The Keeper
Chapter 41 – Ice Keeper
"Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!" Brienne pleaded again. "Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa, please!"
It was no use. The dragons would not come to her or calm. They left the ashes surrounding the burning red sword to fly in angry, wide circles, screeching madly, keeping Brienne, Podrick and Griff under their protection. The heightened emotions in the room: Brienne and Podrick's blood rush, Griff's frantic terror, Sandor's physical pain, Balon and Bronn's adrenaline overload, Jaime's grief, Tyrion's torment and the Dornish lords and Ellaria's fear mingled together with the dragons' own fury at almost losing loved ones. Their cries reverberated around the room until it sounded like a hundred angry dragons instead of only five.
Podrick stumbled closer to Brienne, pressing his hands over his ears to block out the din. "My Lady Ser—"
His words were cut off when Brienne grabbed him in a fierce hug. Brienne shut her eyes but the images her mind replayed did nothing to calm her. Podrick had been seconds away from death. Only the Gods' mercy, and the reflexes that had improved due to their sword practice, had kept him from being taken from her, from falling victim to Cersei's sword.
"Podrick, are you alright?" Brienne demanded fiercely.
"Ye…yes, my Lady Ser," Podrick gasped. "But I can't…I can't breathe."
Brienne gasped and released him. Podrick had only taken a single deep breath before the dragons dove for them, coming to the floor to circle around them. Catren landed first, then Allwyn, Gallan, Ardayn and finally Serdun, all still screeching. They puffed and extended their wings to their fullest, making sure everyone knew they were ready to kill anyone else who meant harm to their family. They were so upset they didn't realize no one left in the Throne Room was an enemy. Brienne knelt then pulled Gallan and Ardayn, the dragons closest to her, into her arms, hugging them as fiercely as she'd held Podrick a moment earlier. Griff repeated the gesture with Serdun and Catren while Podrick sat on the floor to pull Allwyn into his lap.
Held in the warmth of familiar embraces, the dragons began to calm. They stopped screeching and turned to the comfort of the humans holding them. Brienne understood their fear and relief. She was feeling the same over possibly losing Allwyn and Gallan to the former Queensguards' crossbows and almost losing Podrick to Cersei's madness. But they were all alive, all safe, thanks to their instincts and the innocent actions of a sweet, resilient street child.
"Ela." Brienne turned to Griff beside her. "Ela led Gallan and Allwyn out into the hallway. I went after them to get her. That's when I saw Ser Boros with his crossbow. If it wasn't for Ela…"
Brienne couldn't finish her sentence. But the words hung heavy in the air. If Ela, the child the Gods' had taken her to, hadn't walked out into the hallway, the dragons would have still been in the Throne Room. They might have fallen prey to arrows that could pierce their still-developing scales. Griff's expression, already grim, tightened. Catren wound itself around him, rubbing its head frantically against his silver-blond hair. Serdun was held tightly under his other arm, Griff's hold on the green dragon white-knuckled tight. Unlike Catren, who was still jittery, Serdun was quiet and still. The green dragon's neck elongated to press against Griff's body and it held its head against Griff's heartbeat.
Brienne turned her head in the other direction to look at Podrick. Allwyn's reactions were a mixture of Serdun and Catren's. The blue-grey dragon had wrapped its tail around Podrick's waist and it was pressed against Podrick's body, its head hidden against his neck. Podrick soothed Allwyn with visibly shaky hands, betraying how unsettled his emotions were, too. Brienne looked down at Ardayn and Gallan, their heads on her shoulders, unprotestingly pressed against her, even though her grip was so tight her arms had begun to ache.
"Ela was the reason the dragons left my side," Brienne continued. "She is the only other person they would follow. The Gods knew Cersei and her supporters would try to kill the dragons. Ela is the reason they were in the hallway, on the other side of the doors, and remained unharmed. I thought I was saving Ela but she saved Allwyn and Gallan."
Griff's face tightened and a tremor shook his body. He lowered his head to hide his expression in Serdun's neck, Catren stilling against him. Serdun rubbed its head against Griff's, as if offering its father comfort. Griff took a deep breath that set his shoulders and looked up, his face now composed.
"The smallest of warriors can become the greatest of heroes," Griff said softly. "As you say, the Gods guide you to those they need to protect us all during the Long Night."
"Young Ela is already a fierce daughter of Dorne. I have given you my word I will protect her with my life, my Lady Ser." Manfrey's voice was steady even as he continued to crouch close to the floor. "The child will be safe in Sunspear."
"Safe?" Griff snarled.
He rose from his knees, fury crackling around him, Catren still wrapped around his body. Serdun blinked and looked over at Brienne as Griff rose to his feet. Brienne and Podrick both held out their arms for the green dragon. Serdun flew over to settle between them, allowing Brienne and Podrick to shift closer, pressing the dragon securely between themselves. They exchanged uneasy glances before watching Griff's progress across the hall.
Griff stalked over to the lords, so visibly angry, he was shaking. The lords shrank down even more. Catren flared out its wings, its brown color and red markings blending with Griff's brown leather jacket with a gold spear piercing the red sun. Both leaders, one of dragons and the other of men, focused their rage on the Dornish lords. The pair breathed in time, their coloring and motions matching, almost as if the dragon and the blood of the dragon were blending into a single, fierce creature.
"You, Ser Manfrey, demanded we put Cersei in the black cells," Griff reminded him harshly, wrapping his arms around Catren. "You couldn't wait to return to Dorne before taking your vengeance. That left Cersei near Gregor Clegane, to plot with him and her agents to harm the dragons. Now you dare tell me you'll keep Ela safe? Your poor judgement nearly cost me my children and their mother."
"It wasn't his fault, your Grace." Brienne didn't try to get up, knowing the dragons wouldn't release her. "Cersei had many people loyal to her, from Queensguard to servants. She must have been planning with them for several days."
"It is his fault that he was fooled by Cersei," Griff spat. "She looked helpless and pretended to be weak. He, idiot that he was, fell for her tricks." Griff's gaze went to Ellaria. "Only a fool judges a person on their theatrics without gathering true facts."
Ellaria, who was huddled on the floor near the Dornish lords, paled. The horror was clear in her eyes as she realized Griff hadn't been swayed by her tears and acting. Her gaze began to drift towards Manfrey before she caught herself. Instead she looked at the floor.
"Your Grace," she spoke in her delicate, musical voice, "I humbly thank you, once again, for saving my life."
"I will not hear you," Griff snarled. "I'm no fool. I understand who you are."
Ellaria flushed and hunch over, looking down at the floor. Griff's icy glare shifted from Ellaria back to Manfrey. Catren, still wrapped around Griff, picked up his spiked emotions and hissed at the castellan. Manfrey exchanged tense glances with Anders. The men shifted away, watching Catren instead of Griff, forgetting both dragons were equally dangerous.
"Ser Manfrey, you're a seasoned warrior yet you fell for the simplest of tricks," Griff pointed out. "How can I trust you to lead Dorne in my name while I guide the Seven Kingdoms?"
The other lords, many of whom weren't party to Manfrey and Ellaria's schemes, also turned to look at the castellan of Sunspear. Ned even shifted closer to Griff, despite the threat of a still-angry Catren in his arms. Manfrey, seeing his standing and power base eroding before his eyes, went very still.
"I allowed my eagerness to take revenge on the Lannisters to cloud my judgement, your Grace," Manfrey admitted. He looked directly into Griff's eyes. "I will not fail you again, I swear it."
"No, you will not," Griff agreed. "I won't tolerate such a mistake again. Now, your stupidity has cost you your vengeance. Cersei Lannister and Gregor Clegane are dead. Your revenge died with them. There will be no more talk of giving Lannisters to Dorne to pay past debts."
Tyrion, who had been standing consolingly at Jaime's side, looked up, his eyes widening with surprise. Previously, Griff had only agreed to spare Tyrion and Jaime for the time being. Now, the Prince of Dorne had officially ended House Martell's blood feud with House Lannister. Griff was trying to move Dorne past the bitter past to focus on their perilous future. A future they would only survive if they all banded together to fight the Army of the Dead.
Brienne looked from Griff to the red sword in Cersei's ashes. Could this be a weapon, perhaps the weapon of prophecy, that would lead them out of the Long Night? She tried to shift closer to see it better but the dragons hissed. Griff and Catren immediately turned to face them. Griff's tense muscles and Catren's flared wings were clear indications of their concern.
"What is it?" Griff demanded.
Brienne stroked Gallan and Ardayn, as Podrick hugged Allwyn and Serdun. They were as tense and vigilant as Griff and Catren. The dragons – all six of them – were on high alert, still fearful after the sudden attack. Even the smallest disturbance set them on edge.
"We're fine. The dragons are still tense," Brienne assured Griff.
Sandor, who was on his knees near the main doors, shifted and grunted in his breath. Brienne looked over at him and gasped. He was half-leaning, half-slumped against a pillar a few meters away. His face was heavily battered, the lower part of his shirt soaked in blood and sweat and the hand he had pressed to his damaged side was red with blood. Balon glanced over at Brienne and Podrick, or rather at the dragons huddled around them, then slowly rose to his knees.
"Your Grace," the knight began.
"Yes." Griff pressed Catren's head to his shoulder. "Go to him, Ser Balon. He needs to be taken to the maester."
Balon hurried across the hall to Sandor while Brienne and Podrick continued to hold the dragons. They were calming down now, still alert but no longer clinging so tightly. In response, many of the lords relaxed and began to slowly rise to their feet. Bronn moved closer to Jaime, putting his hand on Jaime's other shoulder. Near the doors, Sandor grunted as Balon helped him rise.
Griff walked to the center of the room, near the cart that had been used to bring Gregor into the Throne Room. He studied the torn straps, proof of Gregor's strength. Then he turned to survey Balon, Sandor, Bronn and Jaime. Griff's eyes were dark and fathomless, almost black, testimony to the depth of his horror and receding fear.
"Ser Balon, Ser Jaime, Ser Bronn, Sandor Clegane," Griff began. Then he looked at Brienne and Podrick and added. "Lady Ser Brienne and Podrick Payne. You protected those who are most precious to me. I will not forget your service."
Though he had included Brienne and Podrick in his address, Griff looked at Bronn, Jaime, Balon and Sandor as he spoke. Bronn nodded but Jaime was still lost inside himself, staring at the ashes that had been his beloved sister. Balon, who was assisting Sandor, also nodded politely. Sandor looked at the bodies still littering the Throne Room floor. His face twisted between a scowl and a grimace of pain.
"They were cunts, the lot of them," Sandor growled. "The fuckers were stupid enough to attack dragons. Then what? Those dragons would burn us all if their mother died."
Almost reflexively, Griff shifted to stand in front of Brienne as Catren hissed again. The lords looked from Griff to Brienne, their eyes dark and knowing. Brienne's cheeks flushed with color. Griff had named her and Podrick in his address, but they all knew Griff had acknowledged the men for protecting her as much as for protecting Allwyn and Gallan. She was Griff's sworn sword but, when she needed protection, these were the men who'd fought for her life.
"Your Grace, I'll take him now," Balon spoke. "Sandor's cut is deep. It needs to be stitched shut."
"I've had worse," Sandor insisted. "It's just a cut."
Still, he allowed the courtly knight to assist him to the doors. Beyond them, Brienne could see the palace guards replace their swords into their belts. They were surrounding the maester's assistants and the babies they held. Moqorro was with them, Ela safe in his arms. The little girl, seeing Brienne and the dragons, tried to launch herself out of the Red Priest's arms. She cried out, attracting the dragons' attentions. They turned to find the baby. Griff beckoned Moqorro to join them in the Throne Room. The priest took a deep breath then came to join them while the assistants, with the other babies, turned to follow after Balon and Sandor.
Moqorro bowed to Griff and looked over at the red sword. The flames had died out but the sword still glowed red. The dragons finally allowed Brienne to leave their side and go to the Red Priest. After bringing Ela to the dragons, they calmed noticeably. Allwyn left Podrick's lap to sniff the baby. Gallan settled on Ela's other side, keeping her safe and warm. Brienne left the dragons with Podrick and went to Tyrion, Bronn and Jaime, near Cersei's remains. She knelt beside Jaime, who was staring at the cooling sword as if mesmerized.
"Ser Jaime," she said gently.
"Why is it red?" Jaime finally turned to look at her, his green eyes still unfocused.
She frowned and turned to study the re-forged greatsword. Tyrion, who had moved closer to the sword to allow Brienne a place at Jaime's side, provided the answer. He bent down, studying the blade.
"The rubies in the swords' hilts have melted," Tyrion explained. He straightened to face Brienne. "Oathkeeper had several smaller rubies in its hilt and in the lion's eyes. Widow's Wail had two large rubies. The dragons' fire melted them and they flowed into the ripples in the Valyrian steel."
Brienne left Jaime's side to study the sword herself. Griff deposited Catren with Podrick and Ela then came to join her. The lords moved closer but still remained a safe distance away from the dragons.
"The swords didn't melt together perfectly," Brienne noted. "Widow's Wail was smaller than Oathkeeper. See how there's space where Widow's Wail's pommel ends and Oathkeeper's begins."
Tyrion moved further up, near the tip of the rejoined blade. "The tips aren't even, either. There's a notch where the two swords didn't align."
Brienne looked to where he pointed. The space between the two swords formed a V shape, which gave the greatsword a forked tip. Jaime looked at the blade sadly.
"The lion and the stag are gone," he noted quietly, his voice hollow.
Brienne's eyes widened as she stared at the sword's odd double hilt. The gold had softened and spread under the dragons' prolonged assault, blurring the lion's head on Oathkeeper and the stag on Widow's Wail until they were unrecognizable. Brienne shuddered at seeing the fall of House Lannister and House Baratheon echo in the cooling metal.
"Is it Lightbringer?" Podrick asked hesitantly.
Brienne's eyes widened. She looked from the sword to Griff. He looked back at her with equal grim wonder. Brienne knew the Gods were guiding them, leading them to the weapons and the warriors they would need to battle the Army of the Dead. Was this sword the weapon that could kill the Night King?
"There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world," Tyrion quoted. "In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him."
"But it's not burning anymore," Brienne pointed out. "How can it be Lightbringer without a warrior pulling it from the flames?"
"Remember the legend of Azor Ahai," Griff reminded her. "He tempered his sword three times. First in water, then in the heart of a lion, and finally in the heart of his beloved."
Ned came closer, joining the group. He looked over at the dragons, now relaxed with Podrick and Ela with them. The dragons looked back at him calmly, knowing the young Lord of Starfall was not a threat to their family. Ned relaxed visibly and turned his attention to the sword.
"Cersei was definitely Ser Jaime's beloved but the sword wasn't tempered in water and a lion," Ned said. "Nor was it forged. It already existed."
"It was re-forged and Brienne did temper it," Griff contradicted. "Brienne carried Oathkeeper, the larger part of the sword, into the Disputed Lands. She fought lions with it. She also dove into the sea with Oathkeeper, while fighting pirates. The water was warmed by dragonfire and blood. She tempered her part of the sword."
"But her part wasn't enough." Ned's eyes widened, understanding Griff's point. "The sword had to be whole before it could be properly tempered. Ardayn rejoined the parts, Ser Jaime tempered it, then the dragons strengthened it with their dragonfire and magic."
"Does that mean Jaime is Azor Ahai?" Tyrion asked. "Is that why the Gods dragged him away from Cersei's burning body? Jaime is the Last Hero reborn? He's the one who'll save us all from the Long Night?"
Jaime turned to stare at his brother. "Last Hero? The Gods dragged me away?"
Tyrion went back to his brother's side. "Yes. After you plunged the sword into Cersei's heart, your golden hand flew up and dragged you away from her."
"Dragged?" Jaime repeated again, disbelief clear in his eyes.
"Aye, it did," Bronn confirmed. "I was once caught by a nasty lord with my hand on his lady's breast. I could have used your golden hand to drag me away from his heavy fist."
"Bronn," Tyrion hissed. "Shut up!"
Bronn shrugged but his salty tale had finally gotten through to Jaime. He stared at his golden hand as if he'd never seen it before. Brienne gasped as he held it up. The top of the hand, where the thumb and forefinger were, was as finely shaped as before. But the bottom of the golden piece, at the pinky side, which had been against Cersei's burning body, had melted and cooled, now misshaped and oddly flat.
"It doesn't hurt," Jaime reminded her, seeing the horror in her eyes. "I can't feel it."
Despite herself, Brienne felt a wave of relief wash over her. She knew the golden hand wasn't an actual part of Jaime's body. He hadn't felt Cersei's body burning against it nor had he suffered when the appendage melted. Even the scorch marks on his Lannister uniform looked minor. Still, she couldn't hold back the memories of Jaime after he lost his sword hand. The pain, shock and blood loss had nearly killed him. Only her bullying and the promise of returning to his beloved Cersei had kept him alive during that horrible time.
"Ser Jaime, I told you, repeatedly, that you were under the Gods' protection," Brienne reminded him gently. "You could not have survived all you've been through without their protection. They need you, we need you, to fight in the Great War. Once again, when your life was in peril, they intervened to save you. They used your golden hand, an inanimate object, to drag you away from the flames."
The Dornish lords, who'd been listening intently even while keeping their distance, were all staring at Jaime. Their expressions ranged from shock to disbelief and even disgust. Manfrey's mouth curled in distaste while Dearon snorted.
"The Kingslayer is Azor Ahai, the Last Hero, reborn? This dishonorable cripple? Then we are all doomed," Anders sneered.
"There are many ways men can be dishonorable, Lord Anders," Brienne said quietly. "Some choose to favor the wrong love. Others kill innocents to satisfy their own desires." She held his gaze. "But honor can be regained and heroes can emerge from the worst of circumstances. If Jon Snow is correct, then we'll soon endure a second Long Night and must fight against the darkness together."
"Azor Ahai and the Last Hero may not have been the same person," Griff cautioned. "The stories of Azor Ahai are told in Essos. He was supposed to have thrust his blade into a monster, causing his sword to burst into the flames. The Last Hero is said to have helped defeat the Others during the last Long Night. Neither worked alone, both became heroes because they had no choice. The days of putting our egos and personal goals before our combined survival have ended. Now we must join together and defend all of Westeros."
Jaime stared at Griff, shock plain in his wildfire green eyes. The Prince of Dorne, who'd made no secret of this hatred of the elder Lannister lion, was almost defending him. Brienne smiled at Griff. She had been right about her king. He was hot-tempered but he was also just. No matter a man's faults, Griff didn't begrudge men their truths or hard-earned victories.
"Ser Davos also warned us of joining prophecies," Podrick added. "Remember, he told us how the red witch, Melisandre, blended the stories of Azor Ahai with those of the prince who was promised. She thought they were the same man. She burned innocent people, including Princess Shireen, trying to make Stannis Baratheon into the prince who was promised."
"Melisandre," Brienne growled.
Even now, the memories of the Red Priestess's shadow demon murdering King Renly caused a chill to slide down Brienne's spine and goosebumps to rise on her arms. Faith could steady men, such as her belief in the Gods' guidance. Misplaced faith, however, could lead to devastating results, kill kings and topple kingdoms. She was distracted from her thoughts by Moqorro's deep frown.
"Do you know Melisandre?" she demanded.
The Red Priest nodded gravely. "Yes, my Lady Ser. Her faith is true but her judgement is quick."
"Her judgement is not only quick, but false," Brienne lashed out.
The dragons, picking up on her spiked emotions, rose from their comfortable positions beside Podrick and Ela. Ardayn and Serdun separated from the group to fly to Brienne. Catren and Gallan went to Griff's side while Allwyn eased itself out from under Ela's hand. Podrick pulled the babe into his lap as Allwyn stationed itself in front of the pair.
Moqorro watched the dragon's movements and swallowed visibly. "My Lady Ser, our Lord guides but many do not have the knowledge to interpret his visions."
"That's what Kinvara said, too," Podrick agreed. "She said 'No, men and women make mistakes, not our Lord,' my Lady Ser."
The priest's eyes widened and his facial tattoos suddenly looked darker red, as if the blood had flushed into his face under the cover of his velvety dark skin. His breathing quickened as he looked from Brienne to Podrick then back again. Podrick's remarks had alarmed the Red Priest.
"You know Kinvara?" the priest asked.
Brienne nodded. "Yes, Podrick and I met her in Essos. Do you know her?"
Moqorro also nodded. "She is the High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, the First Servant of the Lord of Light, the highest of our faith. Her words are our Lord's words."
"She said she had a vision for me," Brienne admitted.
Moqorro was so startled by her admission that his lips parted as he stared at her. The chill swept over her again. She looked down to see Serdun and Ardayn sitting beside her, looking up at the Red Priest with focused intensity. Moqorro didn't seem to notice them but everyone else did. The lords shifted away while Bronn and Tyrion tugged on Jaime, still kneeling by Cersei's ashes, urging him out of the dragons' fire range.
"What did she see?" the priest demanded, his voice deepening with his urgency.
"She said 'I see you floating between the sun and a star, running with wolves and lions, soaring with dragons and eagles, parting the blackest clouds and holding lighting in your hand.' She told me I had a great destiny," Brienne recalled.
"She also said my Lady Ser was the light in the darkness," Podrick added.
He had Ela in his lap. The babe seemed to also sense the chill in the air because she sat quietly in his arms, snuggling close, not even reaching for Allwyn. The dragon had stationed itself in front of Podrick, putting itself between them and Brienne's tension. Allwyn sniffed the air, trying to find the source of its mother's rising agitation.
"Then it is so," Moqorro insisted. "Kinvara is the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom. She tells no lies. What she sees will come to pass."
Another chill slid down Brienne's spine. It wasn't Moqorro's words or even the conviction in them that caused her blood to prick. Something was wrong. She looked around the room again, trying to determine what it was. Griff also seemed to pick up her sense of unease. He walked over to Gregor's remains, Catren and Gallan at his back. The dragons hissed at the burnt, blackened remains of the former Queensguard as Griff reached into the ashes to retrieve Dawn.
Brienne continued to search the room. Jaime, Tyrion and Bronn were standing together, not far from Cersei's ashes, but far enough away to be out of the dragons' fire range. The Dornish lords were also in a tight group, looking back at her with mingled confusion and concern clear in their tense postures. The Lannister guards, stationed outside the open main doors, looked around uneasily. They put their hands over the sword pommels, an involuntary act of self-protection. Podrick, with Ela in his lap, bent his head, soothing the little girl.
Once Podrick bent down, Brienne saw Boros's dead body slumped against the wall behind him. But Boros hadn't been near the wall. He'd been at the side doors when Brienne had slit his throat for shooting a bolt at her dragons. Yes, she saw the pool of blood where his body had fallen. She also saw the trail of blood where Boros had dragged himself to the wall. Suddenly, Boros opened his eyes. They were an eerie, unnatural shade of blue.
Instantly, Brienne was transported back to the day in the Dragon Pit, when the Wight Jon had captured ran out of the wooden box and screamed its inhuman cry. Wight. Brienne reached for her sword but the scabbard was empty. Moving instinctively, she grabbed Ice from the ashes. The greatsword was heavy, requiring both hands to hold it steady. Gritting her teeth at the unfamiliar weight, she lifted the sword and ran to Boros.
"Brienne!" Griff cried.
She ignored him, her entire focus on the unnaturally blue eyes staring at her. She thrust Ice into Boros's blue eye and his corpse shattered, hitting her with shards of ice. The other former Queensguard also sat up. Brienne turned to them with Ice but Ardayn and Serdun were ahead of her. They unleashed dragonfire on the unliving, moving corpses. The Wights screamed their nerve-shattering scream of the undead as the fire burned them inside their armor.
Brienne whirled around. "We're under attack! The dead are rising!"
For a shocked moment, everyone stared at her, open-mouthed. Despite Boros shattering and the other Queensguard burning, they couldn't fully grasp the enormity of the nightmare they were seeing. Tyrion was the first to recover.
"The graveyards! The capital is full of graveyards," he said, his voice rough with urgency. "If the dead are rising, they're rising inside the city walls!"
Brienne stared at him in horror as everyone else broke free of the shock that had held them. The lords reached for their swords, not knowing the ordinary steel wouldn't protect them against the undead. Then she heard Lord Hayford's words in her ears.
"We suffered because of the Lannisters. Now their men fill the tourney grounds and their imp stands at your side."
The dead wouldn't just rise inside the city walls, they would rise around the tourney grounds. Many of the men defeated in previous tourneys were buried in the grounds past the tourney area, preferring or uncaringly left behind in mass graves near the field of honor. The Westerlands troops were out there now, without protection or weapons able to fight the Army of the Dead.
Brienne didn't hesitate a second longer. She ran out of the room, Ice still in her hands, Ardayn and Serdun flying at her side. The dragons' fierce cries cleared their path as she ran out of the castle and through the streets. Her breath was burning in her lungs when she finally came to the Gold Cloaks stationed at the King's Gate. The guards immediately raised their hands, away from their sword belts, trying to show the dragons they were no threat to them.
"Clear the area. Call in the troops," Brienne gasped. "We need…we need to bring the army… inside the walls."
The Gold Cloaks looked confused but nodded and hurried out to the army. Brienne leaned against the wall, inside the gate's arch, catching her breath as Ardayn and Serdun guarded her. The merchants who'd set up stalls near the gates hurriedly began packing their wares as the Gold Cloaks called to the Westerlands troops. Brienne looked up and realized the chill she felt hadn't just been her nerves. The sky was now heavy with dark grey clouds and a sharp breeze made goosebumps rise on her arms again.
The first of the troops began to rush towards the gates. She hurried outside, beyond the wall, to watch the skies as the men clogged the gate. Ardayn and Serdun flew at her shoulders, their shrieks urging the men to run faster into the greater safety of the city walls. Soon the path was filled with the black leathers and red uniforms of the Westerlands army. Brienne continued to watch the gathering clouds, shivering in the chill winds they brought. Was the Night King coming? Had he raised Viserion and decided to attack the capital first?
An inhuman shriek grabbed her attention. She looked to the rise past the tourney grounds for the source. There! Several Westerlands soldiers were using their swords to hack at the inhuman creatures emerging from the ground. These Wights were even a greater horror than the one Jon Snow had captured. The bodies, already damaged from injuries sustained on the field of honor, were barely held together with thin layers of skin and muscle, with bone pushing out of the torn tissue.
Brienne gasped and her breath misted in the air around her. She ran to the men, against the surge of troops rushing into the city, to get to the rise. The screams went from inhuman to human as more Wights freed themselves from their shallow graves to attack the soldiers. They fought back with their steel blades, but steel wasn't enough to destroy the dead.
"No!" Brienne cried, "not steel!" She pierced a Wight with Ice, shattering it. "Dragonglass, fire or Valyrian steel. Get inside! Hurry!"
Ardayn and Serdun unleashed their dragonfire on the dead, setting the walking masses of bone, skin and muscle on fire. The Wights' ear-piercing shrieks became louder as their bodies burned. The men backed away, assisting their injured companions, as they stumbled towards the gates.
"Brienne!"
She thought she heard Griff calling to her but didn't spare the energy to look back. The dead were gathering, rising from the grounds, lumbering out of the trees towards her, almost as if they were drawn to her. She heard another dragon's shriek and looked up to see Gallan join them, adding its firepower to Ardayn and Serdun's.
"Brienne!"
This time she looked back to see Griff and Podrick on the ramparts. The King's Gate was now blocked by the sheer mass of men forcing their way into the city, the crowd too tightly packed to allow anyone out through the gateway. She looked back to Griff to see him, with Catren and Allwyn on either side, jump off the high wall guarding the city.
"No!" Brienne cried, horrified. Her king had just thrown himself to his death!
Griff wasn't dead. Far from it. She hadn't seen that he had his arms around Catren and Allwyn as he leapt away from the wall. The dragons, though small, were strong enough to slow down his descent. Griff released them when he was only a few feet from the ground. He landed and rolled forward, coming out of the roll in a smooth, controlled motion. He jumped to his feet and unsheathed Dawn, dodging around guards with his usual grace and speed.
"Brienne, behind you!" Griff called.
Brienne lashed out even as she turned, shattering the Wight about to attack her. Then Griff, Catren and Allwyn were with her. Griff thrust his blade into a Wight with such force he almost overbalanced when the creature shattered. They both stared at Dawn in wide-eyed shock. Ice needed to pierce a Wight to destroy it, but Dawn only needed to touch it. Griff adjusted his style from the two-handed thrust Brienne favored to the light, quick water dance style he'd perfected in Essos.
For several minutes, Brienne, Griff and the dragons fought valiantly but the dead were growing in numbers. Soon Brienne and Griff were forced to fight back-to-back, with the dragons firing from above them. Even with all of their efforts, they weren't enough to hold back the tide of dead. Brienne gasped air into her burning lungs, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her, her arms aching as she grunted and slashed out with the heavy Valyrian steel sword. At her back, Griff also breathed in deep, desperate gasps, his energy draining as fast as hers. Despair gripped her heart as she looked up at her precious dragons. They would stay and fight with them to the very end, dying with their parents, if need be. This couldn't be their end, could it?
Suddenly, a line of burning arrows flew over them, into the mass of oncoming Wights. Brienne and Griff turned to look back at the city walls. Jaime was on the ramparts with the Lannister archers, the same men who'd rushed inside the safety of the city walls. Jaime's face was red and he gestured to the men. They adjusted their positions as more men filled the ramparts behind them, setting up a second line of archers for a more powerful assault. Bronn, Ned and Balon ran from Jaime, waving the men along as the archers filled the gaps.
The walls were lined with the black leathers and crimson red uniforms of the Lannister forces while, below them, the blood-red three-headed dragon banners of House Targaryen fluttered in the chilly breeze. Hope filled Brienne's heart and arms with a wave of warmth and energy. Jaime was, once again, coming to her rescue. As he'd done when Locke's men wanted to rape her and when the bear had tried to kill her, when she'd needed him most, Jaime rose to her defense. She knew then, as clearly as she knew her own name, they would survive this battle. Even more, with Griff at her side, the dragons overhead and Jaime at her back, they would win.
"Brienne!"
Jaime gestured to her, urging them to come closer to the city walls. Brienne understood his plan. He was trying to limit the attack against them. With the wall at their backs, the dead could only attack them from the front. They'd be closer, making the archers' hits stronger and more precise. The archers could focus on shooting at the dead without risking hitting her, Griff or the dragons.
"Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!" Brienne ordered.
Griff had already started creating a path towards the archers. Brienne pressed against his back, trusting him to lead them, as she covered their retreat. The dragons tightened their circle as the flaming arrows shot into the mass of Wights, effectively cutting down their numbers. Slowly, they worked their way back to the city walls. Brienne knew they were at the shelter when Griff wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to his side.
"Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!" he ordered.
The dragons came down to the ground beside them. A line of burning arrows drove into the ground in front of them, separating them from the oncoming Wights. Brienne, now able to hear Jaime screaming orders to his archers, finally released Ice. The Stark's greatsword tumbled to the ground. Her hands were numb from the heavy weight and tight grip. She flexed her fingers to encourage the blood flow. Her fingertips tingled and the heat from the burning arrows warmed her as she slumped against the bricks and mortar.
"Archers, second line, aim at the rear!" Jaime screamed. "First line, continue defense!"
Further down the walls, Bronn, Ned and Balon repeated his order to the officers stationed there, directing the archers they commanded. Now that the fear of hitting Brienne, Griff or the dragons had been managed, the archers engaged with deadly force, demonstrating why the Westerlands armies were among the greatest in the world. The double line of archers shot on command, one line bending down to fit new arrows into their bows as the other line shot fire into the mass of Wights. Sweat-soaked squires were at their sides, lighting arrows as fast as the archers shot them.
Brienne closed her eyes and slumped into Griff, allowing Jaime's voice to wash over her as he called out orders, battle strategy and encouragement to his men. She was tired to the bone, her legs shaking with the effort of holding up her own weight. Gently, bearing her weight along with his own, Griff slid down the wall until they reached the ground. He was as exhausted as she was, not even having enough energy to call the dragons. They both held out their arms, allowing the dragons to snuggle into them, the constantly renewed line of burning arrows protecting them from the rapidly thinning mass of Wights.
A wave of human cries washed over them. Brienne turned to look towards the Lion's Gate on her right. Though her view was limited, she could see men waving their hands and bows. The mass of Wights further thinned as more archers turned their bows to the tourney grounds. Then there were no more. The Lannister archers had defeated the Wights. They had won their first battle against the Army of the Dead. The men above her head cried out in triumph and relief.
"My Lady Ser! Your Grace!" Podrick's voice was hard to hear over the rejoicing.
"Formation!" Jaime ordered. "Hold your positions!"
The men quieted as they realized they hadn't been released from the battle line. The archers and their squires returned to their marks, once again ready for battle. Jaime pushed through them to where Bronn, Balon and his officers had gathered. The officers and knights huddled in a group, listening attentively to whatever Jaime was saying to them. The archers and their squires were still and alert, conserving their energy, prepared in case they needed to fight another battle. The relative calm allowed Podrick to call down from the rampart.
"My Lady Ser! Your Grace!" he yelled. "Are you well?"
Griff dragged himself to his feet and staggered back, so he could see up. "Yes, we're fine."
"Water!" Brienne cried, also rising.
"Yes, my Lady Ser." Podrick turned away from them. "Water! The dragons need water."
In seconds, many of the archers and even several officers passed along their water skins. Podrick tossed them over the side, careful to throw them a distance away. Many skins burst from the high fall but several remained intact. Brienne and Griff eagerly gathered the skins and drank their fill then poured water down the dragons' parched throats.
"Open the gates!" Griff ordered.
Ned appeared on the rampart. "Your Grace, the gates won't open. The gatekeepers are working on them now."
Griff flushed but kept calm. "Then bring rope! We can climb the wall. I want an assembly and an accounting of the people prepared immediately."
"Yes, your Grace," Ned promised. "Immediately."
"Podrick!" Brienne called up, regaining energy as the water replenished her body. "What about the people? Did the dead rise in the graveyards? How many were hurt?"
"The people are safe, my Lady Ser," Podrick grinned down at her. "Ser Jaime took charge of the city. He armed the Westerlands army with burning torches. The army units have surrounded the graveyards. They have orders to burn anything that tries to leave."
"What about Flea Bottom?" Brienne demanded. "Some of the dead there aren't even buried."
Podrick nodded. "Ser Jaime gave the Dornish lords Valyrian steel swords and sent them into the streets with the Gold Cloaks. The city guards are also armed with torches, to destroy anything that rises in the streets."
"The babies?" Brienne prompted.
"The babies and Ela are in the maester's chambers with Ser Manfrey and Lord Anders," Podrick reported. "They both have Valyrian steel swords. The Red Keep is locked down and the Gold Cloaks are ordering citizens to stay in their homes. The people are as safe as they can be."
Brienne and Griff stepped further away from the wall. They watched as Ned, along with Daeron, reappeared carrying a heavy rope between them, just as Jaime returned with Bronn at his side.
"Why aren't the gates open?" Jaime demanded. "Why do you have rope?"
"The gates won't open," Ned explained. "We must bring Prince Aegon and Lady Ser Brienne into the city. His Grace ordered us to bring rope for them to climb."
Jaime frowned but turned to his men, barking orders. Quickly, the men helped Ned and Daeron secure the thick rope around the pillar and toss the end down to Brienne and Griff. Griff caught the end and tugged, assuring himself the rope was strong and the fastening secure. He turned to Brienne.
"Quick," he ordered, "up the rope."
Brienne shook her head and stood tall. "No, your Grace, you go first."
Griff frowned at her. "Brienne, we don't have time to argue about this. The Army of the Dead has just struck. Not in the North, not at Castle Black or Winterfell or anywhere near the Wall, but here in King's Landing. We need to get into the safety of the walls before they strike again."
"Yes, your Grace," Brienne agreed readily. "But you are the king. You must go first. Your life is more valuable than mine."
Griff glared at her, his jaw setting in the familiar stubborn manner she knew so well. But she also knew she was right. Aegon Martell Targaryen was the King of the Seven Kingdoms. He was destined to lead the realm out of the Long Night. Protecting him would protect all of Westeros.
"I am your sworn sword," she reminded him. "That night, when I swore myself into your service, you made a vow to me, too. You pledged to ask no service of me that may bring me dishonor. You cannot ask me to leave my king behind while I go to safety. You cannot dishonor me in that manner."
Griff's jaw was rigid and a muscle twitched rapidly in his lower cheek. He looked up at the men watching them silently from the ramparts then at the dragons gathered around them. His indigo eyes burned with a fire almost as hot as dragonfire.
"Fine," he agreed, his reluctance apparent in his tightly clenched fist. "Hurry after me."
She nodded and used her weight to hold the rope as Griff, as quick as a monkey, used it to scale the enormous wall protecting the capital. Catren and Allwyn flew up to stay at Griff's side as he quickly ascended the sheer wall. Gallan, Serdun and Ardayn stayed with her, looking up to watch Griff's progress. Brienne looked beyond Griff to the heavy, grey clouds still blotting out the sun and the warmth. Why was it still so cold if they'd defeated the army of the dead? She scanned the skies but saw no sign of the Night King. Was he up there with Viserion, hidden behind the clouds? Why had he attacked King's Landing instead of near the Wall?
Gallan, Ardayn and Serdun, still beside her, began to shriek. Brienne looked down at them and gasped in horror. The rope, which was so long, it lay coiled on the ground, was on fire. The end must have touched on one of the still-burning arrows. Even as she looked, the flame raced along the rope, disintegrating it in her hands.
"No!" she cried, trying to snuff the flame with her hands. "Griff, hurry!"
Griff, still several meters from the top, looked down at her cry. His eyes widened as he saw what had alarmed her. He had the blood of the dragon and could survive fire but he couldn't fly. A drop from that height would kill him. Catren and Allwyn, at Griff's side, shrieked as Griff turned his attention back to climbing. Podrick leaned over the side, Bronn and Ned grabbing Podrick's legs as they also saw the threat.
The fire ran up the length of rope faster than Griff could climb. But he was almost to the top. Griff brought his legs to his chest then pushed against the wall, using the strength in his legs to swing the rope towards Podrick's outstretched hands. Podrick caught Griff's arm with a harsh grunt that turned into a cry. Griff's weight was almost enough to send them both tumbling over the side. Bronn threw himself over Podrick's legs while Ned braced himself against the pillar. Daeron appeared beside Ned and grabbed Griff's free arm. Jaime grabbed Griff's other arm, over Podrick's hold, as Ned and Bronn dragged Podrick back from the edge.
Brienne sighed with relief as Griff was also pulled over the side. She whispered a prayer of thanks to the Gods for protecting Griff and Podrick. They were safe! She knelt down to calm the dragons.
"What happened?" Griff demanded. He leaned over the side. "Brienne!"
"I'm okay," she reported.
Griff whirled to face the men. "Why isn't the gate open? Bring more rope. Brienne is still down there."
Brienne straightened from the dragons to look up to the top of the wall. She saw Balon run up to Griff and Jaime. The knight was gasping for breath from his dead run.
"Your Grace, they're coming!" Balon cried.
Griff looked around the ramparts as if the threat could be an army of crows coming at them. "Who's coming?"
Brienne saw Balon face flush so red, she could see it from the distance. Her heart began to pound madly as she looked up at the gallant knight.
"The dead!" Balon cried. "Thousands of them!"
Brienne watched as the men, including the archers and the officers, turned to look towards the Lion's Gate and the King's Road. They all looked cold and grim, horror freezing their faces into death-like masks. The archers raised their bows, preparing for the next wave.
"How many?" she called up. "Podrick, how many?"
Podrick looked down at her, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "A wave of the dead, my Lady Ser. Ten times more than we just fought."
Griff, equally horrified, looked down at Brienne. "Where is that rope? We need rope. Brienne is still down there! Bring rope!"
Brienne didn't listen to his desperate orders. Now that she was paying attention, she could feel the rumble along the soft ground, the pounding of an army of feet. The skies above her darkened even more as a viciously cold gust of wind struck her cheeks and pulled at her hair. They had only fought the first wave. Now the real Army of the Dead had arrived.
She should have known the small number they'd battled wasn't enough given all the dead bodies littering the Crownlands. She'd underestimated the true cruelty of men. Their bloodthirsty quest for power and glory never changed. After the War of the Five Kings, after Robert's Rebellion, after all the battles in history, guarding graveyards wasn't enough.
She'd forgotten they'd turned all of Westeros into a graveyard.