Weirwood Grove; thousands of years ago…

Bran stared into the eyes of the First Man. He struggled, but the bonds held him securely to the Weirwood tree. A gag prevented him from speaking.

The Children huddled together, whispering in their native tongue. Bran understood it. He was the first human in 8,000 years who understood it. Being the Three-Eyed Raven allowed him to peer into others' minds. He could pierce their thoughts, enter their dreams. Language was only one thing he could learn. Like reading a book in a library.

Except the whole world was his library now.

Having finished their deliberation, the Children parted. Leaf, his friend during his training with the former Three-Eyed Raven, drew a Dragonglass dagger from her belt. She advanced on the First Man, whose breathing quickened as he stared at the dagger. Leaf plunged it into his chest, ignoring his screams. She shoved the dagger in completely, whispering ancient words of power.

The First Man's eyes turned blue.

Bran blinked, returning to his body. He had witnessed the same scene a dozen times, memorizing every detail. The Children of the Forest had made the Night King as their weapon of vengeance against the First Men. But even they could not control him. Now, the whole world stood ready to pay for their mistake.

"Bran?"

He turned, and saw Meera standing nearby. They were the only ones in the Godswood; Sansa liked to spend time with him, but she was busy overseeing Winterfell's affairs. In another life, he would have enjoyed her company. Brandon Stark had learned to care for Meera Reed, his protector. His friend. But that was before he became the Three-Eyed Raven. He was beyond such things now.

"Meera," he said, his voice neutral. Speaking as a human paled in comparison with howling as a Direwolf or cawing as a raven. "What are you doing here?"

"Do you even need to ask that?" She furrowed her brow in frustration, walking over to him. "Bran, I'll always be here for you."

He would have nodded, but settled for blinking instead. "Never forget your friends."

"My father said that to me and Jojen. Before we left to find you. How—"

"I need to do something." Bran leaned his head back, and his eyes turned white.

His mind entered a raven perched on a branch. He hopped off, flapping his wings and taking flight. His teacher had told him that he would never walk again, but he would learn to fly. Bran soared over the walls, the towers, and the armies camped inside and outside of the castle. Once, he would have relished the sensation of wind on his wings, the view from above. He felt none of that now.

Bran flew to the window of Sansa's chambers. She often sat there, at her desk, looking over documents and speaking with castle staff or minor lords. He landed on the windowsill, cawing. She turned to look at him, annoyance written on her face. He cawed again, prompting her to stand and walk over to the window.

He flew off when she reached it, passing over the main courtyard. Sansa looked down at the people, gasping as she saw Arya and Rickon, back at Winterfell after so long.

Sansa hurried into the courtyard, looking this way and that. Had she been hallucinating? Arya and Rickon were both dead; they had been for years. For both of them to be in Winterfell, after everything that had happened to their family…

She dared not hope.

"My lady?" Brienne asked, hurrying to catch up. "What is it?"

"Maybe nothing," Sansa replied. She frowned, not seeing them. Perhaps she was losing her mind, worn down by the stresses of leadership and, if Edric and Jon were to be believed, the oncoming storm. "I thought I saw…never mind."

Just as she turned to walk back inside, a voice called out. "My lady!"

A pair of guards half-walked, half-ran, over to her. "Apologies, my lady. We tried to stop 'em!"

"Stop who?" Sansa asked.

"A pair of ruffians," the second guard explained. "Young ones. A girl and a boy. The girl claimed she was Arya Stark, and the other was Rickon Stark. We tried to turn them away, but they slipped past us! We were just trying to find them."

"Deepest apologies, my lady. We'll get this sorted."

She had not been hallucinating! "It's quite alright," Sansa told them. "Return to your post. I'll handle this." They bowed, then walked away. She cast her gaze around the courtyard. There was only one place she could think of that Arya, if it really was her, would go. Walking with renewed purpose, Sansa headed over to the entrance of the crypts. "Wait here, Brienne."

"Are you sure that's wise, my lady?" her bodyguard asked.

Sansa smiled. "I'm in no danger."

She walked down the steps, entering the dark, dank catacombs. As a girl, she always hated coming down here. Her father insisted the girls and the boys saw the graves of their ancestors to understand their history. At the time, Sansa only wanted to sew and hear stories of dashing knights and chivalrous lords. Now more than ever, she wished her father still lived. She would give anything to be down here, listening to his stories of the Starks who came before them.

There they were. Standing in front of their father's grave were Arya and Rickon, the former wrapping an arm around the latter's shoulders. They were both taller, older. Arya never lacked for confidence, but she stood with an air of assuredness that spoke of many hard lessons. Rickon, though taller than their sister, seemed small in comparison. He slouched, looking down at the ground. A weariness wore on him, having eroded the happy, carefree child he once was.

"Do we have to call you Lady Stark, now?" Arya asked, not taking her eyes off their father's statue. Sansa did not think she was that loud. How had Arya heard her? "Or is it Lady Blackfyre?"

"I will always be a Stark," Sansa replied, stepping closer. "But I am now a part of my husband's family."

Arya and Rickon turned to look at her. Sansa smiled, and they ran to embrace one another. To be holding them again, after so long, felt like such a blessing. They parted, not one of them with dry eyes.

"You shouldn't have run from the guards," Sansa chided.

"We didn't run," Arya replied, a smirk on her face. "You need better guards."

Sansa looked at Rickon, gripping him by the shoulder. "You're home again, little brother. You're safe."

He smiled. "Safe. Forgot what that felt like."

Arya took a step back and appraised her. "It suits you. Lady Stark. And…you're going to have a baby."

Sansa rubbed her belly. "Yes, I am. Edric is a wonderful man, an honourable man."

"I met his father. We sailed back to Westeros from Braavos. He's a good man, in his own way. He almost reminded me of father a few times." All their eyes turned to look at the statue. "It doesn't look like him. It should have been carved by someone who knew his face."

"Everyone who knew his face is dead," Sansa replied sadly.

"We're not," Arya countered. "We're still alive. So is Jon, from what I hear."

"Yes, he is. I hope he comes back soon. He was thrilled when he saw me. When he sees you two, his heart will probably stop."

Arya chuckled. "I heard Bran is here, too."

Sansa's smile faltered. "He is, but he's…different than we remember. Come, I'll have some food prepared. You both must be starving, and I can't wait to hear about your time in Braavos."

"You'd be surprised," Arya said as the three of them left their father's statue behind.

Eastwatch-by-the-Sea…

Edric dismounted, handing his horse's reins over to a Wildling. Several hundred of the so-called 'Free Folk' now manned Eastwatch, serving as a garrison while the Night's Watch was otherwise occupied with the other castles. It was far colder here, and even the torches and campfires seemed to struggle burning. Winter had come, but would this one actually end?

"You think they've got any rum here?" Thoros asked.

Edric looked at a group of Wildlings who sat by a fire. One of them drank from a horn, the goat's milk spilling down his beard. "Something tells me their choice of drink is limited."

The Red Priest chugged from his wineskin, and Edric lead them towards the castle. The Wildlings all stopped to stare at them, and he had a suspicion they were more focused on him. He understood; even to the ostensibly more enlightened Westerosi, his resurrection was something that should not have been possible. Edric still had not figured out how to feel about it. Was it a blessing from the gods? Was it a reward, or a curse? Was it for a purpose, or to satisfy some longing before a terrible end?

So many questions, so few answers.

Edric stopped, noting Sandor and the Brotherhood lagging behind. He turned and saw them staring. Following their gazes, he looked at the looming form of Wun Wun, the sole remaining Giant in the Wildling army. The Northerners called Edric 'Giant-Slayer' after he had killed the other one in the Wolfswood. He wondered if this one would hold a grudge and snap him in half.

Wun Wun stared back at them, scowling as he normally did. Thankfully, he did not move to attack them.

"I'd be careful about staring at a Giant," a familiar voice said. Tormund Giantsbane stood at the castle entrance, hands on his hips. "They tend to be shy at first, but it wears off quick."

Edric walked up to the ginger. "Tormund." Until recently, they had been enemies. Now he needed to ask the Wildling for a favour.

Tormund regarded him for a few moments. "Last time I saw you, a crossbow bolt put you down." He jerked his head, indicating the other Wildlings. "They're all wondering if you're some kind of god, come back to kill us all. That true?"

"No."

"Thought not. You're too short to be a god. Besides, why would a god choose to come back to this world when they can live in whatever place gods normally live?"

Edric snorted. "That's a good question. Can we come inside?"

"Might as well. I've got some fermented goat's milk we can drink."

They all entered the castle, sitting down in the otherwise empty common room. Edric explained their plan, letting Beric add some necessary details. Thoros and the Hound were silent throughout, drinking their respective rum and wine. When they were done explaining, they sat in silence as Tormund absorbed the information.

"You want to go out there?" he finally asked, looking confused. "There's nothing north but death. If you and the burned man here really saw the Walkers in a vision, then you should know that there's no fighting them. Nothing can be worth getting us all killed."

Edric glanced at the others, then said, "We know what we're asking is dangerous, but this is something that needs to be done. Your people know the lands Beyond the Wall better than anyone. You could guide us to the mountain the Hound saw. If we succeed, this could mean the end of the Walkers for good."

Tormund grunted, staring him in the eyes. "You really want to go out there?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "Fine, 'Giant-Slayer'. Wun Wun and I will go with you on your mad quest. It's not like we have anything else to do."

They parted, preparing supplies for the journey ahead. There were not enough horses to spare a few for baggage, but luckily Wun Wun could carry what they needed on his back. The Giant's great strength was a boon in that regard.

Edric, checking the straps on his horse's saddle, paused. Truthfully, he did not want to go North of the Wall. The prospect of freezing to death, if the White Walkers did not murder him first, terrified him. Through some cosmic fluke, he had been allowed to come back as himself the first time he died. If the Walkers brought him back, he would not be himself, just a shambling corpse enslaved to evil. He wanted to be back at Winterfell, with his wife, sitting by the fire waiting for his child to be born.

Regardless, this is what he had to do. He treasured love above all else, but his time as Warden of the North taught him that duty took precedence over love.

"Excuse me, my lord?"

Edric turned. A young man, around his age, stood wearing a set of thick furs needed for North of the Wall. He looked familiar, and had a bulky, muscular frame, but Edric could not place him. "Who are you?"

"I'm Gendry, my lord," he replied.

"Have we met?"

"No, my lord. But…"

Edric frowned. "Yes?"

"Our fathers knew each other. I was born a bastard, you see, in King's Landing. Flea Bottom, to be exact. My father was Robert Baratheon."

"What?" Edric tried to fathom the information. That was why he recognized him; Gendry resembled his brother, Derryk, who stayed with them at Dragon's Rest for a time. He knew Robert Baratheon had several bastard children, but most of them had been slaughtered by Cersei Lannister years ago. To actually meet one, here of all places…

"If this is true, what in Seven Hells are you doing here?"

"I was taken by the Red Woman, Stannis Baratheon's witch," Gendry explained. "They wanted to sacrifice me, but a friend helped me escape. It felt like I was rowing for years, but eventually I made it to King's Landing. I worked as a smith there, for a while. But with the Lannisters in power, there was nothing for me there. So, I left. I made my way North, as far as I could travel. Found my way here about two years ago."

Edric could not help but feel impressed at Gendry's resilience and ability to make something of himself despite all the cards being stacked against him. "You do know that we're traveling far to the North, farther than any man has ever gone? Why would you want to join us?"

"Because I overheard some of the Wildlings talking," Gendry replied. "I don't know all the details, but you're on an important mission. Let me help you; let me do something great, at least once in my life."

He was certainly determined. If Edric's father saw him considering working with a Baratheon, even a bastard, he would burst into flames.

"Fine. Given the circumstances, I can't refuse any willing help."

Gendry smiled. "I promise, you won't regret it!"

They walked over to the others, who were gathered by the tunnel that lead to the gate. Several of them looked curiously at Gendry, but the Hound was the first one to speak. "Who the fuck is this?"

"This is Gendry," Edric said, clapping the bastard on the back. "He'll be joining us."

"Great, just what we need," the Hound grumbled. "Another mouth to feed."

"Just for that, he can ride with you."

Without further ado, everyone mounted their horses. The short walk through the tunnel felt five times as long, the ominous threat of their journey looming over them like a storm cloud. Once they reached the gate, it creaked open, like the entrance to the underworld. The winds howled, snow fell, and visibility was practically nothing.

Edric, gripping the reins tight, kicked his horse forward.

Dragonstone…

Drakon walked through the halls of Dragonstone, hands clasped behind his back. Beside him strode Varys, and a pair of Unsullied followed them a few steps behind.

"It's a curious thing," Varys said in his sing-song voice. "Queen Daenerys was born in this castle, yet was forced to flee Robert Baratheon's wrath. Here is where her life began, but it was a life of exile. Now she is returned, poised to reclaim her family's throne. Her life has come full circle."

"There is a certain balance to it all," Drakon agreed. "I suppose we all hope that our lives play out like that. After all, what's the point of moving on if evil things aren't replaced with good things?"

"What, indeed?"

"You must have spent so many years hoping your service to Robert would lead to a proper ruler sitting on the Iron Throne," Drakon said. "First Robert, then Joffrey, Tywin, and Tommen. That family never deserved its power, yet you chose to ally with them and endure them for the greater good."

Varys glanced at him. "If I'm not mistaken, Your Grace, I believe you are trying to lay common ground between us."

"Maybe I am. After all, I endured Robert's rule far longer than I wanted to. I wanted nothing more than to kill them all, but instead I waited. That patience paid off, as did yours. I believe our similarities provide fertile ground for the alliance I hope to create here."

The Spider was silent for a time as they walked. Then, he said, "Perhaps we do have some things in common, Your Grace. After all, we both began our lives with nothing, forced to scrounge and fight for what we needed. We've bone done rather…distasteful things to achieve our current status."

"Yes." Drakon saw the faces of all those he had murdered to become king. They haunted his steps, judging him from the beyond. "We did what we had to. Many would call us evil, but we did it for the power to affect change."

"Ah, power. The goal of every man and woman who ever lived. To sit at the top of the pyramid is a dream chased by all."

"In our case, it was necessary. Better for power to reside in a central authority, be it a king or a queen. Without that, it dilutes, spreads itself like a cancer infecting everyone it touches. If anyone can claim even a piece of it, then we get chaos. Look at what happened during my absence: without a strong ruler, every ambitious lord rose to become more powerful. What did that bring? Civil War. Death."

"If I understand you currently, you mean to consolidate power by allying with Queen Daenerys?" Varys asked.

"Precisely. As it stands, we represent two separate pillars of authority. There are those willing to side with either of us, if it advances their position. That would only bring more chaos, a more pronounced civil war. If we were to combine, though, we could prevent that. Any opposition could be snuffed out, and there would be no chance for opportunists to move through the cracks."

"You make an interesting case, Your Grace. I will present your proposal to the queen. Who knows? Your desire to create a better world might finally put an end to the feud between your families."

"Thank you, Lord Varys," Drakon said as they rounded a corner. "There is something else I wished to speak to you about."

"As always, my ears are receptive to whispers."

"Can your birds find their way into Highgarden?"

The Spider's interest appeared to be piqued. "My birds can slip into most places, despite the troubles abroad. They go unnoticed by most, therein lies their greatest strength. I believe that is how your friend Rona got her start."

Drakon looked away, pursing his lips.

"I was terribly saddened to hear of her death. We may have ostensibly been rivals, but nevertheless I appreciated her sense of loyalty. She was a very rare creature, I think. The world is a bit lesser for her loss."

"It is," Drakon agreed. "I was hoping you would deliver a message for me. I realize I cannot command you, but I believe this will ultimately benefit us all. You are welcome to inform Daenerys of it."

"Consider me intrigued," Varys said. "What would you like delivered?"

Drakon explained his plan. It was a risk, but since his family was at war for the throne and the fate of Westeros, certain risks had to be taken. Varys made no promises, but said he would speak to the queen about it. Their walk was interrupted by a Dothrakan who approached Varys, whispering into his ear.

"It seems a certain guest has arrived to speak with the queen," the Spider said.

"I wonder who it could be," Drakon said.

"That, I do not know. Now, if you will excuse me, Your Grace. I have other matters to attend to." Varys bowed, then departed, leaving Drakon alone with the Unsullied escort. He made his way to the throne room, intrigued by the question of the identity of the mysterious stranger. Was it an emissary of the Darklytes, hoping to sway Daenerys against him? Was it an ambitious, independent, noble trying to gain favour with the Mother of Dragons?

Drakon approached the throne room. The doors were open, allowing him to hear voices inside. The first was Missandei, Daenerys' advisor. "…the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains." He could not help but smirk; a helpless girl had risen to claim more titles than any other monarch in the world.

Just as Drakon reached the doors, he heard a man reply, "This is Jon Snow."

He paused, frowning. Snow? Here? The bastard dared to show his face in the South, after leading a civil war that lead to Edric's death?

He passed through the doors. At the far end of the room, Daenerys sat on the throne, and Missandei and Tyrion stood to her left and right, respectively. Standing in the centre of the room were an older man and a younger man. "You!" Drakon called. They both turned around; the older man was Davos Seaworth, Stannis Baratheon's former advisor, and his companion was indeed Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard.

Drakon hurried towards him, rage boiling within. Davos tried to stop him, but he easily shoved the former smuggler aside. He then grabbed Jon Snow by the throat, lifting him off the floor with one hand.

"Drakon!" Daenerys called, but he ignored her.

"My son is dead because of you!" Drakon bellowed. "If you and your traitorous allies hadn't ignited a civil war, he would still be alive!"

"Drakon, that is enough!"

Daenerys now stood several feet away, and a number of Unsullied leveled their spears at his head.

Jon, choking, unsuccessfully tried to pry Drakon's hand from his neck. "Edric…is…alive!" he wheezed.

"What?"

Drakon released his grip in disbelief, dropping Jon. The Northern bastard coughed, holding a hand to his throat. He was lying, he had to be. Jayne would never lie, and other sources had confirmed that Edric died in battle at Winterfell, killed during a civil war between him and Jon Snow.

Jon, having recovered his breath, said, "Edric was shot in the back by Ludd Whitehill. Ludd and Harald Karstark tried to take the North for themselves, and they wanted to get rid of him. He died on that battlefield, putting a stop to the fighting."

Drakon furrowed his brow. "If my son is dead, then you were lying about him being alive. I should break you in half right now!"

He took a step forward, and the Unsullied did the same. Daenerys placed a hand on his chest. "Calm yourself, Drakon, or I will have you removed from my throne room." She fixed him with an iron stare, and, taking a deep breath, he nodded. She signalled the Unsullied to stand down.

"Edric died," Jon said. "He died trying to bring peace to the North. Then, the Brotherhood Without Banners arrived a day later. One of them has magic powers, and he used them to bring Edric back to life."

"Thoros of Myr," Drakon whispered.

"Are we actually entertaining the notion that the dead can come back to life?" Tyrion asked, slowly walking over them. "Because I thought I was supposed to be the drunk around here."

"I've heard stories of Red Priests performing wonders such as this," Drakon said. Looking at Daenerys, he added, "It was magic that birthed our Dragons back into the world. Our bloodline has had prophetic visions for centuries. Is it so hard to imagine that this is possible, too?"

Daenerys glanced at Jon, then gave him an understanding, if patronizing, smile. "I know how badly you want this to be true, Drakon, but…brought back to life?"

"Edric and I worked through our differences because we both wanted to unite the North against the threat that's coming," Jon said. "And believe me when I say that this threat goes beyond this lord or that lord fighting for a crown. This isn't just another war to be added to the pages of Westeros' history books. This is the Great War, and the dead are coming."

Beyond the Wall…

Edric thought trudging through the Wolfswood and then walking, dying from arrow and stab wounds, back to Winterfell was terrible. Having grown up in the Reach, and spending most of his life in the Crownlands, he had gotten used to warmer temperatures. He missed warmer temperatures.

After traveling Beyond the Wall for a week, he started to regret being brought back to life. Death had been far more comfortable than freezing at the ass-end of the world.

Still, he liked to think his time in Winterfell had helped him acclimate to the cold. It did not bother him as much as he thought it would. He seemed to be handling it better than Gendry, who shivered so much his teeth chattered. "You alright?" he asked.

When Gendry did not reply, Tormund asked, "Ever been North before?"

"Never seen snow before."

"Beautiful, eh?" the ginger said. "I can breathe again. Down South, the air smells like pig shit."

"You've never been down South," Edric retorted.

"I've been to Winterfell."

"That's the North."

Tormund scoffed.

They kept going, cresting a small hill. Mountains surrounded them, but not the one they sought. The winds felt like razors on Edric's skin, but oddly he found himself not as troubled by them. Maybe dying and being brought back did something to his body, made it less susceptible to things like temperature. He frowned, wondering if it would begin to affect things like taste or smell. When he held Sansa, would he feel the warmth of her skin?

Would he become some mindless, numb, thing that was once a man?

"How do you live up here?" Gendry asked, breaking Edric from his reverie. "How do you keep your balls from freezing off?"

"You've got to keep moving, that's the secret. Walking's good. Fighting's better. Fucking's best!"

Edric smirked. "There's not a living woman within 100 miles of here."

Tormund gave Gendry a lascivious grin. "Got to make do with what we've got."

Gendry blanched, then urged his horse forward.

Tormund chuckled, and Edric said, "You shouldn't tease him like that."

"This one might not be so smart. You trust him?"

"He seems capable enough," Edric replied. "The Baratheons were always known for their strength in battle. He should be a good fighter."

"Good. That's better than being smart." They rode for a few more minutes, and Tormund kept glancing at Edric. Finally, he asked, "What's it like?"

He sighed. There was only one thing he could be asking about. "Dying? It fucking hurts, for starters. Mine wasn't even quick. I got shot twice with arrows, and that was after I got an axe buried into my hip by a Night's Watchman with a grudge."

"Rolfe. That's all he ever talked about. Way I hear it, your father killed his son."

Edric nodded. "I don't blame him. Now that I'm about to be a father myself, I'd probably do the same thing he did. Anyway, after I got stabbed and shot, I fell into a lake and drifted down a freezing river. After that, I walked for a day back to Winterfell. I felt myself bleeding out, slipping away. Then Ludd shot me in the back, and everything started getting cold. It kind of…felt like I was going to sleep, only I knew I wasn't going to wake up."

Tormund grunted. "You knew it was coming. Me? I'd rather get an axe to the face, die right away."

"I wasn't so lucky."

"Do you remember anything?"

"Want to know if there are seven heavens or seven hells?" Edric asked, arching an eyebrow. "No, I don't remember. There was only darkness, emptiness. Then, suddenly, I was back."

But, Edric thought, was he whole? Did he leave something behind in the next world?

They rode until nightfall, then made camp. Edric had a hard enough time telling day from night so far North, but Tormund and Wun Wun informed them when the time came. While the regular members of the Brotherhood tended to the horses, Beric and Thoros sat down on logs and ate together. The Hound, in typical fashion, ate alone, while Tormund and Wun Wun kept to themselves.

Edric sat with Gendry, keeping the poor boy company. As he ate, however, his gaze kept falling on Beric and Thoros. He had heard of how the Brotherhood Without Banners, formed to harry the Lannisters in the War of Five Kings, converted to the same eastern religion as Stannis Baratheon. Edric's father had told him and his brother and sister that the gods were fictions, inventions of men that justified horrible atrocities and let people sleep well at night.

Then a Red Priest had resurrected him.

Could there be power to the Lord of Light? Edric's father was the smartest man he had ever known, but maybe his personal experiences had biased him against the gods. 'Religion is a tool', he would say, 'meant to unite a population. It is men who give the gods power, not the other way around.'

Finishing his meal, Edric moved to sit beside Beric and Thoros. "How can we help you, Lord Edric?" the former asked while the latter drank.

"This…Lord of Light you worship. How do you know he exists?"

"How do you know when the sun rises?" Beric asked in reply. "How do you know the warmth of a fire in the cold? The Lord is light and life. He represents all that is good and holy."

"You mentioned a Great Other before we departed. How does he figure into your belief?"

Beric and Thoros shared a glance. "The Great Other is a god of evil, darkness, and death. He stands eternally opposed to the Lord of Light. His servants march on the Wall, leading an army of the dead. The Lord wishes him stopped, hence the reason for our quest and Clegane's vision."

Edric furrowed his brow. "So, what does bringing me back accomplish? What does your Lord want from me?"

"That's a lot harder to figure out," Thoros said. "The Lord is powerful, but he doesn't always tell us everything."

"How can you just accept that? You're his worshippers, why can't he tell you what you need to know?"

"He will tell us what we need to know when we need to know it," Beric replied. "It's a matter of faith. After all, he brought me back six times after I died. Six times. There's a reason for that, otherwise he would have let me stay dead after any one of those times. I may not know why he brought you back, either, but there's a reason."

Edric shook his head. "That's not very helpful."

"It's not supposed to be," Thoros said with a chuckle.

Beric placed a hand on his shoulder. "You should get some rest, son. We'll want to ride early tomorrow. Every moment wasted is a moment for the Walkers to close on the Wall."

His questions still unanswered, Edric pitched his tent and went to sleep.

Dragonstone…

Drakon sat in the Chamber of the Painted Table, while Daenerys sat to his right. King's Landing rested between them, while Tyrion sat in front of Casterly Rock and Varys stood off to the side. Drakon wondered if the seating was intentional on everyone's part, or if it was the result of happenstance. Jon Snow stood at the head of the table, by the lands North of the Wall.

The bastard spoke of impossible things.

"An…Army of the Dead?" Tyrion asked, his voice laden with skepticism.

"Aye," Jon replied, totally serious. "Since the attack at Hardhome, I reckon it's 100,000 strong, at least. For now, the Walkers are contained by the Wall, but they wouldn't be preparing their forces if they didn't have a plan."

Drakon glanced at Tyrion. He knew the Dwarf and the bastard had known each other, years ago. Would that former association carry any weight now?

"You must understand," Daenerys said, "this is difficult for us to accept."

"I understand. If I hadn't seen the things I have, I'd be inclined to think they were nothing but stories. My father, Ned Stark, believed the Walkers were real but thought they were extinct. I've seen friends murdered, torn to pieces, their skin stripped from their bones only to rise moments later as slaves to monsters. The threat is real."

Jon certainly had the look of a man who had seen plenty of battle and death. It was a look Drakon had seen in countless men, and he recognized it in himself as well. The bastard seemed to believe strongly enough, but Drakon was most concerned with the story concerning Edric.

"How does my son fit into this narrative?" he asked.

"Edric and I fought because I needed the North to be prepared for the Great War and he thought I intended to press my claim as Ned Stark's son. At some point, Edric saw what he described as a vision in the flames, a vision warning of the Walkers and their army."

"Stannis Baratheon's former priestess claimed to see visions in flames," Tyrion said, sipping his wine.

"So she claimed," Varys said from the corner of the room.

Jon continued. "After that, he recognized the threat we faced and helped me put an end to the fighting. He was killed, then he was brought back."

Drakon tapped his fingers on the table. "Why did you come here?"

"According to Edric, there's a mountain of Dragonglass on this island."

"Dragonglass? Why would you want that?"

"It kills White Walkers. Fire kills the Wights, but only Dragonglass or Valyrian Steel can kill a Walker. We need to start mining it as soon as we can."

Daenerys said something, but Drakon did not hear. He thought back to the days after he had conquered the island from Stannis Baratheon's meagre garrison. He started exploring the castle and the surrounding caverns, much the same way he explored the King's Landing tunnels as a boy. One cavern in particular held great interest.

"I have something to show you," he said, standing. The conversation ceased as everyone looked at him. "With your leave, Daenerys."

She regarded him for a moment, then replied, "Very well. I will accompany you."

Drakon lead her and Jon, along with an escort of Unsullied and two Dothraki, out of the castle. They walked onto the beach, and Daenerys' three Dragons sat atop the cliff overhead, watching. Drakon felt their gaze upon him, but some of their initial hostility was gone. Perhaps they sensed his Valyrian blood, or they understood that he posed no threat to their mother. Dragons were, after all, the most intelligent creatures in the world.

They lit torches, and Drakon showed them into the cavern. At first, they moved through a thin tunnel. "I had read of the Dragonglass on this island," he explained. "The ancient Valyrians used it to make candles and other such marvels. So it makes sense Dragonstone would have some. After I conquered this island, I began exploring the caves, and found this…"

They suddenly entered a massive cavern, so large that they could not see the top. In front of them loomed a shining black monolith, almost as large as one of the Dragons.

"Here is your mountain, Jon Snow," Drakon said.

The bastard took a few steps forward, holding up his torch. "This…this is everything we'll need. If we start mining this right now, we can supply the North with all the daggers and arrowheads it needs to kill every Walker that tries to circumvent the Wall."

"There's something else," Drakon said. He walked to the left, over to a stretch of wall. On it was scrawled countless pictograms and symbols, some relatively intact and some so worn they were illegible. "Half of these I haven't been able to translate. I believe this island was once occupied by the First Men, maybe even the Children of the Forest before they went to war."

"You're right about that," Jon said. The torchlight reflected the haunted expression on his face. He ran his hand along one of the symbols, a spiral pattern repeated several times. "I've seen this before. The Walkers left it at the Fist of the First Men, out of horse heads and body parts. Other Rangers reported seeing similar sights in recent years."

Drakon nodded. "Interesting. Perhaps the White Walkers have some sort of religion. Out of all of these, only one made me afraid to look at it." He raised his torch, illuminating a pictogram depicting a number of nightmare figures with blue eyes.

"The White Walkers," Daenerys whispered. Perhaps she, like him, was growing to believe Jon's insane-sounding story.

"Daenerys," Drakon said, facing her. The torchlight highlighted her beautiful face, and she stared up at him with an unbending resolve only a Dragon could muster. "I have to go North. If my son is alive, then I need to see him. But I cannot go with important matters left unfinished. Therefore, I, Drakon of the House Blackfyre, formally request that you, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, enter an alliance between our two Houses. I swear to agree to any concessions regarding titles and positions for those that follow you and to recognize your claim to the Iron Throne. My only stipulation is that we enter a mutual alliance of shared authority, Blackfyre and Targaryen ruling Westeros. Once the war with the Darklytes and, if proven true, the approaching assault by the White Walkers is done, we can choose to permanently ally our two Great Houses."

Daenerys turned back to the cave drawings. She was silent for some time, and Drakon hoped with all his being that she would not refuse. He desperately wished to avoid warring against her. The time had come to unify Blackfyres and Targaryens, not further the divide.

"Shared authority," she said, finally breaking the silence. "Equal power?"

"Yes," Drakon replied. "Everything that is mine will be yours."

"Very well." Just as he smiled, she added, "Swear to me. Swear on your children that you are genuine about healing the rift between us and our Houses."

Drakon saw them all in his mind's eye. "I swear by my children, Edric, Edwyn, Jayne, Daemon, Rhaenyra, and my youngest that I will never take away your power. You and I are Dragons, Daenerys. We are meant to use our power to make a better world."

She held out her hand, which he took. They bound their new agreement, one parent to another. "It appears you will get your Dragonglass, Jon Snow," she told the bastard.

Drakon turned and walked toward the entrance. Through heaven or hell, life or death, fire or ice, he would see his son again.

Highgarden…

Aelyx dipped his quill in ink, then kept writing. He sat at the head of the table, letters and papers strewn before him. What he penned were orders to Ser Addam Marbrand, current commander of the Darklyte armies until Saernys returned to the field. The enemy forces were on the move, and Aelyx needed to organize a response before long.

Kaenys sat to his right, and Saernys to his left. His youngest child mumbled ideas and formulas to herself as she ate. His eldest scarfed down her food and washed it down with copious amounts of water, a by-product of living as a soldier for so long. Gaeryn was still recovering in his chambers, eating and drinking very little.

For his part, Aelyx drank hot tea from his cup. He rarely drank wine, as it dulled the senses and affected one's clarity. It was one of the things he respected about Tywin Lannister.

Once he finished writing Ser Addam's orders, he folded the paper and poured hot black wax onto it. He then pressed his signet ring into the wax, imprinting the flame sigil of their House. Aelyx held the letter out to a servant, who took it and hurried from the room. Having finished that item, Aelyx started writing another letter. This one he addressed to Euron Greyjoy, whose fleet was busy raiding along the southern coasts and the Redwyne Straits. Once this war was over, and the Darklytes held the Iron Throne, the half-mad pirate lord needed to be eliminated. He was far too unstable an ally to keep longer than necessary.

Kaenys, in the middle of chewing on a piece of chicken, started twitching her fingers. It was a habit she displayed when stumbling upon an idea. She looked around the table, then grabbed one of the papers in front of Aelyx before drawing one of the quills she kept in her breast pocket. Kaenys scribbled on a blank corner of the paper.

From the corner of his eye, Aelyx saw Saernys smile at the sight.

"Kaenys," he chided, "that was a draft of a letter intended for Ser Gerold Dayne to incite him into rebellion against the primary branch of his House."

She paused, looking at him with a regretful smile. "Sorry, father."

"Maybe Ser Gerold will be swayed by a scientific treatise and not political rhetoric," Saernys quipped, struggling to hide a smile as she sipped her water.

Aelyx took a breath, then softened his expression for his daughter's benefit. Kaenys reminded him of his late wife, Faelyn, in looks and personality. Faelyn had always acted with passion and instinct, regardless of consequence. Aelyx's elder children took after him, applying strategy and caution. But not Kaenys. Every time he looked at her, he saw his wife's face.

"Maybe you should carry paper on your person," he suggested, sipping his tea.

"But I do!" Kaenys replied. "I just…used it all up earlier."

Aelyx cracked a smile. Of course she did.

The doors on the far side of the room opened, and one of their household guard entered.

"What is it?"

"Pardon the interruption, Your Grace. I know you said not to be disturbed, but…"

"Go on," Aelyx said. If the news warranted interrupting mid-day meal with his children, it had to be an urgent matter.

"Randyll Tarly is requesting an audience with you. Says it's a matter of great import."

Aelyx leaned back in his chair. Randyll Tarly, the man who fought for Aerys Targaryen during the rebellion. The man who fought for Drakon Blackfyre now. Why would he want to talk? With someone as straightforward as him, there were only a few possibilities.

"Very well. Bring him before me."

The guard bowed and departed.

"Father?" Saernys asked. "Are you sure about this?"

"If Randyll Tarly wishes to speak, then he wants something from me. If that is the case, then that puts me in a position to claim the services of a storied battle commander."

Several minutes later, two guards brought Randyll Tarly into the room. Weeks of imprisonment had left him haggard, with a scraggly beard and a dirty head of thin hair. He fixed Aelyx with an iron-hard gaze, his resolve no less dampened by his captivity. "I'll speak plainly, so as to not waste either of our time."

"A refreshing gesture from a nobleman," Aelyx noted.

"I could care less about my own life. If you chose to have me executed right on this spot, then so be it. But my son is rotting in a cell. Even if you did not have him killed, he would spend the rest of his life chained like a dog in your dungeons."

"You thought your precious king would crush us by now, didn't you?" Aelyx asked. "The possibility of our acquiring one of his Dragons was unthinkable, and yet it is so. Even for a man of such loyalty, such resolute character, that has to be jarring."

Randyll clenched his teeth, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "I cannot have my heir imprisoned like a rat in a cage for the rest of his life. I've done everything to groom the boy to succeed me as head of our House." He gave a heavy sigh. "Swear to me that you will ensure my son lives, and I will pledge House Tarly to your cause."

Saernys and Kaenys looked at Aelyx in surprise, though he maintained an aloof expression. Truthfully, he did not expect this to be so easy. Dealing with someone so…blunt should have required much more negotiation, more cajoling. Still, he would not overlook such an obvious gift from fate.

That did not mean he would not take precautions.

"You surprise me, Lord Tarly. I expected you to hold out for longer. Yet, as a father, I completely understand your reasoning. Therefore, I will accept your offer. I swear, by all the gods and by all the ancestors of my noble line, that I, Aelyx Darklyte, accept your pledge of loyalty. I also swear that your son Dickon will be given fair treatment as the son of an honoured ally."

Randyll visibly relaxed. "Thank you…Your Grace. I—"

"For the duration of this war," Aelyx interjected, "your son shall be the first of my new Kingsguard. Unlike the guard of the past, he will not forsake his House or take oaths forbidding the siring of heirs. Once the war is concluded, and my family ascends to the Iron Throne, I shall release him from his new station. Until then, Lord Tarly, he will remain at my side." The implication was clear: fall in line, or your son will have his throat slit.

Randyll glared at Aelyx, but nonetheless nodded his head.

Just in time for Christmas, here's the next chapter!

My apologies for the long delay. After my layoff date at work, I decided to take part in NaNoWriMo. While trying, I consider it a valuable experience in terms of productivity and personal achievement.

While I loved the GoT suicide squad that Jon assembled in the show, the whole idea of going Beyond the Wall just for one Wight to convince Cersei of the threat was kind of…meh. Hence the more magical quest I've devised here. Also, Gendry's back! Yay!

I'll try to get the next chapter out as soon as I can, so stay tuned!

Clay19: It's only part of what will win the war, at least according to Bran. It's all part of the magical rules thinking that allowed Arya to kill the Night King with her dagger in the show. There, it was due to Valyrian Steel and Dragonglass being similar enough to cancel the spell that gave him life, while here it's about using an element of the Weirwood Tree where he was created to end him.

TheOnlyKing: I suppose I'm channeling my leftover hatred of Cersei onto Visenya, but that's mostly because she occupies a similar position in the narrative that Cersei did. In this case, it's more about Visenya's shady past rearing its ugly head in the form of Euron Greyjoy. It was a way for me to make her past choices (that helped Drakon ascend to the throne) be linked with what's happening now. Euron is like that ex-boyfriend that brings out the absolute worst in Visenya, and Drakon is the current boyfriend who she chooses because he's right for her and he brings out the best in her. She's always had a ruthless streak, especially now when it comes to protecting her children, and that's what Euron values most. He'll do everything he can to bring out that side in her.

TheIronEmperor: Yeah, that was hard to write. Any character that's brave and strong and sympathetic being so broken down is heartbreaking. Like you said, it's something Euron would absolutely do, and it's something the show version of him lacked. My version of his character is a fusion of show and book portrayals. Olene will always be strong, but it might not manifest without some help. For now, she's trapped in a terrible, terrible situation.

Guest: Thanks for your review! As for Drakon and Jon, here you go!

Guest: Thanks for your review, and your spelling was absolutely fine. I can understand what you're saying. Essentially, Edric has taken on the character of House Stark even though he's a Blackfyre, and the name might change in the future. For now, though, it's Drakon's way of further establishing the legitimacy of his House. House Blackfyre's entire history before now was one of rebellion, but now it's the royal house and it controls three of the kingdoms. Drakon wants the world, and history, to know that his family are more than just rebels.

Reverend Rico: Yeah, I hear you. But at the same time, this is a world with magic and Dragons and priests that can birth shadow babies and ice zombies are a thing. Suspension of disbelief is already high, and in this instance it was a narrative necessity to (literally) bring Drakon down a peg and renew his perspective.