Jaime

The Lord Lannister took the wedding feastings from his intimate holding atop a Winterfell tower. Though it was more of a suggestion than an order, he still felt unwelcome and preferred the company of Bronn and the boy to the glowering stares of northmen. A one-handed man with neither enemy nor ally. He smirked into his lemon water and wondered if he was close to where he pushed the Stark boy. Until then, all traces of that day had faded from memory, but he could not help but reminisce as Lady Catelyn's face swam forward in his mind's eye. Her pale face clutching the lifeless boy to her breast as she cursed the gods. Her haunting wail seared into memory. The smirk had vanished, and in its stead, Jaime felt a growing sense of sorrow. He knew as soon as he came here he would face many reckonings. Not just with the Starks, but with the Dragon Queen as well. Aerys, curse him. And Rhaegar, curse him as well. The love Jaime felt for the Dragon Prince was little and less, but pangs of nostalgia washed over him despite the bitterness. Had Rhaegar come back, had he deposed his father as planned, the Kingslayer and all the jeers that followed the name would have never come to pass. The prodigious oaf Robert Baratheon made sure that Rhaegar never saw his dream come to pass. Despite his hatred for the rebel king, Jaime could not loathe him entirely. It was Rhaegar's memory and the look that blossomed across Cersei's face the first time she saw him; he could still taste the jealous bile that rose in his throat when he saw her glee at the thought of marrying the Dragon Prince. More god than man. The fact that Aerys jilted Tywin and Cersei for the Martells could only be attributed to the Mad King's capriciousness and his hatred of Lord Tywin, but Jaime remembered feeling relieved all the same. Had he chosen Cersei over Elia Martell, there might have never been a rebellion for Lord Tywin surely would have chosen Rhaegar's bloodless ambitions over Robert's chaos. No, this path is folly. Father never would have stood for Cersei being jilted for the wolf bitch. War was inevitable.

Yet here he was, thousands of miles from the Red Keep, supporting the last pair of Targaryens. And not just any: Rhaegar's son and sister. There was a knock at the door, and Jaime left the twisting paths of could-have-beens metastasizing in his mind. A small squire clad in Targaryen blacks and reds handed him a scroll of parchment, bowed and hastily left the threshold. The script was small, slanted and unrecognizable to him but the signatures were unmistakable: "Queen Daenerys Targaryen, First of her Name, Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms." Followed by: "Jon Snow, First of his Name, Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms." It was the second signature that made him smile. He wondered if anyone else had ever received a summons from a trueborn prince of the realm who preferred his bastard name.

Jaime dressed in haste, downed a cup of wine, and left his chamber flanked by two Unsullied. His constant shadow. The trek to the small council chamber was uneventful and muddy, and Jaime was met by the same icy stares he'd grown used to receiving. To his surprise, however, he was met by his fellow northbound travelers in the great hall: Bronn and Lord Dayne.

"Ah," Bronn said as he clapped Jaime on the back. "You got an invite to the party too?" Jaime looked at the rogue reproachfully but could see Lord Dayne chuckling.

"Don't encourage him," Jaime said smiling to young Ned and they approached the small council threshold.

"Alright boys, let's see if we're to be roasted alive or not." Jaime saw the smile vanish from Ned's face as the door swung inwards and revealed the last two Targaryens.

Daenerys stood alone at the foot of the long table, the fire glow casting strange, dancing shadows across her grave face. Jon stood near the hearth, his head buried in a piece of parchment, not bothering to look towards the guests.

"My Lords, you are welcome. Sit." The Queen motioned towards the empty chairs, her voice stony and cold. After a few suspicious glances, the three travelers each took a seat. Once again, Brienne of Tarth stood in the corner, watching Jaime intently. Oathkeeper at her side.

"We have just received word from The Last Hearth," Daenerys said, her voice dripping with fraught. Jaime's heart began to beat faster: he knew what news would come next.

"The Night King and his army have advanced on the north. They've taken Last Hearth. What remains of House Umber has fled south toward Winterfell. We will begin the evacuation of women and children as hastily as possible. Whoever remains will take up arms against the army of the dead." But for the crackling hearth, the room was silent. Jaime shifted his gaze to Jon who's dark figure still huddled by the flames, the parchment clutched tight in hand. It was Bronn who spoke first.

"You think we stand a chance against these…" He paused. "These things?" Jon spun around finally, the pain visible across his face.

"We have no choice but to stand against them. Chance or no chance. We have two dragons…" Jaime noted the small wince from Daenerys as Jon said this, but the latter did not stop. "But the time has come. The Night King will be here in less than a fortnight." Jon drew in a deep, labored breath. "Daenerys and I must be the ones to stop him." Jaime felt his chest constrict. He had heard the boy retell Howland Reed's tale on the road, heard him speak of Children and magic. Had Jaime heard them two months earlier, he would have dismissed them along with grumpkins and snarks… But now… He could still hear the shriek of the wight ringing in his ears. An unfamiliar voice shook Jaime from the shrieks.

"Lord Dayne," A soft, papery voice that emerged from the chamber threshold- still and featureless as a godswood pool. Brandon Stark emerged first followed by the bulk of Samwell Tarly. Jaime suddenly became acutely aware of each beat of his heart, each whisper of breath, each rise and fall of his chest. The eyes in the room shifted from Jon to Ned as Samwell and Bran settled around the table. Ned shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the mention of his name. The boy is not used to such attention from people in power, Jaime thought. He nodded solemnly at Bran who began to speak again. "You carry a gift for our King, do you not?" If Ned was surprised he hid it well. Jaime studied the crippled Stark with a measured intensity, but the boy showed no sign of interest in him. Jon Snow narrowed his gaze at Ned, his wedding attire since replaced with a Stark gorget and quilted gambeson. "It's been a long journey has it not? Many have been lost along the way. Some lost to a selfish death," Bran paused. "Others have sacrificed themselves." Ned cleared his throat, preparing to speak.

"My, lord," Lord Dayne began, "it is true that we were met with treachery along the road. I am not the only Dayne to have left Dorne. Ser Gerold, Darkstar as it pleases you, made the journey as far as The Neck."

"Go on, Lord Dayne," Queen Daenerys spoke. Jaime glanced from face to face, still scarcely able to believe they'd all gathered together in a single room.

"He was slain on the road not far from Greywater Watch, of House Reed. Loyal bannermen to you, Lords Stark," he nodded toward Bran and Jon. Jaime saw a hint of amusement spark in Bran's face, then vanish quick as it came. "You see, Lord Reed had beckoned us there." Ned shifted uncomfortably. "Though, I'm not sure beckoned is the right word. You see, Your Grace," he nodded at Jon, "my uncle, Arthur Dayne was Kingsguard to you when you were but a babe in Dorne. He was slain with this sword in his hand." Ned unsheathed Dawn for all to see, its milky blade dappled in the firelight. "This is Dawn," he continued, "the ancient sword of my House. It is for you to wield now, your Grace. In the War for the Dawn." Jon drew closer to the war table. With a single outstretched hand, Ned offered the blade. Jon took it, held it out, testing the balance with reverence.

"I cannot take this, my lord," he said hoarsely. "This blade belongs to your house and to the Sword of the Morning. I am neither Dayne nor worthy enough to possess it." He handed it back to young Lord Ned who sheathed it once more unable to hide the disappointment. "Though I thank you for making the perilous journey and am sorry for the trouble of bringing it all this way." The Queen stepped toward Jon, placing a hand on his wrist, stopping him.

"Your Grace," her voice was edged like steel. "I would urge you to reconsider." Jon wheeled around.

"I am in no need of a blade and have matters far more pressing. My lord," he turned to Ned Dayne. "I mean no offense to you, but we are in the midst of-"

"The Long Night," a velvet voice called from the threshold. "Magic has been reborn into this world, Jon Snow. Your Queen has the right of it. Take the blade and prepare to meet Death in battle." A woman flanked by two Unsullied emerged from the shadow of the passageway. She was garbed in deep crimson and at her throat, a deep ruby drank the firelight. The flames licked at her auburn hair. Jaime could not recall ever meeting this woman, but saw the face of Jon Snow harden, and knew it was not the first time the King had seen her.

The Unsullied they called Grey Worm spoke first in a liquid Valyrian he had heard much of lately.

"Grey Worm tells me Stark guards refused you, my lady. I apologize for any mistreatment," Daenerys said kindly. The King drew a breath, his eyes burning with rage now.

"You should have let them turn you away, priestess," he said near a whisper. "For now I get to fulfill my promise to you." The tension hung in their air thick and palpable. Jon stepped closer to the red woman.

"I pray you get to keep your promise, your Grace. But first, let me serve you and Queen Daenerys. I have much and more to tell you and the Lord is not yet finished with me." The woman bowed low and reverential.

"No, but I am. And tonight I'll hang you for the murderer you are." Jon nodded at the Stark Guardsmen standing sentry in the corners and the two moved in to seize the woman, but at that same moment, Daenerys called out in Valyrian and the two Unsullied moved to block the Stark household. Sword clashed with spear.