It was an unnaturally dark and freezing night. The wind howled across Winterfell, and battered Jon's face with thick snow as he stood atop the castle walls facing North. He would wipe the melting snowflakes off his face occasionally to keep them from freezing to his sensitive skin. To his left was his pale dire wolf Ghost, as warm as can be in his thick, fluffy winter coat, and to his right was Samwell Tarly trying his best to suppress the shivering from the bone piercing cold. The enemy would be upon them soon, and remembering the terror that the white walkers struck in his heart, Sam was tearing up, knowing that they would soon be here.

"Have you told her yet?" Sam asked between his shaky breaths. Jon shook his head.

"No." He replied quickly, wrapping himself tighter in his fur cloak, stepping closer to the dim torch mounted on the battlements.

"Hmm." Sam nodded. "Being careful. Biding your time." He guessed, assuming his friend, the rightful heir to the iron throne had a strategy in mind to deal with the dragon queen. Jon took a slow, shivering breath, but the heavy stomping of feet behind them cut off his response. Their friend Ed came to join them, his long hair and beard keeping some semblance of warmth in his head, though his receding hairline left his forehead unfortunately exposed.

"And now our watch begins." Ed commented, staring North, eyes assaulted by the freezing wind, drying them out.

"Do you think Gilly and little Sam will be okay?" Jon asked, teeth occasionally chattering. Sam nodded.

"Made sure they're accompanied by trustworthy folks." He answered, tears welling up, almost certain he'd never see them again. "They'll get..." Sam paused, shaking in uncertainty. "Wherever they're going... Safely."

"I don't know why you didn't accompany them yourself." Jon sighed, clearly concerned for Sam's safety in the coming battle.

"Everyone seems to forget that I was the first one to kill a white walker!" Sam growled, trying his best to appear as brave as the rest of his comrades, even though he was one fright away from soiling himself. "I've killed Thenns!"

"Thenn." Ed corrected, reminding Sam of his singular crossbow kill. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I've saved Gilly more than once, I stole a considerable amount of books from the Citadel library." Sam grumbled. "Survived the Fist of the First Men... You need me out here."

"Well if that's what it's come to, we really are fucked." Ed crossed his arms, closing his eyes for a few moments to give them a break from the horrible wind. "Samwell Tarly. Slayer of white walkers, lover of ladies. As if we needed any more signs the world was ending."

"Think back to where we started." Sam chimed. "Us, Grenn, Pyp."

"Now it's just us three." Answered Jon, looking down at his feet, remembering all the comrades lost over the years.

"Last man left, burn the rest of us." Ed requested with a sigh, starting a long period of silence where the three would watch wordlessly for any sign of movement in this oppressive darkness.


Jaime slumped back in the hard wooden chair, his red Lannister armour dim in this dark stone room, face barely illuminated by the fire. He sat alone in this cold stone cell, a luxurious hall according to Northerners, but barely fit to be a prison cell from his experience. The stone fireplace was the only hint of luxury from the Southern man's perspective, keeping his terribly battered and frozen skin warm. The flickering of the dancing flames kept Jaime's mind off the creeping fear that overtook everyone in the castle. These orange lights moving about within the confines of the fireplace, consuming the logs and kindling, their brightness leaving him night blind to everything else in this dark room. After a while of staring into the flames, a few peculiar sights formed within them. Jaime sat at attention as the images in the dancing flames began forming into familiar pictures... It was Cersei. She writhed and howled within the flames, Jaime's mind filling with his sister's screams, and no matter what he did, he could not look away from the fire. As his beloved queen turned to ash and crumbled within the flickering flames, he himself appeared as well, grimacing and churning in pain, falling to his knees. Jaime watched as the image of himself looked to an encroaching figure in the flames, a silver woman standing before him. A voice emanated from the flames, but it was short lived as the door to the chamber opened behind him, the freezing wind stirred the fire, and the images were doused.

"My lady." Jaime greeted, standing up as Brienne entered the warm chamber followed closely by Podrick. The big woman chuckled and shook her head.

"No need to get up." She insisted, keeping her steady trod towards the fire. "We were just looking for some place warm to sleep."

"Sleep?" Jaime laughed. "You really think any of us are going to sleep tonight?" He walked towards a dull table near the wall, lifting a pitcher of wine.

"Do you really think that's wise?" Brienne scoffed as Jaime poured himself a cup of the drink.

"Yes actually." He responded before taking a small sip, face grimacing at the taste. "I recently discovered that a little drink can stop your mind falling into despair."

"You only learned this recently?" Brienne squinted, watching the Lannister plop back into his seat.

"No thanks to my little brother." Jaime sighed, looking back at the two and nodding. "Come. Join me."

"The battle might start at any moment!" She growled, rolling her eyes at the perceived stupidity of the man she had come to admire.

"I'm not telling you to get drunk." Jaime whined, leaning back and taking another sip. "Just take the edge off." Podrick looked at Brienne and shrugged, implying he had a point. She sighed.

"Fine. Half a cup." Brienne agreed, immediately inspiring Podrick to rush over to the table and quickly pour the both of them some wine.

"Oh one moment." Jaime grumbled, getting up and stomping over to a dark corner, grabbing two old chairs by their backs in a single hand and dragging them in front of the fire next to his own chair. "There." He finished before plopping back into his own chair. The duo barely had enough time to be seated themselves before the door opened again.

"Well what do we have here?" Came the Flea Bottom voice of Ser Davos, clambering in out of the cold and rushing towards the fire.

"Care to join us?" Jaime offered, quickly being put down by the onion knight.

"No none for me, thanks. Came here for this." Davos whirled around upon reaching the fire, placing his rear uncomfortably close to the flames, his shivering increasing for a moment before dying down. "Figured I could wait to die freezing my balls off out there, or wait to die nice and warm in here." He explained, looking at the room's newest occupant entering through the whistling door. Tormund the orange haired wildling waltzing in with a smile strewn across his face, eyes on Brienne of Tarth.

"This could be our last night in this world, y'know." The wildling gruffly stated. His smile making the big woman shuffle in her seat.

"Yes and I-uh, am glad you're here." She replied awkwardly, provoking that smile to grow even wider. "Here to... Fight alongside us I mean." Brienne sputtered.

"Drink?" Jaime offered, pointing to the table and the pitcher of wine. Tormund laughed and pulled up a hollow goat's horn off his belt.

"They call you king killer." The wildling nodded at Jaime, popping the lid off his horn. Jaime raised his eyebrow awkwardly.

"I'm sure someone does." Jaime answered, wincing a bit at the informality of this wildling leader.

"They call me Giantsbane." Tormund smiled. "Want to know why?" He asked, cocking his head to the side. No answer could be given before the loud scraping of wooden chair legs dragging across the stone floor hurt everyone's ears, and Tormund slumped down in his chair. "I killed a giant when I was ten." He claimed, leaning forward as if he was telling a story around a campfire North of the Wall to a group of young rookies. "Then I climbed right into bed with his wife." The group started exchanging glances, Podrick holding back laughter. "When she woke up, you know what she did?" Tormund leaned in further, provoking even more snickering from Podrick, and a hidden smile across Jaime's face. Tormund nodded and beckoned the attention of everyone. "Suckled me at her teat. For three months." The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. "Thought I was her baby." Podrick started slapping his knee, a big grin plastered on his face. "That's how I got so strong. Giant's milk." He finished before pulling the horn up to his face, chugging the foul wildling ale, little streams of drink trailing down his unkempt beard.