, following the shadow that vanished between the throngs, but his steps slow and weary. They hadn't spoken at all, and the way those green eyes regarded him, made him feel uneasy. I have to find him… His eyes followed the tracks in the freshly fallen snow, leading away from the village grounds, willing his body to move forward, one agonizing step at a time, the air in his lungs feeling hard and reluctant. His wounds hadn't started to heal, yet. But, that was of little matter right now. Forward… Always, forward… And yet, his body refused those thoughts. He paused to catch his breath, the strain of his injuries shuddering through each muscle. I have to find him… He fought against the urge to turn back, without knowing how much further he could go. He breathed in deep, the muscles screaming in their hurt, and then felt a hand wrap around his arm. Looking up, Berin was beside him, the deep green eyes soft and compassionate.

"Come, I'll help you." He offered, and Rychon smirked.

"I can walk just fine, lord Berin." He tried to dismiss him, but he only smiled, his grip not releasing its hold.

"I'm sure you can, your grace." He agreed, stepping forward and together they followed the footprints still leading away from the village. Some time later, they finally found the ghost they'd been hunting, standing on the hillside overlooking the burning pyres, simply staring forward as the endless clouds billowed into the sky, still and silent. Rychon drew another breath to steady himself.

"Berterin." The youngster did not turn to face him, and he could almost feel what he was thinking.

"I am sorry, for what happened." He tried to console him, followed by a long silence. It was something heartrending… They were brothers, all of them.

"I'm sure you are…" Berterin finally sighed, and then turned to face him. The disgust visible in his eyes, like the sparks of embers.

"It's your fault. This is all your fault! None of this would have happened, if you hadn't answered!" he suddenly accused, the anger boiling over him. His father tried to silence him, but a hard hand to his shoulder stopped him, and Rychon simply stared at him.

"I did. But consider this." He told back calmly, stares clashing.

"If I hadn't answered, millions more would have died." He finished, then watched Berterin slowly move forward, running a hand through his dark hair before their eyes met again.

"Those millions of others, wasn't my brother." He pointed out, and then passed them, heading deeper into the solitude, leaving the others behind him.

"No. They weren't…" Rychon sighed. But among them, if we failed, could have been your mother. Your sister. Your love. Everyone we ever knew…

"Just like your father." Berin suddenly breathed, and Rychon looked at him.

"I once told him, that if a star fell on Sunspear, he would take responsibility for it." He continued, staring forward. The sorrow was there, but he'd learnt to deal with loss. Hard as it were, there was nothing more. Then he looked at Rychon.

"This wasn't your fault." He tried, but the young king looked away from him, attempting to hide his eyes.

"It has to be someone's…" he relented, accepting this burden he would bear.

"Just give him some time. He'll come back." Berin assured, and they slowly started back to the settlement. Each step was torture, the strain wearing heavily on his worn body, but it was his mind that had the worst of it.

"I told him to hold back, to stay out of the fights…" Rychon told softly, the bitterness of what happened enveloping that memory.

"I know you did. And he chose to disobey those orders." Berin sighed, looking up at the sky.

"Fathers shouldn't have to lose their sons, and if I could change anything in this world…" he trailed off for a moment, then brought his attention back to the path they took.

"It's the hardest thing in this world. But he wanted so much to prove, that he could stand behind you that he didn't think of the consequences. The things we do for that, often overrule our sense of judgement." Rychon thought back to that day, when he and Berterin slipped out of the grounds. He didn't stop to think of what could happen to them, when they were alone and unprotected. They could have been killed that day, and no one would have known. And then Falgon came for them. He saved them from a fate they were too blind to see, because he wanted to prove himself stronger than what he truly was… But for Vaellion, no one came…

"I'm sorry, uncle. For everything." Rychon mumbled, again stopping to catch his breath.

"Like I've said before, Rychon. It wasn't your fault. He made a choice, and I can only accept it." Then he saw it, just a small fragment of a smile.

"My son died a hero. He was protecting his king." He breathed, and although to him it was a comforting thought, to the young king it was a crushing weight of guilt.

"He shouldn't have protected me… He wasn't ready…" Rychon said, his words different tones of sorrow before Berin's hand brought his left arm over his shoulders, supporting his weight on his own battered body.

"Stop thinking like that. He did what he did. And despite our wishes, it cannot be changed now. All that is left, are the kind memories we have of him. I don't want that to be changed, either." He told. He'd sat with him, with the body of his son. He'd shed his tears the night before, until there was no more. And then Rychon nodded, forced to agree. Vaellion was a hero, and everyone would know him as that.

"Come, let's get you back to the village. You need to rest… And I have black wings to tend to."

Milla rushed down the many corridors, the tears leaving cold streaks down her burning pale cheeks. The raven arrived shortly after noon, these dark wings bearing dark words. The war was won, but thousands of lives lost. Thoughtlessly she knocked on the large door, waiting for the voice from inside that finally invited her inside, and as she stepped through to meet those eyes, she instantly saw all colour leave her. The firelight of the hearth leaving a ghostly white glow to her skin as green eyes stared vacantly back, while the delicate hands of the gold haired girl to her side, anxiously wrapped around her arm.

"Who… Who is it?" she finally managed in a whisper, and she already knew. Milla could feel the words in her throat, but her voice near refused to form them.

"It's your brother." She forced out, in stuttering sobs. Stephanie's face changed into shock, then horror, then anguish as her hands covered her eyes.

"No… No… No…" stuttering whispers escaped through the clenched hands, and Bella's arms circled her, both suffocating in the suffering of it. They thought it was Berterin, that would have been obvious. He was a member of the order, charged with the protection of their lord and with experience in battle he would be in the midst of it all.

"Berterin is al right. It's Vaellion." She corrected gently, and then watched as the frail girl paused for just a moment, her eyes staring vacantly forward. Then she suddenly started crying, and darted from the room, her hands pressed over her face to shield her, and the Trentins were left watching her in despair, sharing the sorrow.

"How did it happen?" Bella asked softly, and Milla stepped forward.

"Fell from his horse." She mentioned, and the shock of it overwhelmed them, settling down on the bed as the tears came freely. Moments later, Bella looked up, having found some of her senses.

"Father? And Rychon?" she asked, and Milla drew a breath to steady herself.

"Your father's fine. Rychon was injured, but he'll be al right." She assured, and Bella stared at her.

"Injured? How?" she asked, her hand slowly covering her lips, the fear of what happened clawing at her. Anything could have happened.

"He didn't say." Milla breathed, the contents of the letter she received were vague on the nature of the injuries but gave the assurance that the wounds were not fatal. Then Bella lowered her head, resting her face in her palms, crying again as her mother soothed her. Why? Why did this happen? It's not fair…

"He shouldn't have been there…" she sobbed, shattered shards of her heart falling away, each a resentment for the loss. He was young and inexperienced. He was not meant to be there. It was a glorious death for seasoned warriors, those who lived their lives fully, in the ways they chose. A fate earned and deserved. Not for green boys.

"No, he shouldn't have. He wasn't ready." Milla agreed, then drew a deep breath, struggling to keep her tattered composure behind what she hoped was a bravery, but cursing the gods for seizing her youngest son's life from them.

"But these things happen." She sighed dismally, wiping away a tear as Bella looked up.

"You expected it?" she asked, staring at the flames in her chamber's hearth. My baby brother... He didn't deserve to die like that...

"An honest truth, your father and I sometimes spoke of it. The possibility of losing one of our sons. Or both. In a way, we had to be prepared for that, in this world where that is a likelihood." She explained, absently smoothing down the front of her grey dress.

"It doesn't make it any easier. But at the very least, there is an understanding for it." She told, and Bella nodded. They shared another moment in silence, just holding each other, searching the dark holes this left in their hearts for memories. Kind memories. Good memories.

"I recall, that day when we went down to the fisher's village. Lord Raeghun was to meet with the village master." Milla mentioned, and Bella thought for a moment.

"I remember. We spent that day at the beach." she brought it back, and Milla smiled.

"We did. It wasn't intended, but good anyway." she told.

"There were concerns about delayed shipments, and plans were discussed to improve trade so we all went down together. Falgon offered to take the children down to the water with Gavin and Derric until we were done. After the matters were addressed, we waited and waited. When you didn't come back, we went looking for you all." It was a severely warm summer day, and they took the road down to the beach, making their way through lush trees and shrubs with sweet flowers and swollen fruits, picked freely by passers by. They each were handed a smooth bulbous fruit, large enough to fill both hands, its skin rich shades of gold and ruby emitting its sweet smell. The inside was a rich sunset yellow, so succulent they couldn't finish all of it.

"We followed the trail, heading past the stone arch." she continued, again seeing all of it. Raeghun and Berin crossed the small expanse in front of them, under the natural formation; and she could still hear her husband's voice that day. Now that looks like fun... When they found the others, Bella was picking up seashells, dragging Derric along with her, who dutifully did his part in holding them for her. Their eldest boys were in the waves, splashing around and giving Gavin a good challenge, which he graciously allowed them each time they grappled him down into the water. For just a moment her heart stopped when she realized, that Falgon and Vaellion were not among them. But then renewed calmness came to her, when to her right she saw them. The great warrior was sitting on a stone at the base of the arch where the water met the sand, his powerful hands around the child's body where he was kicking, skipping and laughing hysterically at the waves catching his now bare feet. And the sentinel was smiling, his great sword leaning safely against the wall of stone next to them. He was happy. That is a beautiful sight... she'd mentioned, and then met with those frigid blue eyes that was now gone from their halls. The children are safe with him, and they know it... Claira had assured her. And it was true. All those long years, that had been true. When not in their lady's shadow, he was always with them. Protecting them. We expected you back at the village. Raeghun had announced their presence loudly, followed by a long silence, and then a laugh. My apologies, my lord. We were distracted. Gavin pardoned as he came up the small pebbled incline, soaking wet from his many falls. Bella came to them then, hauling Derric behind her. Mama! Look at how many shells I found! She'd announced happily, displaying the vibrant colours collected in the sentinel's hand. From the looks of it, it seems that Derric found more than you did. She'd laughed, and the sentinel simply smiled. When the lady speaks, I listen. They left the horses, tethered to the trees, and only returned to Mount Ardor with dusk. Bella still kept the shells she gathered from that day in a glass jar on a shelf on her hearth, the sparkling shapes casting vague shadows against the wall.

"That was a beautiful day." Bella agreed, a soft smile of her own. They were all together, then.

"It is these memories that we must hold on to. They are our most precious." she told, and Bella nodded as they held each other, for a moment longer. These memories would see them through all of the devastation, and perhaps something better awaited them in the future.

"I should go talk to Stephanie." She decided as she gently pulled back, and they both stood.

"Very well. I'll see to the kitchens." Milla agreed, and they departed the chamber, heading down the passages. These, vast and empty spaces. Descending the grand staircase, Milla made her way to the little door of the kitchen while Bella continued through the doors to their southern hall, where serving girls and scullions already saw to the tables. Their voices seemed as dim as the shadows cast along the stones, and she departed into the sweet air of their gardens. Following the garden trail, she passed along the flowers, shrubs and trees that once made this place seem a magical forest. Now drowned in cool darkness. Her friend, was sitting on the stone bench near the fountain, to the far back of this space. Secluded from the world.

"Stephanie?" Bella softly called to her, and she looked up to where the light started to wane away, wiping tears from her face.

"I'm sorry, Bella… I'm so, so sorry. I don't… know what else to say." She whimpered, looking away to hide her face, and then dissolved into sobs once more.

"I'm horrible. I'm a horrible person…" she cried, and Bella took a seat next to her, laying her hands gently on her back.

"Don't say that." She tried to comfort her, and then Stephanie looked back, meeting her eyes with tears running down her face.

"But I am!" she countered, falling silent as she tried to regain her composure before looking away at the far horizon where shades of violet lay thick.

"They were both your brothers…" she breathed softly, and Bella sat a moment just watching her.

"When your mother said, that it was Vaellion and not Berterin, all I thought was 'Thank the gods. Thank the gods it wasn't him…'. And… then I realized that…" she whimpered bitterly, then lowered her head into her hands again.

"That is a very selfish thought. I'm horrible!" she continued to cry, and Bella wrapped her arms around her, holding her close and slowly rocking to soothe her. This girl, was incapable of any malicious thought, and she felt guilt for being relieved for the smallest thing. It wasn't wrong to be sad or angry for something. It wasn't wrong to be happy or grateful for something. And there was both. They would grieve together for the loss of one brother, and together they would be grateful for all the other lives that were spared, and would return to them when this was all over.

"Oh, sweet Stephanie." She comforted her weeping friend.

"It's al right. Everything will be al right." They would await the day that their loved ones would come home to them once again.

Their fallen were honoured and gone, and preparations followed to host a victory feast the Smallember Courthouse, to celebrate their triumph over the dead while others made for home. The atmosphere was lighter as the lights of flames glowed in every space, and happier with mead flowing freely; while honoured guests were attended to eagerly, having shortly arrived back from Ramshorn to retake their journey north. Berin sat at one of the many tables, his remaining brothers of the order with him save for one. His son had decided not to join in their feast, and neither did their king. So, the seats of honour were granted to queen Daenerys of house Targaryen, to Warden of the North, Jon Snow, the lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark and her younger brother, Brandon. Along with them sat the queen's counsel, and the leader of the Freefolk. He sighed, listening to those around him; they who spoke of home and family, and laughed for one another's japes and stories. Serving girls carried pitchers up and down the hall, refilling empty goblets while others supplied the tables with bowls of fruit and bread, and trenchers with meat. But even this fine gathering, was overshadowed by grief and loss. A nudge to his shoulder brought his thoughts back to the table.

"How are you managing, lord Berin?" he was asked by the sentinel beside him, Samm who'd come to them from this very village more than a decade ago.

"Slowly better each day. Wounds heal, but they always leave scars." He said, bringing the horn to his mouth.

"I can't imagine, what it must be like. If it was any one of my own boys, I'd surely have gutted myself. I am truly sorry." He tried to comfort, but all Berin could reply with was a nod.

"He was a good lad. Took after his father, no doubt." He forced a smile.

"He had more of his mother in him. But his courage can never be denied." Berin said, and saw Samm raise his horn.

"To your son. The Ardent Guardian." He praised. It sounded grand. Their own order might have had a name similar to that millenia ago, before being known as the Sentinels.

"Hail to that." He agreed, and brought their horns together before drinking the cool liquid.

"Any word from his grace?" Samm continued.

"He's still weak, and in a lot of pain. But mending. Hopefully, we can return to our own home once he's strong enough." Then he paused for a moment, recalling the horror of that moment. The turmoil. The pale lifelessness that was their hope.

"How that last wound didn't kill him, is an absolute wonder…" he mentioned, then drank again. It was miraculous, to say the least. All things considered; he should have been dead.

"The strength of the phoenix, is something not understood. These men, survive things that most wouldn't." Samm said, and Berin lowered the horn to the table.

"That is true." He agreed, still not fully fathoming that marvel; but immensely grateful for it, nonetheless. Then a figure moved down the tables before the dragon queen's voice rang off the stones of the hall.

"Gendry…" Everyone's attention went to her as the youth stopped, and regarded her carefully, unsure of her intentions.

"That's right, isn't it?" she enquired, and he approached the table to face her fully, the anxiety still visible in his stiff movements. But his voice remained even.

"Yes, your grace." He confirmed.

"You're Robert Baratheon's son." She pointed out, followed by a short silence and then he nodded.

"You are aware he took my family's throne, and tried to have me murdered." She informed, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"I didn't even know he was my father until after he was dead." He confessed, and there was the slightest hint of a smile on her face.

"Yes. He's dead. His brothers are, too. So who's lord of Storm's End now?" she asked, and he watched her for a moment longer.

"I don't know, your grace." He relented, and her eyes glided over those in the hall.

"Does anyone?" she enquired, followed by a long silence. There was no current lord of that hold, perhaps only an overseer. Then her smile broadened.

"I think you should be lord of Storm's End." She proposed, and Gendry stared, taken aback by the bold suggestion.

"I can't be, I'm a bastard." He said, and in her eyes there was a spark of light.

"No." she denied, bringing to light her intent.

"You are Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End. The lawful son of Robert Baratheon. Because that is what I have made you." She announced, followed by a short silence before ser Davos Seaworth rose to his feet, holding his cup in front of him.

"To lord Gendry Baratheon, of Storm's End!" he praised, followed by others down the long hall, hailing the new Stormlord. It was a great honour, and loyalty ran deep in those roots. Baratheon will forever remember this day. Berin retook his seat with the others, continuing their discussions while listening to those around them. At the table next to theirs, ser Jaime Lannister sat facing the tall feminine warrior, urging her to enjoy herself at the feast, having defeated the dead and lived to tell others about it. Lord Tyrion left the high table, joining ser Davos at the far end in front of a burning fire while others proceeded to fill themselves with whatever was served. It was reminiscent of home. The voices, the lights and the tables; where all knew each other, where they all shared one house. A passing face was a name you knew and knew well, but here… Here they were all strangers. Strangers in the company of foreigners, with only one thing binding them together. They fought a single battle together, and they won. Perhaps his son had been wise, not to participate. But sometimes, even the company of a stranger was better than solitude. For all the horror they faced, this was a pleasant evening. Then the voice of the ginger haired headsman caught his attention.

"All of it!" the wildling leader urged Jon.

"No, not in one go." the warden declined.

"Go on, I believe in you." his lady sister then goaded further, a goblet of sweet mead held in her own hand.

"We have to celebrate our victory!" Tormund justified it, holding a large horn filled with wine in his hand.

"Vomiting is not celebrating." Jon explained, but his companion was not dissuaded.

"Yes it is." he countered, and Berin grinned as others laughed. He would definitely not count that among celebrating something, when you felt more sick than good, what was it worth? Why celebrate, when you won't remember doing so, only a few hours later? That was something, not to be wasted. Then the grizzly voice rang out loud through the hall.

"To the Dragon Queen!" he hailed, answered by the voices in the hall in agreement. Despite the reservations of so many, she with her soldiers and dragons were a great reason for their victory. The she stood, raising her own cup.

"To our brave allies, the lords of the Corridor!" she hailed in return, answered yet again by proud voices. Had only their king been here to accept the honour, but it seemed that the wildling leader was happy to do so for him, gulping down the contents of the great horn held in his hand, the wine spilling in small rivers down his jaw as others cheered him. Vaellion would have enjoyed being here. Then the lady of Winterfell stood, and left the table, seeing to other affairs while the men continued their celebration, and the silver haired queen seemed suddenly silent and ponderous. It was clear to him, that these two women with fire and ice in them did not see eye to eye on many things, and even for a kindness there was distrust. Some time later, members started to leave the hall, most sated while others sank ever deeper into their stupor. At the table next to theirs, the Lannisters and their companions were trying their knowledge at some kind of guessing game.

"Your turn." Tyrion indicated to his brother, and he thought a moment.

"You are an only child." he said, looking at the woman opposite from him.

"I told you I was." she recalled.

"You didn't." he denied.

"I did!" she countered quite fervently, which he simply brushed off.

"I surmised." he hinted, and Tyrion smiled.

"Drink!" he ordered, and she brought the cup to her mouth.

"Go again." she set it down, questioning in the hard thud sounding off the wood.

"Why does he get to go again?" she demanded, and Tyrion leaned slightly closer.

"Because it's my game." he concluded. What an interesting way to waste your time... came the thought, and he found himself wondering how many hours he and Raeghun might have spent on something similar. How drunk they might have become, knowing so much about each other.

"You have danced with Renly Baratheon." Jaime continued, and Berin smirked. That, was a well known secret. Everyone could drink to that. The youngster at her side shrugged when she cast him a glance, and again the command came.

"Drink!" so, she brought the goblet up from the table surface. His attention returned to those around him, and as time dragged on he felt himself drifting away in the ambience. There wasn't much left to say. When all was done, they would return home, and continue their lives. Perhaps somehow, try to build a better one. Moments later, the gruff voice of Tormund Giantsbane broke the atmosphere yet again, eagerly addressing those around him with his great horn in his hand.

"I saw him riding that thing." he declared loudly.

"We all did." ser Davos agreed, having rejoined them from his former place down the hall.

"No, no… I saw him… riding that thing!" Tormund insisted fervently.

"That's right, you did." Davos confirmed.

"I did!" the ginger head man added happily, and then turned to face Jon.

"That's why we all agreed to follow him! That's the kind of man he is." he continued, while the queen simply watched them.

"He's little… But he's strong!" he praised, throwing an arm around the scrawny shoulders.

"Strong enough to befriend an enemy, and get murdered for it! Most people get bloody murdered, they stay that way! Not this one!" he jested, wine spilling from the horn in his motions as he slammed a hand onto Jon's chest, and laughed. The warden tenuously rubbed the area, now stinging at his skin.

"I didn't have much say in that." he dismissed it casually, but Tormond proceeded.

"Yah, he comes back, and keeps fighting. Here, north of the wall, and back here again. He keeps fighting! He keeps fighting! He climbed on a fucking dragon and fought! What kind of person climbs on a fucking dragon? A madman? Or a king!" he exclaimed, and Berin scoffed. Yours is not the only king to ride a beast of myth and legend... He remembered it, so clear. That brilliant light gliding through their night sky like the sun. And on its back, was the Ardent King... He listened to the men laughing, but there was a different kind of ominous silence. One he did not entirely trust. And for just a moment his eyes met those of the dragon queen, her expression vacant and dark. Then she stood, and quickly left the hall with her counsellor following; and a soft hand to his shoulder brought his attention back. Behind him, stood a young woman, smiling whimsically. Her hair rich ringlets of beaten copper framing a gentle freckled face, and bright grey eyes.

"Is everything to your liking, m'lord?" she asked softly, and he smiled.

"All is well, thank you. This has been a fine evening." he agreed. She sat down at his side, and they simply spoke for a time, and he barely noticed the passing of it. It was a kind alternative, when he'd spent weeks in the harsh company of soldiers. She was called Fawn, and listened eagerly to his replies following each of her many questions. She'd spent all of her two and twenty years in this village where her father owned the butchery, and the world beyond a mile of its edge was a great mystery while the greatest knowledge she had of places or names were the words of others. It was the south that seemed to intrigue her the most, those places where it was always warm. Then through the sweet cloud in his mind left by the mead, he felt pressure to his leg. Something moving soft and slow from his knee to his thigh, tantalizing in its sweet touch. For half a heartbeat he thought of Milla, what he wouldn't give to spend this night with her. How he ached to feel her beside him, her ragged breaths against his shoulder. As he glanced down he saw the hand, resting on him. It belonged to the girl at his side.

"You should go. I'm sure you have other duties to tend to." he told, and she smiled.

"I've no tasks left, m'lord." she assured, her voice like chimes below the clamour of the hall. The sensation was invigoratingly enticing, and it was filling him like a slow moving stream.

"Go. Now." he urged, and she leaned slightly forward.

"Is something wrong? Have I displeased you in any way?" she asked, her eyes searching him with a questioning.

"No. Just go." she stared at him for a moment longer, then sighed and stood, walking away down the length of the hall as the feeling faded away with her.

"She could have made you happy, for a little while." someone told him, voice soft and chill as a winter breeze, and then he faced the lady taking a seat opposite from him; dressed entirely in black with the firelights shimmering in her lush auburn hair, the warmth of her cool blue eyes not reflected in her stolid stare.

"She might have. But no. My wife is waiting for me, back home…" Berin brushed it off, hoping that they would move on sooner rather than later.

"Lord Berin Trentin, The Crimson Knight. Head of the Sentinel Order." she pointed out, allowing that she knew who he was although she was far too young to remember the time they met. But, there were always stories.

"That I am, lady Sansa." he confirmed with a nod.

"It seems that tonight's festivities did not lure everyone to the tables." she mentioned, clearly hinting at the missing faces.

"Our king is healing from his wounds, and my son... well, he has a lot on his mind right now." he pardoned, and then he remembered.

"I am sorry, for the devastating loss to your family. It's never easy." he consoled, and she glanced down.

"We learn to deal with it. But with years of loss upon loss, it just becomes another void." she breathed. They spent a little while together, talking of home and family. Then she pardoned herself, and he left the hall thinking it better to seek out the peace of sleep before another day would bring with it new light and new challenges. He spied a small figure moving away from him, around the corner down the passage on his way to the outer yard to claim a breath of fresh air. The hall had become exceedingly warm, and the sour smell of wine among other things that had filled and spilled the hall. Temperaments were better, but still there was a sombreness to things. The queen had left quite suddenly, in silence from the hall; and he could but wonder what it was that she was thinking. What dark thoughts had gone through her mind at that time. She'd become increasingly sullen over the past few days, and the clouds only grew darker. The outside air was cool and calming, with torches lit on the building walls as he walked on the damp cobblestone paths. Nearing the stables, he saw a shadow moving between the horses, and decided to investigate. Inside, he found a young man brushing down his courser in the slits of moonlight filtering through the shadows.

"You've missed quite a feast." Tyrion mentioned, and the youngster looked back for a moment to where he was leaning against one of the many wood beams holding up the roof of the stalls.

"Others have more to celebrate than I do." he quipped, before turning back and continuing his work as the horse snorted into a pile of fresh hay.

"We've defeated the dead, that's something everyone should celebrate." Tyrion said, coming closer and sitting down on a small crate.

"If you say so..." the youngster sighed, and Tyrion studied him.

"You're lord Trentin's son." he identified, and at that Berterin paused for a moment.

"I am." he confirmed, then ran the brush over his courser's rump and down the flanks in smooth motions.

"The youngest of the Sentinel Order." Tyrion continued.

"Yes." Berterin confirmed once again.

"You lost your brother, in the fight." Tyrion recalled, and Berterin paused once more, lifting his face to the sky, taking in the soothing air.

"Are you going somewhere with this?" he suddenly asked, almost irritably, and Tyrion glanced down. That, was a tender point.

"No. Nowhere in particular. I just remembered, when I was young my brother and I used to go out riding. And this one day, we came across a cattle herd. The farmer's sons were driving them to the field, and I wanted to stop to help. Coming from a powerful noble house, the closest we got to an ox was the steak on our plates." he told, and Berterin listened in silence.

"When we returned, we were up to our waists in mud and grime. Father wasn't happy. Lannisters mixing with the common folk? That was something unheard of." he sniggered, while the youngster continued to brush the dark pelt.

"Jaime, said that it was his idea. That he wanted to watch the cattle. That he was simply curious, on how other people lived their lives. He received a scolding, where I would have got a good beating." he explained, and then studied the young man again.

"You and your brothers, shared a better kinship. Of all my family, my brother was the only one who ever truly cared a grain for me. And he tried. I would have been dead now, if it weren't for him." Berterin scoffed.

"My brother is gone. Nothing will ever bring him back." Berterin told, and Tyrion sighed.

"You still have one left." he said softly, this brought the youngster to a halt, and he simply stared in front of him, his arms resting over the steed's back.

"I may have called him that, once. But he's not my brother. Not any more." he breathed, all of the bitterness welling up into his throat. Then he heard the small man standing up again.

"No, he's your king now." then he turned to leave. Before exiting the stables, he stopped again and turned back.

"Brother is brother. Whether it be by blood or battle. You had both." then he vanished, and Berterin was left wondering. All those many years they spent together, growing up the way they did. Brother is brother... Feuds had left many houses and families broken over the many centuries, even wiped some of them out. His own was gone, and would never be brought back. Then he leaned forward, resting his weight against his courser, fighting to keep the sorrow at bay. He was gone... but not lost. Then he breathed, the quivering air hard in his chest, released in soft sobs as he wept once more when the realization struck him, that it could have been both of them. It could have been all of them. Everything could have been annihilated, their entire world destroyed and their lives and future eradicated. All could have been wiped out, with nothing left. But, because they had each other, they fought against that. They fought for it. They won, at the cost of so much. But they won. Perhaps a bright future, with good memories surrounded by loved ones, was not such a dismal prospect. He just, somehow needed to overcome this strangling feeling of resentment, the hatred for that bitter loss. In time, he could do that. But didn't know if it could be right now. Once they returned home, he would spend most of his days in his sister's company, at any rate. After that, time might mend them again. They hadn't spoken since the day of the tribute, and as many times as he wanted to, he decided against it. It couldn't be now. Not this soon... But he did think of Rychon, on odd occasions. Their king who was resting in a room in one of the larger hovels that this village consisted of, one belonging to the master. A simple settlement, with good people, it was enough. The septon, who was also a learned man in medicine and healing, who'd done his best to treat the wound and seal it, had come to see him several times, and each time completing his examination prayed to the gods, thanking them for this miracle that had stayed his life. While the injuries to his hand, neck and cheek were nearly fully healed, the wound to his chest was deep and still cause for concern with constant care. He glanced at the breastplate, waiting for him on the chair next to the dresser, examining the crimson stains that still marred the steel around the hole left by the blade. The blade that must have killed him, that had barely missed both his heart and lung. They said that fact alone, was what saved him. Others speculated that both the body of the Night King that he held that night, and the steel of the breastplate hindered the blade enough, not to cause sufficient injury to be fatal. Both equally possible and terrible all the same. Then he lay back, watching the shadows dance across the wood of the rafters above him. No, it wasn't just that. It couldn't be. My sear heals the living, and wounds the damned... It was her... The power of the phoenix had healed him just enough, not to perish. Just enough... Darkness enveloped him, and through its shadows he could see the blue feathers surrounding him, the heat gently moving into his being, calming the hurt, easing the blood and mending him. Gently like a mother's touch would. There he remained in the soothing touch, the light warmth that brought back remnants of what was once his strength. As soon as he was able, they would return home. To their lives. A knock to the door stirred him from sleep, and his chest filled with a painful breath. But he allowed entry to the visitor, watching as the face of a friend appeared.

"Good evening, your grace." he greeted formally, and Rychon smiled.

"Good of you to visit me, Gendry." he replied, and the youth stepped inside closing the door behind him.

"How are you feeling?" he enquired, coming closer to take a seat on the small chair.

"Still weak, and a lot of pain. But better, than a few days ago." Rychon replied, and Gendry smiled as he examined the figure in front of him.

"That's good. Really good. Many didn't think you'd survive." he said, and Rychon moved to try and reach a better position, despite the protest of his screaming muscles.

"I didn't think I'd survive. I shouldn't have, all things considered." he finally breathed, having managed a mostly sitting position, the furs falling down to his waist.

"But you did. You're lucky." Gendry said, his eyes going over the bandages surrounding Rychon's body, and noticed new scarlet blemishes.

"It was more than just luck." the young king said.

"Even now..." Rychon followed his eyes, then snickered.

"The bleeding itself has mostly stopped, it's more secretion from the wound. And the herbs in the dressing cause a brownish colour." he assured, and Gendry nodded.

"I'm sorry for coming this late, though. I just, came to say goodbye." he said, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.

"You're leaving?" Rychon asked, rather surprised.

"For Storm's End." then he chuckled.

"Her grace, queen Daenerys has named me lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End." he announced, and Rychon smiled. That was a grand thing.

"I see. Well, congratulations. I'm sure you'll do well." he applauded him, but the youngster seemed anxious of the concept.

"To tell you the truth, I have no idea what to do. I grew up in Flea Bottom, remember. The closest I've been to nobility was their company, very recently." he confessed, but Rychon laughed.

"It doesn't take much. Just be kind, and honourable." he assured, and Gendry eased slightly.

"I have a lot to learn, I'm sure. But I'll give it my best." he promised, then extended a hand in greeting.

"Farewell to you, Ardent King. May you heal well, and fate deliver you and your men safely home." Rychon took his hand, old strength still lingering in his fingers.

"And to you, Stormlord." he returned, sharing a good moment. Perhaps they would meet again someday, but never forget the good will forged in the hardships they had faced together. Then Gendry stood and left the room, which returned to its former still calmness, but for a while sleep would not revisit him and he was left thinking, of everything until the world sank away once more, into that soothing warmth where glittering wings folded around him.

In the days that followed the Victory feast, the village of Smallember remained a haven for soldiers and their leaders while others who had less to offer returned to their dwellings. And on an equally chill morning, an assembly had been called in the counsel chamber of the courthouse to discuss where they would move from here, and what was left to them. In attendance was the Dragon Queen with her advisors, the Warden of the North with his own, and the Ardent King with his counsel. Berin continued to watch him, the concern greatly disapproving of leaving him. Rychon still hadn't healed and might take a long while to do so. But despite the wounds, and the agony he was undeniably in, he insisted to face his trials regardless of the advice from others to continue his rest while his trusted members may tend to any assignments on his behalf. A map was spread out on the large table, dotted with stones to represent their forces. The tall foreigner in black leather armour whom led the queen's forces stepped forward, taking a handful of stones from the table.

"Half are gone." He told dismally, and then Jon stepped forward as well.

"The northmen as well." He included, removing another handful of stones from the table. Followed by Berin, taking half of the stones that was once half of their fighting men.

"As are ours." It was a savage blow, having to lose so many lives and only now the reality of it was far too clear. Secretly, he hoped that they would return home. But their final decision on that, had yet to be made, and so they were obligated to be here. Then lord Varys stepped forward, adding several stones to the map.

"And the Golden Company has arrived in King's Landing, courtesy of the Greyjoy Fleet. The balance has grown distressingly even." He advised.

"When the people find out what we have done for them... We saved them." Missandei proposed from the queen's side, hoping that their forces would have the chance to grow still.

"Cersei will make sure they don't believe it." Daenerys countered, then looked over those in attendance.

"We will hit her hard. We will rip her out, root and stem." She decided, but then Tyrion looked up from the map at her.

"The objective here is to remove Cersei, without destroying King's Landing." He pointed out.

"Thankfully, she is losing allies by the day. Yara Greyjoy has retaken the Iron Islands in her queen's name. The new prince of Dorne pledges his support." Varys agreed with him.

"No matter how many lords turn against her, as long as she sits on the Iron Throne, she can call herself 'Queen of the Kingdoms'." Daenerys told, then looked down at the map, her eyes settled on the depiction that was King's Landing.

"We need the capital." She put forth.

"I watched the people of King's Landing rebel against their king when they were hungry, and that was before winter began. Give them the opportunity and they will cast Cersei aside." Tyrion suggested, recalling the days of suffering in the great city under the rule of king Joffrey.

"We'll surround the city." Jon added.

"If the Iron Fleet tries to ferry in more food, the dragons will destroy them. If the Lannisters and the Golden Company attack, we'll defeat them in the field." He told.

"Once the people see that Cersei is our only enemy, her reign is over." Tyrion conceded, hoping to lessen the risk of further unnecessary bloodshed. Daenerys stared at them for a long moment, and then lowered her eyes.

"All right." She allowed, but then another voice rose from behind them.

"The men we have left are exhausted, many of them are wounded. They'll fight better if they have time to rest, and recuperate." Sansa advised, and Daenerys looked at her, an almost annoyed glint in her striking eyes.

"How long do you suggest?" she asked, and the lady of Winterfell took a moment to think.

"Can't say for certain, not without talking to the officers." she concluded, receiving an almost rancid stare from the silver haired woman.

"I came north to fight alongside you, at great cost to my armies and myself. Now that the time has come to reciprocate, you want to postpone?" she challenged.

"It's not just our people, it's yours. You want to throw them into a war they're not ready to fight?" Sansa replied coldly, but the queen simply brushed the notion aside.

"The longer I leave my enemies alone, the stronger they become." she said, and then Jon turned towards his sister.

"The northern forces will honour their promises, and their allegiance to the Queen of the Kingdoms." he promised again, as if reminding her of that pledge, and then faced Daenerys.

"When you command, we will obey." he agreed, then she smiled and nodded before turning her attention to another.

"And what of your people?" she and, directing her question at the young king whom regarded her calmly.

"I've kept my word. We fought against the northern threat, as agreed." he told, for the moment seeming intent to leave it at that.

"And what of the southern threat?" the queen quickly emphasized.

"Is one I am well aware of, but desire no more destruction upon my people." he said, thinking of the thousands of people he stood for, and what they all lost.

"It may be best for the time being, to allow our men the time to recover their strength." Berin agreed with him, but the icy stare remained.

"And so, you will abandon your allegiance?" Daenerys challenged.

"My allegiance, and that of my people, is to whom I say it is!" Rychon suddenly countered, his voice hard and anger hidden behind the words, flooding the hall with a dark silence. The agony had made him irritable, and the longing for home was a grievous vex. Then he drew a deep breath, not breaking the hold their eyes had made. There was defiance in the purple glare, but whether she wished to accept it or no, he was a king. And retaliation to this would not bode well.

"You will have my answer by morn." he finally sighed. Then lord Tyrion looked up, raising his voice and hoping to break the heavy atmosphere and what lurked within it.

"So, if all are in agreement, Jon and ser Davos will ride down the King's Road with the northern troops and the bulk of the remaining Dothraki and Unsullied. A smaller group of us will ride to White Harbour and sail from there to Dragonstone with our queen and the dragons accompanying us from above. Ser Jaime has chosen to escort lady Sansa and her brother back to Winterfell, where he will stay as a guest while repairs are done." he concluded their meeting, bringing Daenerys's attention back to the table. And after a moment, she seemed more content.

"We have won the great war. Now we will win the last war. In all of the Kingdoms, men will live without fear and cruelty. Under their rightful queen." she announced, followed by a final acrid glare before moving away from the table. With Berin's support, Rychon left the hall back to his quarters to continue his rest where two members of their order would keep constant watch, while preparations were slowly made to leave the village. Berin left him there, proceeding on his own rounds and issuing orders that their own people start assembling their arms and wares in any event of further instructions. It was a long chill day that they spent on the village grounds, tending to whatever needed their attention as dusk slowly and tediously settled back into the world they fought so hard to preserve, but dawn was never too distant, and would never seem so promising as it was now that they continued to live, even for all it would bring. Yes, the great war was done. One battle where all would rise, or fall. And it was done. So was their part in it, and home beckoned. Light had turned to darkness, and he was seeing that the last of his effects were stowed away before glancing at the sword leaning against the wall, its deep red eyes leering back at him. He took it from its place, and held it up to feel the weight of it. For its massive size, it was barely heavier than a normal longsword. After the first day of having it, he barely noticed carrying the great blade on his back. This was a king's sword, and he felt powerful while possessing it. But before too long, he would return it to its rightful owner. He thought of the man whom once wielded it, how effortless it seemed. The sword was a part of him, and it defended their families without fail for aeons. He stared at the red eyes leering back, the flicker of the lights in the spaces making the eyes look alive. Then a knock roused him, and he glanced back allowing entry to his visitor, another member of their order. Samm smiled.

"My apologies for disturbing you, lord Berin." He pardoned as he stepped inside.

"Don't worry. I wasn't busy." He replied, replacing the great blade where he'd taken it from.

"Our king requests your attendance." Samm informed, and Berin nodded before proceeding to follow back to the large abode. In all likelihood, they would receive orders on where they were to go from here. He knocked on the door, and then stepped inside.

"You wanted to see me, your grace?" he presented himself, finding Rychon sitting on the small chair next to the bed, the bandages still covering his body and a light stain on the fabric over his chest. Again he realized, how lucky they were.

"I did. I need your counsel, uncle." Rychon replied, sitting back as he beckoned Berin to join him.

"Anything, of course." He assured, closing the door and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. There was a moment's pause, and then Rychon sighed.

"We've defeated the Night King and his army of the undead, but now we face a new question. Whether to return home, or to continue down to King's Landing with the others, and end things there." He brought up, and Berin thought for a moment.

"Well... That would depend on what you decide. If you say we go home, we go home. If you say we go south, we go south." He concluded, and then Rychon glanced away.

"It's not just about what I want. I want to go home. I want to leave all of this behind us, and let them bludgeon each other in any way they see fit to do so for their damned throne while my people continue to live their lives in peace." Rychon told, but then again hesitated for a moment.

"But, I promised Jon that I would help them against their enemies." He reminded.

"And you kept that promise." Berin told, assuring the youngster that he'd done as he'd said and had no further obligations to anyone for the wars of man.

"I know. It's just..." Rychon trailed off, and then brought his eyes back to the head of his order.

"If we leave for Mount Ardor tomorrow like I wanted to, how long before we have another war to face? Whoever has King's Landing, will come for us. I'm not sure if I want to risk that." Rychon cautioned softly, thinking back to the counsel of earlier that day.

"Either way, Rychon. Their people are wounded. Our people are wounded. You're wounded. It could be months before anything happens." Berin said, calculating that on both fronts it could take up to a year for their forces to be fully battle worthy once again.

"You saw her today. The way she was. She won't leave us be, not for long. And neither will Cersei. Despite our alliance with the North, should it come to another battle, we'll stand alone regardless of whether I submit or not." Rychon predicted before falling silent, his eyes staring ponderously at the light of a candle on the table next to them. He was right, in that. The dragon queen would brand them deserters, while the lion queen would settle for traitors. Both had one retribution.

"What would you do?" Rychon suddenly asked, and Berin found himself taken aback by the question, staring blankly for a moment, and then smiling sheepishly.

"Me? I don't know. But, your father once told me to oppose his wants for his responsibilities. But remember, your responsibility is first and foremost to your own people before anyone else." Berin reminded him gently, then simply watched as he stared into space, almost seeing the thought flashing behind the bright blue eyes before he looked up again.

"I want no more suffering, for anyone. But which decision will bring more, in the end?" he breathed, trying hard to find a way forward.

"Well, whatever you decide, Rychon. We'll follow you." Berin assured, and the young king slowly nodded.

"Thank you." A long moment later he forced a smile, bringing himself slightly forward.

"I suppose that my lady would skin me alive once we reach home." He tried to jest, and Berin smirked. The decision had been made.

Bella stood in the southern hall with her companions, speaking softly as the serving girls and scullions cleaned the hall for their morning meal. She'd been awake since early this morning, feeling the tugs of nausea stir her from any sleep that may have been left in those final scarlet moments. The smell of searing sausages wafting from the kitchen rousing the feeling that had remained pitted in her stomach. Perhaps she'd pass this morning's serving for some pieces of sweet fruit pieces and tea instead. Moments later, maester Gerdwyle came hurriedly through the doors towards them, a small rolled parchment clutched in his hand and his eyes anxious.

"Begging your pardon, my lady." He called softly for their attention, and she turned towards him.

"What is it?" she asked, mirroring the dread in his sombre face.

"A message has arrived from our king." He told, presenting the scroll to her. For half a heartbeat she questioned him before recalling, that another account had reached them some days ago, that her beloved Rychon had been named the Ardent King by their people. She slowly took the letter, then unrolled it and read the words over, and over, and over until the tears started streaming down her face. No… No! She felt overwhelmingly warm, pricks flooding their way down her spine. Before consciously deciding to do so, the threw the letter down and ran for the gardens, seeking of its cool air to calm her sudden fever. They haven't been gone for long, but still it felt that each moment was a year. Each sunrise was lonely, and each sunset was empty, and more and more were simply stitched in between. She finally stopped, leaning over the balustrade at the edge of the garden, staring down the sheer cliff at the churning water named Blazewater Bay far below. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm her ragged breaths that came in stutters amidst her suppressed sobs. This can't be… It can't…

"Bella?" she turned around, finding her mother behind her with the crumpled note held in her hand, understanding that she already knew.

"It's not fair! It's not fair!" she cried out, and Milla approached her.

"Oh, my sweet." She tried to comfort.

"It's not! He kept his promise! He did as he said he would!" Bella continued, the whirls of anger, frustration and longing churning like in her core like the maelstrom before her hands came up to cover her face, and stop the relentless tears that waited to ravage her. Soft arms enveloped her, and she wept.

"It's not fair… They're… on our lands… And they can't come home." She cried as her mother gently tried to soothe her.

"It's al right." But the words didn't seem comforting. Nothing was right.

"It's not!" she refused, shaking her head to manage the infuriating thoughts inside.

"Bella, they'll come home. They will." Milla insisted, and then gently pulled back.

"But Rychon is doing what he believes is best. By continuing his alliance, we may have stronger ties to the other realms when the wars are over, rather than fearing a threat." She explained, and although she knew it to be a logical truth, it didn't change anything she felt. No truth of the mind could will away what flowed through the heart.

"I know… I know. That is something he would do… I just…" then she lifted her head, turning away to face the endless ocean.

"I miss them. So much…" she sighed, and the arms gently tightened around her. It didn't make her feel any better. It didn't ward off the loneliness.

"It won't be forever, Bella." Milla assured her again softly, and she breathed in, filling her lungs with the salt air that smelled so sweet here. The mask that covered that truth… They would return, but it would feel far too long before they did.

The morning came in hues of cold grey, but the horses stood saddled and waiting while the soldiers started to assemble, their imminent march to the southlands drawing near. The announcement that the lords of the Corridor would go south was sudden, and met with both dismay and understanding, the former being the more obvious. And some reserved gratitude from others. Berin watched as Rychon accompanied Jon Snow through the encampment after arrangements were met, approaching the large ginger man whom led the Free Folk.

"You're not going to ride the dragon south?" Tormund teased, and Jon smiled.

"Just a horse. Rhaegal needs to heal, he doesn't need me weighing him down." He replied, and the red haired man grinned.

"You weigh as much as two fleas fucking." He teased, and then breathed out.

"I'm taking the Free Folk home. We've had enough of the south." He decided, acknowledging that after centuries of their efforts to come here, it just wasn't the same. It wasn't the luster they imagined, and not the freedom they needed. Then he leaned slightly closer.

"The women down here don't like me." He joked, making Jon snigger slightly.

"This is north, you know?" he reminded his friend,

"And the Free Folk are welcome to stay." Jon assured, hoping he might change his mind. But Tormund shrugged.

"It isn't home. We need room to wander. I'll take them back through Castle Black as soon as the winter storms pass. Back where we belong." Tormund suggested, and then Jon sighed looking back at the great wolf some feet behind them, watching eagerly.

"It's where he belongs, too. A dire wolf has no place in the south." He sullenly decided, and then returned his eyes to the man in front of him.

"Will you take him with you?" he asked, watching the taller man stare at him like he was curious why the Warden would relinquish his close companion.

"He'll be happier up there." Jon said, knowing it was true. The snow of the lands beyond the wall, would be better suited to the great wolf.

"So would you." Tormund mentioned, and Jon sighed.

"I wish I was coming with you. This is farewell, then..." he said, and Tormund shrugged.

"You never know." They embraced, bidding their goodbye as friends before the large man pulled back.

"You've got the north in you. The real north." Tormund told him, and then turned to Rychon.

"And you… In you burns something that I'll never forget." He said, and Rychon smiled.

"In us all, my friend." He returned, extending a hand. But instead of a fond handshake, the ginger man pulled him forward into another embrace.

"May your reign be long, young king." He said softly, the powerful arms sending searing lashes through Rychon's body, and he suppressed a painful grunt; then the wildling pulled back with an apologetic smirk.

"Sorry about that." But Rychon smiled, bringing a hand over the wound to ease the pulse that throbbed there.

"It's al right. May good fortune be with you and your people, Tormund." He replied, and then Tormund moved away while another couple came from the other side of the yard, to greet them as well. Samwell and a young woman known as Gilly, who were to return to Horn Hill. Jon embraced the woman first, and then a moment later pulled abruptly back looking down towards her stomach. Then their eyes met again, and she smiled. Then he looked at Sam, who nodded as Jon stepped back.

"Yes, well… The nights have been getting longer, and… there wasn't that much to do in Oldtown, there's only so many books a person can read, wo we-" Sam started to explain before Gilly cut him off.

"I'm sure he knows how it happened, Sam." She assured, and then looked back at Jon.

"If it's a boy, we want to name him Jon." She announced, and the Warden stared at her for a moment before smiling modestly again.

"I hope it's a girl." Then he looked at Sam, and they embraced for a long moment, friendship becoming a thin thread over the distances they must now take. Then they pulled back, watching each other as emotions tugged and wreathed to be made known.

"You're the best friend I've ever had." Sam told him, and Jon returned his words.

"You too, Sam." He assured, and Sam nodded before looking to Rychon.

"Perhaps, you might consider, summoning the Phoenix again, for the coming battle?" he advised, but Rychon shook his head.

"No. Her part in the war is done. Her purpose was the protection of life, not the whims of men. Or women." He declined, glancing away for just a moment. That entity would not be submitted to the chains mankind threw upon each other. That was a different kind of freedom, a pure one. Bound by fate, only.

"Oh, well. Good fortune to you then, your grace." Sam said, forming a polite bow but Rychon extended his hand, another gesture of friendship.

"And to you, Samwell Tarly." He replied, and the timid man's fingers wrapped around his. Then he moved away with Jon, whom stopped for half a heartbeat to stare at the great white wolf while Berin approached his son on the other side of the yard, preparing his horse with another member of their order. From their demeanour, it seemed that they had planned to go a different path.

"Berterin?" the youngster looked up at him, and then smiled as he placed a hand on the pommel of his horse's saddle.

"Jaysen and I are travelling down south with lords Tyrion and Varys as emissaries of the Goldfields." He revealed, and Berin stood perplexed for an instant.

"When was that decided?" he asked, not having known of the change in plans.

"Early this morning." Berterin said quickly, and then forced a smile.

"Rychon thought it might be a good idea to have representatives of our country with them. For courteous reasons." He explained, and Berin shifted almost uncomfortably. It was unseemly for the head of their order not to be notified of alterations such as these even if the king himself had ordered it.

"I would sooner call it sensitive reasons." He corrected, and Berterin looked away from him.

"It will be al right. We'll meet up with you at King's Landing in a couple of weeks." He assured, but Berin brought his hand up to his shoulder.

"Berterin…" he tried, the reasons for this could not have been what he'd want it to seem.

"It's fine. I… I need the distance." He finally said softly, and Berin sighed. There it was. He was still angry, still resentful. Still, that black bitterness clung to him like pitch. And although there was no true reason for it, it remained. And he had no choice but to understand, and move forward.

"Very well. Take care of each other." Berin told, and his son nodded.

"We will." He promised, and then Berin returned to his own steed to mount, and join the march down south as had been agreed. He brought his courser alongside the great grey destrier, Rychon slightly slumped forward as his hands rested on the horse's neck, evidently in pain from the wounds that were as of yet, still mending. By all accounts, he should still be pent to rest.

"Are you fit to ride?" he asked, and the blue eyes met his with a stubborn smirk.

"I have to be. Time won't wait for us, and I'd sooner have this done with." He brushed it off, and slowly forced himself back into a better position.

"What of the others?" he asked, and Berin looked out over the masses, the remaining members of their order waiting on them with their forces to join the flow of soldiers over the realms.

"Still willing, although dreary. Many thought we would be heading home." He reported, and heard Rychon sigh next to him.

"I wanted to, uncle. Honestly, I did." He confessed, but Berin smiled at him.

"I know. But, you made the right choice. Rule comes with compromise." He eased him, and then glanced around them one last time to ensure that all was in order, ready to set out to yet another part of their world. Then, he followed behind Rychon's great destrier, making their way to their people to continue their journey, that so started over the world as lords and soldiers marched for King's Landing. More than a week blew by like the ocean storms that came and went when the shadow of Dragonstone finally loomed in the distance of the seas like a mythical creature, raising its head from the icy depths as Berterin and Jaysen stood on the bow of a ship, watching the rise and fall of the blue waves. Not much has happened in their time on board the Targaryen fleet, aside from the occasional passing shadows above. He thought of family, of home and of love and loss.

"It will be good to be on solid land again." Jaysen breathed, and Berterin nodded.

"It will. Ocean travel might be faster, but not suited to all men." Berterin agreed. This wasn't his first time travelling by ship, but he found that he preferred the stability of a horse beneath him. They'd spent a good portion of their voyage in the company of lords Tyrion and Varys while on ship, provided they were not in consultation with their queen or the foreign commanders, sharing their worlds with each other. But now left secluded, the counsellors were discussing their own matters while they stood on the wood deck, watching the continent drift by.

"You still haven't spoken much with our young king, have you?" Jaysen softly prodded, noting the blank stare aimed at the edge of the world.

"No, I haven't... I just..." Berterin started, and then glanced down as he sighed.

"My brother died protecting him. He died, doing what any one of us would have done in that same situation. And yet, every time I look at him I see it. I see my little brother's fall, reflected in his blue eyes." then he looked up at his companion.

"What happened wasn't his fault, I do know that. But everything I know, doesn't change what I feel. I'd hoped that the separation would let the hurt, and bitterness seep away from me." he confessed, and Jaysen smiled softly.

"And did it?" he asked, then Berterin looked away again.

"I don't know, yet. I miss my father, my family and my home. But as far as missing him, I'm not sure. I wouldn't hate him if I saw him now. I suppose I would feel, indifferent." he decided. There was no hate left, but neither was there any kind of fondness that he could identify. He was his king that much was true, but at the same time he was no different than any other king in their history. Those he never met.

"Have you ever wondered, why nature is perfect?" Jaysen suddenly asked, and Berterin stared at him abashed.

"What?" then his companion smirked sheepishly.

"In nature, there is a perfect balance. You don't see the lions warring against the stags, or the wolves warring against the bears. They just do what they do, because it's in their nature." then he looked away.

"But in people, there is war upon war upon war upon war, for centuries and more. Houses have disappeared because of it. Millions of people killed, because of it. But that's just how people are. It's in their nature." he mentioned, and then looked back at Berterin again.

"But as long as we keep to our nature, as it has always been for thousands of years, we will reach that perfect balance with each other yet again. It's who we are." he said, placing a hand on Berterin's shoulder. It was a strange question, and a strange conclusion. But somewhere in it there was more meaning than he cared to let go. A voice sounded through the air, and the distinct churning of the chains lowering the anchors into the water could be heard as Dragonstone lay open before them, and the great dragons passed overhead, gliding freely through the sky like wisps of cloth in the breeze. They would have the leisure of a day or two's rest on the island before returning to the mainland to join the northern armies with replenished supplies, and then seize the capital. Then... then finally they would go home. Berterin smiled, watching the green dragon sail above them, spots of blue sky still visible through the tears of his wings, but remaining strong they flew all the way here from White Harbour. For just an instant, he recalled a different sight. The Ardent King mounted a brilliant burning creature that glowed like a sun in the night, blue flaming feathers dancing in the wind of her flight, leaving sparkling stars in her wake. He would never see that again, but nor will he ever forget something so clear. But the glee of this moment was suddenly shattered when a massive bolt flew through the sky, tearing a new gaping wound in the green dragon's wing, and he dropped screaming in pain. Berterin watched in horror over the edge of the ship as the wounded creature struggled his way towards the ground, but landed in the waters of the sea, clawing to keep his head above the surface. The dark dragon above wailed as another bolt passed over him, and then Berterin turned around, the horror sinking deeper as a fleet of ships came into sight, hidden behind the cliffs; the kraken of Greyjoy adorning the bows. Oh, fuck… Enormous crossbows were mounted on the decks of the ships, aimed at the drifting vessels moored in the bay. The black dragon banked, soaring towards the fleet as he released another terrible screech into the wind before more bolts warded him off, missing the scales of his soft underbelly by mere feet, and he was forced to retreat back over the dormant fleet to the island. Those on the ship started yelling to one another, and Berterin could feel the sinking feeling in his gut. A hand to his shoulder roused him.

"Come on!" Jaysen called to him, and they moved away from the edge, moments before the wood exploded and splinters were launched into the air around them. The queen's counsel had come from their apartment to witness the destruction, and were left shaken and confused as the ships were torn apart piece by piece, ravaged by the great bolts. There was no time to launch the skiffs, their only option was to make it to shore on their own. Berterin flinched when a shaft passed him, crashing through the wood of the railing where if left a jagged hole, and a burning sensation to his arm was left ignored as he took hold of the small man's shoulder.

"Come on, we have to jump." He told, pulling him towards the edge where they fell, into the cold salt waters surrounded by screams and the creaking of ships slowly swallowed by the hunger of the sea; and the mast of the ship they were on came slamming down into the waves. It was a hard struggle, but closer and closer the edge of the island loomed until the waters rose and receded, here and there a touch of sand beneath their feet. He fought, keeping himself above the rage of the ocean while dragging the queen's counsellor along to shore until finally he could manage footing on the slick water floor, battling the rush around him until what remained was the churning around his feet as he stepped onto the soaked sand that was Dragonstone's base. Others joined them, hauling their exhausted bodies onto the shore as he knelt next to the little man, and Jaysen came up, letting down a vehemently coughing lord Varys, trying to exhume the salty waters he'd taken in.

"Are you al right?" Berterin asked, his own lungs burning with exertion.

"To my regret, I've never been fond of swimming…" he replied, his voice a low raspy growl. Then he coughed, and pushed himself up to breathe in the air, not laden with the spray of the sea. Berterin looked back at his companion, still with the queen's master of whispers, ensuring that there were no lasting afflictions.

"How about you?" he called out, and Jaysen looked up; his light hair now dark and dripping.

"Better, that we're on land." He mentioned, helping Varys to sit up. The summer skinned warrior staggered up the incline of the island, his eyes scanning over those who made it but his expression dire and shocked. He called out a name, but was not answered save for the moaning and wheezing around them. He called again, looking around but there was no voice that answered, then he turned rushing back down to where the water met the soil; calling desperately as he searched the faces of those who claimed the safe shore where the dragon had finally hauled himself up as well, struggling with his torn and broken wing. This creature was designed for the winds, not the waves. And it had ravaged him heavily. Then as Berterin listened to the voice, his heart sank away deeper. The warrior was calling for the woman who'd accompanied them. The quiet one with the soft smile and kind voice, from the distant shores of Naath.

"Missandei!" his voice echoed, crying for those who were lost to the waves. He returned back into the darkness of the waves as Berterin watched, hoping that she might have only lagged behind, but for all the searching she was not found amidst their members.

"Are you al right?" Jaysen asked coming up to his side, and he shrugged.

"Just fine." He assured, and then looked up at the castle above them.

"We should get going I suppose…" he sighed, then as he turned a sting ran its way up his shoulder and into his neck, and his hand grabbed at the sensation. Shock filled him when he found it. A shard of wood had been lodged into his arm, driven through the leather of his jerkin, and he cursed. Jaysen examined the wound.

"I hope there's a maester, we can't leave that as it is." He said, and together they continued up to the great keep, following the flow of soldiers into its walls, where in one of the great towers the maester tended to the wound, carefully removing the wood shard and treating the injury before binding it with linen. To their fortune, the wound was not deep and should be healed in a fortnight at most. They were presented chambers within the castle, but the atmosphere was distinctly dark and heavy. They tried to settle, but the unknown of the foreigners kept them alert and uneasy despite having been treated with courtesy during their journey together. Much was silent into the following evening, when they were called to the Chamber of the Painted Table, where an immense slab of wood, carved into the shape of the Westeros continent stood, depicting woodlands, mountains and settlements from centuries ago. Berterin studied it, amazed at the piece of work, wondering who it was that carved this creation so intricately. But then his mind went to more vexing thoughts. Why they were called to the queen's council was peculiar, but he allowed the notion that they were to be aware of any movements. When all were assembled, Daenerys stepped forward, laying a lion shaped pawn down on its side on the table.

"We will storm the city, my queen. We will kill your enemies. All of them." The Unsullied commander proposed sternly, his intention utterly clear.

"Your grace." Lord Varys then started, stepping closer to the table.

"I promised you I would look you in the eye and speak directly if I ever thought you were making a mistake." He reminded, and then lay his hands down on the wood before him.

"This is a mistake." He advised, the desperation in his eyes abundantly vivid.

"You saw my child shot from the sky. It could be months before he flies again." Daenerys directed at him, and then recalled the threat received by their tower earlier that day.

"They took Missandei." She stated, and Berterin cringed. That was why she was not found among those who washed up on shore.

"Cersei needs to be destroyed. But if we attack King's Landing with Drogon and the Unsullied and the Dothraki, tens of thousands of innocents will die. That is why Cersei is bringing them into the Red Keep." Varys cautioned, trying to persuade her otherwise.

"These are the people you came here to protect. I beg you, your grace. Do not destroy the city you came to save. Do not become what you have always struggled to defeat." He pleaded.

"Do you believe we're here for a reason, lord Varys?" she asked, and he stared at her for a moment, unsure of his answer.

"I'm here to free the world from tyrants. That is my destiny. And I will serve it, no matter the cost." She told, the determination in her voice more than subtle. Then the small man rose his voice as she turned away from the table.

"It could be a fortnight before Jon and the allied armies make it to King's Landing." He advised.

"In the meantime, demand Cersei surrender. Offer her, her life in exchange for the throne." He persuaded, but she looked back at him, the chill in her stare leaving a silence as vast as the skies.

"If there's a chance to avoid the coming slaughter, we should make the effort!" he continued.

"Speaking to Cersei will not prevent a slaughter." She quipped, and Varys lowered his eyes in defeat; but then after a moment's silence drew a deep breath and released it slowly.

"But perhaps it's good the people see that Daenerys Stormborn made every effort to avoid bloodshed. And Cersei Lannister refused." She decided before bringing her eyes up to her advisor once more.

"They should know whom to blame when the sky falls down upon them." She stated, as if she already knew the outcome. They were dismissed, and while walking back to their chambers, Jaysen drew closer to him.

"So what do you think?" he asked softly, and Berterin paused.

"Wasn't it obvious?" he asked, and Jaysen stared at him.

"She doesn't expect Cersei to surrender." He told, but the way she was, her cold demeanour, her heated words, her entire perception was clouded with wroth.

"She means to destroy the city." He concluded, and his companion glanced back down the passage.

"Both her counsellors have advised against that notion. So, we'll hope it doesn't come to that." He breathed before looking back.

"But if it does, our people need to be prepared as well." He cautioned, and Berterin nodded before they continued their way up, parting ways to enter their respective chambers. A serving of the evening meal had been left on the small round table in the corner, amber shades reflected against the dark stone walls. Another solitary night… He sat down at the table, staring at the plate. Seared fish, with sparse greens and a withered boiled potato alongside a goblet of wine. It must be a difficult thing, to make a living on an island like this… Had it not been for the powerful odour of oils and herbs emanating from the wound, it might have smelled better than it looked. He tried a taste, finding it fairly seasoned, but the thought crossed his mind that the keep's kitchen master could definitely benefit from a day with Jeody. Time waned into the depth of night, and after finishing his serving, Berterin sat looking through the window at the stars, strewn across a sky that reached far beyond the horizon where the ocean touched the sky. It was much like it was back home, save for the much trodden down ambience. There were no laughing voices, and few smiling faces. But given the circumstances, that couldn't be wished for. Then he glanced at the bed, debating with himself whether he should try to surrender to sleep, but thus far it seemed to have a particular preference to avoid him. Standing up he sighed, approaching the bed while starting to unlace the front of his jerkin, and then heard a very soft knock at the door. He turned, wondering if he'd imagined it, or if it was simply the wood shifting to the moist, cool air. But then it sounded again, and he moved towards it. He opened the door, and was surprised at the figure waiting in the passage.

"Please pardon my intrusion." The man excused very softly, the flickering firelights of the torches cascading off his bald head.

"No, please. Come in." Berterin invited, and lord Varys quickly stepped inside, allowing the youngster to shut the door again behind him. He seemed uneasy for an instant, looking around the room as if searching.

"I wanted to ask you something." He then finally revealed, and Berterin bit back a smirk.

"The queen's advisor wishes to 'ask' me something… some might regard that as something suspicious." He cautioned, innately wary of the counsellor's intent. But then he turned.

"I haven't come to extort you, young ser. I was merely curious." He assured, then stepped closer, his hands tucked away in his dark coat.

"About what?" Berterin asked, and Varys sighed; the expression on his face betraying the thoughts of his mind.

"Your current sovereign. The young Ardent King." He started, and then paused for a moment.

"Is he a just man?" he asked, complete honesty in his voice, and Berterin glanced down.

"The best that I know." He confessed, his memories going over each moment, the truth of his words so much more vivid here in the dark of the shadows.

"His judgement is fair, and his people have always come first." He told, and then looked up at Varys with a kind smile.

"There is no one else, that I would rather stand beside." He said, and they stood in silence for a while as the man before him seemed to absorb his statement. Then he glanced down.

"I see." He breathed, and then bowed his head.

"Well, good night to you ser." He said, and then quickly left the room again, and it reverted back to its eerie silence. Berterin stood wondering, but then returned to his former thoughts, relieving himself of his jerkin, belt and boots before lying down on the bed, questioning as he simply watched the shadows and stars pass the world until reluctant sleep finally took him.

The crimson of twilight was rising from the edge of the world as Berin urged his charger forward, watching the thousands of men marching forward towards the shadows that loomed in the distance. The great, twisted rivers branching from one another known as the Trident lay behind their heels, while the mangled towers of Harrenhal stood jutting out from the world like the bony fingers of a decayed hand reaching for the sky far ahead. Regardless of the wear on them, their people moved dutifully as directed, forging ever forth to a new battle. He approached their king, his destrier stopped on the height of a hill overlooking the fields where the men moved past towards their destination, accompanied by his uncle from Pale Haven, lords Rames and Violet, and Michalis. He drew his courser to a halt, regarding him closely as he watched the mass passing them, led forth by their respective commanders; his hand recurrently pressed over his chest where the wound was, indicating that he still suffered its pain. Every opportunity they had, the injury was treated, but the means were far and few in between. In the event of passing a castle, a maester would tend to him, but when in the field, the were left to their own skills, or perhaps those of a herbalist if it was possible. Rychon's bright eyes scanned over the people moving past, and then looked at Berin.

"I haven't seen Berterin." He mentioned as the head of his order joined them.

"He and Jaysen have travelled to Dragonstone with queen Daenerys, they'll meet up with us at King's Landing when we arrive." He informed, wondering if he'd forgotten the assignment he'd given them. The young king stared at him blankly, and then he realized before sighing.

"I'm sorry. I assumed you knew, and that with the circumstances it simply slipped your mind." He breathed apologetically. Rychon's eyes went back to the figures passing them, silent in thought for a while.

"It's al right. I'll talk to them about it later." He said, and then just watched the soldiers moving endlessly forward into the world that rose and fell like the waves of the ocean.

"But I do understand, why he wouldn't want to be near me right now…" he said softly, and Berin just stared at him. He expected that Berterin would avoid him, but maybe not that he would travel half a world's distance to do so; and would willingly carry that resentment and regret to the end of his days, even when the fault was not his. But then he smiled, the bright eyes returning to the sentinel.

"And it was a good idea, besides." He decided, then urged Storm down the slope to follow the men to another realm, his counsel tailing him.

A portion of the Unsullied army made their way across the bay to the capital, accompanying the queen and her counsellors. Berterin and Jaysen stood among them, facing a great gated wall where Cersei and her guards stood leering down at them. The air was heavy with animosity, and with the Lannister queen, bound in chains, stood the young woman from the island. A man clad in the dark robes of a maester and a golden pin fastened to the neckline emerged from the gate, and lord Tyrion walked forward to meet him, hoping to negotiate a quick surrender of the city.

"My lord." The stranger greeted with a curt nod of his head.

"Queen Daenerys demands Cersei's unconditional surrender. And the immediate release of Missandei of Naath." Tyrion announced, but the man simply smiled back calmly.

"Queen Cersei demands Daenerys's unconditional surrender. If she refuses, Missandei of Naath will die here and now." He countered.

"Qybern. You're a rational man." Tyrion indicated,

"Or so I flatter myself, my lord." He chuckled.

"We have a chance here. Perhaps a last chance, to avoid carnage." The small man urged, watching as the taller man in front of him stared idly back.

"Yes…" he agreed, for just a moment seeming to think on their odds.

"Help me. I don't want to see the city burn. I don't want to hear the screams of children burning alive…" he pleaded, and then Qybern nodded.

"No, it is not a pleasant sound." He supported the statement, followed by a silence.

"I don't want to hear it. Help me save the city." Tyrion again pleaded with him, but he stood unchanged.

"My lord, I am only a mouthpiece for our queen." He told.

"Your queen." Tyrion corrected him.

"Cersei is queen of the kingdoms, you are her subject." Qybern reminded him.

"Her reign is over. You understand this, help her understand it." Tyrion urged.

"We understand nothing of the sort!" Qybern replied easily, still calm despite what they could face.

"Your queen's dragon is vulnerable. Your armies are battle weary and depleted, while ours have been reinforced with the Golden Company." He advised, but then Tyrion stepped forward, walking past him when he realized he would have no success. Their group watched anxiously as he purposefully closed the distance to the gate, to address the queen herself directly. The bowmen on the walls raised their weapons, ready to strike at him. Cersei raised her hand, ready to give the command and end his life; but then closed her hand in a fist and lowered it, staying the attack for the moment, and the bows were returned to their former dormant places. A silence followed then, and the truth that they did not seize this opportunity was something odd for their situation.

"I know you don't care about your people. Why should you?" Tyrion directed at her.

"They hate you, and you hate them." He continued, and for the moment she seemed to listen.

"But you're not a monster! I know this! I know this because I've seen it." He tried, so desperately.

"You've always loved your children. More than yourself." He stated, and she glanced away to hide her eyes for just that moment. Like she recalled a distant memory.

"More than Jaime. More than anything." He reminded, and she returned her gaze onto him.

"I beg you! If not for yourself, then for your child." He pleaded with her, but she remained silent.

"Your reign is over. But that doesn't mean your life has to end. It doesn't mean your baby has to die." He pleaded and persuaded and tried all he could while she stood on the wall, silent and motionless as they watched, hoping that this would end. But then she turned, stepping to the woman at her side and placed her hand around her arm, seeming to whisper something to her. Daenerys walked forward, all of her emotions mixed together and portrayed in her heavy steps while the commander of the armies followed her. Then Cersei resumed her former position, simply leering down at the opposing force. Then the single word ripped from the girl's mouth, carried loud and far on the chill breeze.

"Dracarys!" It seemed to echo off the land, hard and unrestrained, fading into chasms of a last memory. A great figure stepped forward from his place behind the queen, who had been stagnant up until this moment when he drew a broad sword from his side, and in horror they watched as the blade cut through skin and bone, the head of the once fair woman dropping to the ground far below, followed by the lifeless, blood soaked body while the others stood above watching, and waiting, expecting. The leader of the foreign forces stared at the ground, his ragged breaths ravaging his body in tense breaths while he tried to maintain himself, but Daenerys simply stared, the image carved into her mind like a white branding iron into a rancid tree. Tyrion turned back to them, failure etched into his expression, and then finally Daenerys turned and made her way back through the soldiers. In her eyes was reflected the cruellest of hate, black pools of never ending malice. She would retaliate, mercilessly. This won't end well…