My own thoughts on the North: around 90 percent of its population live south of Winterfell, because any further than that, crops are nearly impossible to grow even in summertime. (GRRM gives no specifics on population density, so this is purely my own invention)
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Daenerys rode at the front of the procession, surrounded by her bloodriders, all of whom could barely move in the cold. Even with the warmest coat Wyman Manderly could offer her, she had not stopped shivering since arriving in the North, her body unused to such conditions.
In contrast to the Free Cities, which had few natural barriers outside streams, the North was covered in rock and forest, with only a few crude roads for them to travel on. Neither Daenerys nor those who followed her had any knowledge of the territory, so they were forced to rely on Northern scouts.
Perhaps he's leading me into a trap. She'd been betrayed too many times to put much stock into men's promises. It would be a perfect plan: promise to assist her against Joffrey, then lure her army into the cold and let them die. Nor did she have much recourse if they did.
Most of the Northerners traveling alongside them were older men or crippled individuals. When Daenerys questioned why old men were sent into the fighting, she'd been informed they intended to die fighting rather than being a burden to their families during what would be a severe winter. She didn't agree, but decided not to comment on Northern tradition.
Despite more than a week of traveling, she had not spotted a single village, not even when Daenerys decided to explore her surroundings. She'd seen the size of the North on a map of Westeros, but experiencing it was another matter entirely.
"We'll be eating well tonight!" A scout exclaimed, hauling a moose he'd succeeded in killing with the assistance of three others. Others explained to her forces which trees had tree bark safe for human consumption and which do not.
"How much longer do we have to travel?" Daenerys did her best to ignore her growling stomach. She'd insisted on living under the same conditions as everyone else, however difficult it was proving to be.
"It will be at least another week, likely more, Your Grace," Wendel galloped beside her. "Lord Bolton will have scouts of his own, so the element of surprise is unlikely."
"Then perhaps my dragons should end this fight now." Drogon and Viserion spent much of their time on the ground, with only the occasional forays into the air. After flying, especially for long periods of time, both required massive amounts of food they couldn't currently spare.
Any time a horse was too injured or cold to have any chance of recovery, Daenerys used them to feed her dragons, but even this left them weakened.
Rheagal had been too injured to travel anywhere, so Daenerys was forced to leave him behind in White Harbor. She made a mental promise to burn the city to the ground should anything happen to her child, though did not speak such threats out loud. She was dependent on them, at least for now.
"Dragons are not invincible, Your Grace," Wendel cautioned. "We did not see Bolton's betrayal coming and regardless of his evil, he is not a foolish man. Not only that, I do not wish to see the innocent suffer because they are forced to serve his whims."
"How do you survive up here every winter? I don't see anything to eat out here." Daenerys tightened her clothing as much as she could.
"There's plenty of food, provided you know where to look." Wendel pointed to trees. "Smallfolk often supplement their diets with those trees during the worst of the winters. You are correct that times are often difficult, but hard lands breed hard men. Any Northerner's worth five of the Lannisters."
Then why did you lose? Daenerys kept her skepticism private. They'd greeted her with little warmth. If this was what all of Westeros was like, taking the Iron Throne was even more difficult than she'd expected.
"Can we trust them not to play us false?" Daenerys asked Tyrion upon making sure they wouldn't be overheard.
"In some ways, the Northerners are simple creatures. They can be either your greatest ally or your most dangerous enemy. Few bother with long term plans or schemes against enemies, the way it is in King's Landing. If you're their enemy, they'll bash your head in face to face, not stab you in the back. Most of the time, at least."
"That doesn't reassure me." Daenerys despised how dependent she currently was on an uncertain ally.
"Something to keep in mind: The Starks are loved by their bannermen. The Lannisters are merely feared. Sounds foolish to anyone south of the Neck, but it's true. Removing Bolton and restoring Stark rule will do much to win them over. Their only barrier to marching South again is Catelyn and Sansa Stark, Joffrey's hostages."
Daenerys wished to rescue them but didn't have a clue how to do so. "And what do you recommend I do to work around that?"
"I've got a few ideas, but they aren't fully implemented. If it turns out we can't rescue them. . . there are other ways to convince the North." Tyrion's lip curled into a smirk.
Daenerys' followers and the Northerners rarely interacted with each other, few capable of speaking the others' language. Viserys' lessons were the only reason she could speak the common tongue, though even Daenerys struggled at times.
Those stricken by disease were kept in carts, where it was hoped they would not spread it to healthy individuals. Why has Bolton not attempted to attack us? Traveling on the Kingsroad made a sneak attack impossible, doubly so with thousands of men. She'd anticipated enemy forces ambushing them from the forest, then retreating, but there was nothing.
"Oh, we've had a few night attempts," Wendel informed when Daenerys had the opportunity to raise her concerns. "Inflicted a few losses, but I have complete faith in my scouts."
"How could you possibly keep this from me?" Daenerys' opinion of the man lowered by the moment.
"I'd assumed you were already aware of them. None of us were attempting to keep it secret. That Bolton has only made a few scattered attempts indicates his weakness."
"You will not keep secrets from me again. Is that understood?" Daenerys' bloodriders caught her tone and readied themselves for a possible conflict. Wendel agreed, their exchange reminding her how much she didn't know about warfare.
Their forces traveled only when it was clear, not wanting to risk losing their way in a storm. Daenerys spent most of her time with Drogon and Viserion, both of whom were ill-adapted for the cold. Neither had taken flight of their own accord since arriving at White Harbor.
Maybe they still haven't recovered from the ambush, Daenerys stared at the still-healing wounds her children had suffered. Dragons healed quickly, but even they had their limitations. Unsullied surrounded Viserion but Drogon would permit no one but her in his presence.
"I need you to take me to Winterfell. Can you do that?" Drogon revealed a few of his teeth, angling his body to where Daenerys could not climb on him. "I know what I'm asking, but we could put an end to this right now, spare us a long battle."
Drogon turned his back, tail less than a foot from Daenerys' face. Each time she tried to approach, he used his tail to prevent her from doing so. Never with intent to harm, but enough to give Daenerys the intended message.
Why is he so uncooperative? Drogon hadn't suffered the same injuries as Viserion and especially Rheagal.
Beenero approached her and said, "Dragons act for their own reasons. We are their companions, not their masters." Unlike everyone else, he wore only thin robes, showing no visible sign of being affected by the cold.
"We need to end this fight immediately and Bolton can't be allowed to strengthen his defenses. Just when I need his help most, he refuses." Daenerys did her best not to pout. "Does he not know what I want?"
"Dragons are highly intelligent creatures. Some believe them to be more intelligent than man. If they do not wish to do something, it would be unwise to force the issue."
Daenerys spent her free time studying a map of the North, at least the ones she had access to. If they were correct, her forces would reach Winterfell in a few days.
The next day, a snowstorm surrounded the land, forcing everyone to huddle in place. Drogon and Viserion moved right next to one another, burning the air above them for warmth. Dothraki and Essosi sellswords fell ill. Those already ill perished from the cold, their bodies buried in the snow.
No one could so much as start a fire and only half possessed camping equipment of any sort. Northerners minded it far less, but even they suffered the affects. "This is going to be a winter unlike any we've seen," Wendel muttered. "I can feel it in my bones."
A few villages were nearby. Northmen gathered what supplies they could spare, which was little. Daenerys did her best not to move, her body pressed against Drogon's, who had since forgiven her for attempting to make him fly.
Cries went up that afternoon, Daenerys spotting faint flames in the corner of her eyes. Drogon curled up around her protectively as enemy arrows flew from the woods. She did not dare to lift her head, memories of the previous battle flooding into her mind.
Twenty Unsullied formed around her, shielding Daenerys with their own bodies. Northmen raised swords to combat their news enemies, but no sooner did they mobilize than their attackers disappeared.
After brief debate, everyone decided not to pursue the enemy in the middle of a snowstorm. Wendel screamed at his subordinates to post an increased guard. "What does Bolton hope to accomplish?" He stayed cheery in Daenerys' presence. "He must think all he needs to wipe out our supplies is twenty good men."
Once the immediate danger passed, Daenerys moved to survey the damage. A single baggage train had been set alight, but the snow ensured the flames would not spread far. Three men had been killed, with eight injured. Their food carts, most crucially, had gotten through unscathed.
It took another two days before they could move again. Daenerys stayed as far away from the sick as she could, refusing to be struck down by disease so close to reclaiming her rightful throne.
When Winterfell was within sight, a half-frozen raven flew to Daenerys, a letter attached to its feet. She hurriedly removed the parchment, recognizing it as originating from Essos. What could they possibly need now? She'd been sure to institute enough security and killed enough of the former slavers to ensure those who remained wouldn't attempt another uprising.
Her hopes shattered from the first line she read. Daenerys turned her head away, refusing to let anyone see her emotions. Each sentence described more atrocities committed throughout Slaver's Bay. Drops of blood stained the parchment, several lines almost impossible to make out.
"What is it, Your Grace?" Tyrion noted her mood immediately.
"I. . . Daario has reinstituted slavery in Meereen, as have Astapor and Yunkai. It is likely that few remain alive in the cities, slaves or masters." Daenerys berated her stupidity. She'd known Daario couldn't be trusted from the beginning, but hadn't expected him to betray her so openly, ensuring all the suffering in Slaver's Bay was for nothing.
"He was a sellsword and cared for nothing but himself. It doesn't matter now, though. You have a new destiny before you."
"You. . . leave my presence at once, dwarf!" Daenerys' face turned red with rage. Tyrion knew better than to pressure her any further. Everything she'd done was to give slaves a better life, something other than a lifetime of servitude. Instead, they'd been betrayed, butchered, and those who survived chose to become masters instead.
Everything I did was for nothing. She was in no position to reclaim Slaver's Bay, not during the beginning of winter. Each time she tried to improve things, she failed. Daenerys had dreamed of eradicating slavery throughout Essos, giving hope to those who had none. I should have killed all the Great Masters, and Daario alongside them! He'd beg for death by the time she was done with him.
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Dear God, how much food can Trinity eat? Matthew watched her gulp down her fifteenth horse of the day. His Kingsguard had recently returned from Dragonstone and resumed their duties by his side, though none of them had been pleased to discover a dragon in King's Landing.
He knew better than to attract her attention during a meal. Those in charge of feeding her had to be well-paid to take such an enormous risk. However much of an advantage having a dragon was, Matthew discovered firsthand the logistical burden of bonding with one.
Trinity consumed two more horses before she was finished, curling into a ball and going to sleep. Matthew moved toward her, ignoring the frightened looks of his bodyguards. "Sometimes, I still can't believe this is real," he commented. "Of all the things I never imagined I'd do, riding a dragon is pretty high on that list. We've got a lot of danger ahead of us. I hope you're ready." Trinity made no response, nor did she seem inclined to fly.
For more than two weeks, Matthew had spent most of his time both learning how to adjust to a dragon's flight and learning Trinity's limitations. His estimation was that she could fly close to a 1,000 mile round trip, though she would require an enormous amount of food and a couple days' rest before returning to the air.
Their bond hadn't had any problems, though Matthew wasn't sure how much that had to do with his intelligence. Only a few books existed on dragon-riding and even they were little more than speculation. The Targaryens had kept that to themselves.
"I still can't believe you managed to bring back a dragon," Balon stared at it with a mixture of horror and fascination. "Still, she'll burn the city down if anything goes wrong. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
No. "We faced three dragons to our none. Now the odds are a little more even." He'd received contradictory reports from the battle. Some claimed one of Daenerys' dragons had perished, others stated he was still alive. Matthew wasn't sure who to believe.
"I hope it was worth the price you paid." Balon still didn't look convinced. They'd all learned of him performing human sacrifice, though the story hadn't spread throughout court as a whole.
"One life against millions. I'd make the same choice again if I had to. We all know how destructive the Mad King's daughter would be to the realm."
Just as Matthew was about to retreat back to the Red Keep, he spotted Sansa approaching the Dragonpit. None of the guards at the entrance made any move to stop her.
"What can I do for you, Lady Sansa?" Matthew gave a slight bow. "Or are you here to witness Trinity with your own eyes?"
"I was hoping to speak with you, Your Grace," Sansa extended her arm, Matthew allowing himself to be led away from the Kingsguard.
"Based on the look of you, I'm guessing this is important." Matthew kept himself prepared for possible ambushes. He didn't think Sansa would attempt anything, but refused to take safety for granted.
"With Daenerys landing in the North. . . what do you intend to do with us?"
"If your brother is smart, he won't attempt to fight a war during winter." Matthew doubted Bolton would last long in his position. The Starks were loved in Winterfell and with Jon and Robb still alive, their bannermen had a rallying point.
"I'm not as foolish as I look, Your Grace. I know my mother and I are hostages. I have already written letters ready to send." Sansa lowered her head. "But with all the bad blood between us, I do not know how much good it will do."
"Keeping a continent from tearing itself apart is not an easy task. Winter's here and we're likely to face at least local famine. I hope Robb understands what the consequences will be." Much as he disliked the idea, Matthew would execute Sansa and Catelyn if Robb forced his hand.
"I know." Sansa lowered her voice. "And as much as I wish I could go home, you can't allow it. I had all sorts of dreams about King's Landing, before my eyes were opened."
"I don't know if you've heard, Your Grace, but there are many mutterings about killing the High Sparrow. Many at court believe you're turning into the mad king."
"And what do you think?" If she thought that, Matthew doubted Sansa would tell him so.
"I don't think you're mad, though Melisandre gives off. . . something I don't understand. At times, I miss the young girl who used to believe in the stories."
"Those stories are nothing but bullshit. There's only surviving another day."
"I know there are many injustices in the world, but that doesn't mean we should give up on trying to improve things. If my father felt that way, the North would be as poisonous as King's Landing. There's plenty we can accomplish, Your Grace."
"I don't know whether to envy or pity you for holding onto your ideals. Is there anything else, Lady Sansa?"
"Yes. I've been hearing whispers about someone from Essos arriving to take the Throne. Not the Dragon Queen; someone else."
"Any idea who this is?" Matthew knew Daenerys was a threat, but she was the only one he could think of originating from Essos. Is that who Varys was truly working for? He'd previously assumed he was helping Daenerys reclaim her throne. He had a vague memory of. . . someone, though he couldn't remember anything more.
"No. However, I do think, should anything happen, some at court will take matters into their own hands. I've already been approached by someone."
"Be careful. Court politics are extremely dangerous."
"No worries. I'm a stupid little girl who couldn't possibly understand them." Sansa wore a sly smirk. Matthew mowed away from her before anyone could get suspicious.
Whatever it is, I'll be ready for it.
"You can't stay away from my bedchambers for long, can you, husband?" Margaery teased him that evening.
"Well, the sight of a woman as beautiful as you is an excellent motivation." Matthew refused to eat anything she didn't touch. He hadn't forgotten how the canon Joffrey met his end.
"I thought you should know, husband, that I haven't had my blood for two months now." Margaery relaxed on the bed.
"You're telling me you're pregnant?" Matthew wasn't sure how to feel about that. After his dose of radiation poisoning in another life, he'd been told that it was unlikely he'd ever have children of his own.
"I think it's a bit soon for a declaration, but I hope so. We've been quite active in our bed, after all." Margaery traced a finger down his chest. "You're not pleased, husband?"
"Even if it's premature, I'm excited to be a father." Matthew kissed her stomach. "I just worry about having a child in the middle of winter." There was also the practical matter of having an heir in case anything happened. Best to have more than one, considering medieval politics. He hoped it would be enough to keep the Tyrells from moving against him. "Any other symptoms?"
"If you're asking whether I've felt ill, the answer is no. I thought about it for several days before telling you."
"Well, I'm glad you did." Matthew intended to prepare his son or daughter for the reality of Westeros the instant he could. Especially since I'm convinced things are going to get worse. "If you're pregnant, I'll bet it's a girl."
"I thought you would have wanted a son, husband. Most men in your position would."
"Don't misunderstand, love." Matthew wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I'd love to have a son, but whether our child is a boy or girl, I'm happy all the same." He'd assumed, in the unlikely event he ever had a kid, Emily would be the mother. That's another life, one I won't see again. Best not to think about it.
"If he survives long enough, I'm sure he'll make an excellent King, between my head for politics and your mind for warfare." Margaery didn't bother pointing out he was overmatched at court. "Never thought a child of mine could ever become a dragon-rider. Seems the Targaryens weren't the only ones who could do it, after all."
"Life is full of surprises." Matthew still wasn't sure how it all worked, nor whether Trinity would accept anyone else, but kept his concerns quiet. He expected the noises he and Margaery made could be heard throughout the Red Keep, though he knew medieval people were far less prudish than commonly believed.
In contrast to most nights, he was able to fall asleep shortly afterward. Even Joffrey's rages didn't bother Matthew much anymore.
XXXXXXXXXX
The next thing he knew, he found himself shaken awake by Melisandre, more terror in her eyes than he'd ever imagined seeing. "What's going. . . going on?" He wiped his eyes, free hand gripping the chainmail he wore most night.
"You must get up, quickly!" Melisandre pulled him to his feet. "We are under attack!" Panicked cries echoed throughout the Red Keep.
So they've decided to move faster than I thought? Now wide awake, Matthew went to his sword, not bothering to put any of his clothes on. And with more support than I'd anticipated.
"My Lady, you do understand. . ." Margaery woke up quicker, pulling a dagger from between the bedsheets.
Barristan and Balon, the only two Kingsguard Matthew truly trusted, waited outside his chambers. Jaime stood in the center, sword already drawn. Before Matthew could open his mouth, Barristan interjected, "Your Grace, it is not safe to venture outside, not when the entire Red Keep is in chaos."
"Screw that, I want to know what's going on, and who's making their move!" Sword clashes could be heard in the distance, though they seldom lasted long. Matthew turned his ear, sounds of battle becoming more distant.
"It began a few minutes ago, Your Grace," Balon nodded. "Rest assured, no one will harm you while I still draw breath."
"We must act now, before it is too late to do so." Melisandre moved in front of him, pointing to her right.
"It doesn't sound like anything's heading here. What lies in that direction?"
"The tower cells, Your Grace." Jaime's eyes widened with the realization.
Matthew turned to Margaery. "Stay here. Ser Balon, guard the Queen with as much dedication as you would me. Lock the chambers, and don't let anyone inside until I give the all clear. I don't care what they say; do not open the door!"
So Varys thinks to create more enemies for me. Matthew kept twenty guards on Oberyn and Arianne's cell, remembering Varys' attempt to kill Sansa Stark. He'd purged as many of the eunuch's spies as he could, but doubted all of them had been found. Neither had all the Red Keep's passages been discovered.
Barristan insisted on being in the front, Matthew making no argument. One look at his face indicated his disapproval, but did not argue. Everyone readied their swords, Matthew's free hand wrapped around a dagger near his waist.
Gold Cloaks fled, paying no attention to their group. More than a hundred sprinted past him while nobles woke from their beds, cowering behind the doors. "This is no simple assassination," Jaime commented. "Your Grace, I highly recommend. . ."
"If they are killed, Dorne will muster its full strength against us! With Daenerys in the North, we don't need another enemy!" Even his personal guard huddled in place, loaded firearms pointed against the ground. "All of you, follow me! That's an order!"
For a moment, it appeared as if they would balk, but all eight men reluctantly followed, flanking the Kingsguard. Matthew could make out little more than shadows in the dark, the usual torches in the hallways snuffed out.
Bodies decorated the hallways, breastplates of the fallen offering no protection. Matthew pushed back the fear bubbling within him. What could have overwhelmed them so quickly. . . all he could do was pray he was wrong. Even Jaime looked at him with trepidation.
All climbed the stairs to the tower cells, screams becoming little more than background noise. Matthew's grip on his sword tightened with every body he encountered. Damn, should have brought some torches! But there was no time for such luxuries.
Matthew made out only two bodies on the floor Oberyn and Arianne resided on. Dozens of footprints imprinted in the dust, spears thrown away in their desperation to flee. "Get back, fiend!" Oberyn screamed defiantly, shielding Arianne with his own body.
Bars on the front door had already been shattered, the lock providing no protection. Matthew arrived just as their attacker plunged its blade into Oberyn's chest, the Red Viper collapsing to his knees. It glanced toward its new threat, bright blue eyes freezing Matthew in place. This was no assassin hired by the Spider, nor a treacherous knight raising arms against the King.
It was an Other.
Seven feet tall, its very presence beyond mortal comprehension. He possessed a great beauty, his face even more handsome than the likes of Jaime Lannister. The rest of his body was covered in silver armor. He carried a greatsword as if it weighed no more than a dagger.
As it marched, Barristan shook himself out of his daze and raised his sword to deflect its blow. His sword shattered on contact, removing any doubt Matthew possessed about he now faced. "Open fire!" He found his voice at last, demanding his gunmen act. "Kill him!" Matthew did not know whether even bullets could harm a creature such as him.
The Other threw Jaime against the wall, appearing amused by his efforts. Barristan's sword shattered just as quickly when it touched their opponent's armor. Ignoring his other opponents, the Other thrusted his sword at Barristan's body. Despite his age, he moved quickly enough to turn what would have been a deadly blow into a glancing one.
Melisandre's eyes glowed with raw power, a lance of fire pushing him back several feet. "You will not harm the Lord's Chosen!" She exclaimed, her entire body now glowing.
Ellaria crawled on her hands and knees, taking advantage of the distraction to flee. Melisandre lit up the entire hallway, making the Other stumble away. He quickly recovered, however, his sword cutting with enough force to bisect Melisandre.
Yet she moved at an inhuman speed, the heat and light keeping him pinned in place. Jaime returned to his feet, a determined expression on his face. "You need to retreat, nephew. I'll give you as much time as I can." He looked ready to die, but intended to do his duty regardless.
You think to stand against me? How amusing. It took Matthew a moment to realize where the voice came from. The otherworldly creature pushed against whatever Melisandre was attempting to do to it.
Matthew jumped back, drawing his sword while cursing himself for not having a dragonglass dagger. The Other unleashed a blast of cold, no longer bothering to hide what it truly was. Barristan found his muscles slowed and even Melisandre could not keep up her efforts for long.
He ducked underneath the Other's sword, aiming for its head despite the futility of it. Matthew's eyes darted around for possible escape routes, but there was nowhere to go. The Other backhanded him, his body slamming against the concrete.
All the tales. . . none of them compare. Everyone else could not bring themselves to move, either from the cold or their own terror. Matthew stared directly into the eyes of the Other, adrenaline failing him. Its sword hovered mere inches away from his chest. He'd faced such danger before, but at least then, there was a way to fight back. Not now.
Instead, the Other turned toward Arianne, huddling against a corner. Matthew's men gathered their courage at last, three muskets acting as one. Each bullet penetrated its armor, causing it to stumble back. It allowed Matthew a crucial few seconds to get to his feet.
Jaime thrust his sword into the Other's unprotected head, using the last of his strength to fulfill his duties. The Other shattered into a thousand pieces, with hardly a sign he had even existed.
It can't be possible. They can't cross the Wall without breaking it. . . can they? Matthew weakly climbed to his feet.
"What. . . the hell. . . was that?" Jaime stared at his sword as if not daring to believe it had worked.
"Our true enemy, Lord Lannister. They lurk beyond the Wall, seeing to kill every living thing." Melisandre alone appeared unaffected by what had just transpired. "If there was still doubt in your hearts, I trust it has disappeared.
"Are you well, Your Grace?" Barristan ignored his injuries, moving to Matthew's side.
"I think so." Although Matthew had no idea why. He'd had me dead to rights. I was helpless. But he didn't touch me. His enemy would have had the perfect opportunity, yet he was unscathed.
An agonized shriek brought him back to the real world. Matthew marched into the cell where Arianne cradled her Uncle's body. "What could do that? I thought it was gonna kill me and it. . . shattered! Who was that?" Ellaria wrapped Arianne in a fierce embrace.
"More importantly, why didn't it kill you? Begging your pardon, nephew, but whatever that was, it aimed for the Tower Cells, not your chambers." Jaime refused to sheath his sword. "Valyrian Steel. . . that's why I could kill it while no one else could."
"We need to act immediately." Matthew shook himself out of his stupor. "First, we account for the dead and wounded. There may be more than one in the Red Keep.
"Was that. . . an Other?" Ellaria whispered. "I've read the old stories, but I never imagined I would see one. Oberyn, when he saw the creature, he protected us. But why would it come after us?"
I'm carrying an obsidian weapon from now on. I won't be caught off-guard twice. Matthew knew he should have done so in the first place, but never imagined they could cross the Wall without breaking it. Or had it already been broken? "Divide and conquer. If it killed you and Oberyn, House Lannister would get the blame. How would Dorne respond to such an atrocity?"
"How can we be sure you didn't arrange all this?" Arianne accused. "Kill us, then blame it on some creature beyond the Wall?"
"My Lady, whatever else you may think of me, I am not a stupid man. Your good health keeps Dorne's wrath at bay. And would any human assassin shatter at the blow of a sword?"
"Our enemy wishes to set us against one another, weakening each other for the war to come." Melisandre extended a hand to Arianne. "Now you know they are not mere legends."
"You couldn't have bothered to tell me these bastards could cross the wall?" With the immediate danger gone, anger burned within Matthew. "Seems I was denied some critical, need to know, information!"
"I do apologize, Your Grace." Melisandre bowed low. "They are more dangerous than even I anticipated. If they can indeed cross the Wall, we must adapt to face them."
No kidding. "From now on, everyone carries an obsidian dagger. I doubt it'll be the last one we encounter." Those around him were only half-listening, still processing the realization they were real after all.
"If those things are real. . . we've got to prepare for them," Arianne wiped tears out of her eyes. "I am a Princess of Dorne. They will not find me an easy target, not if you give me the means to defend myself."
"Obsidian won't work as a sword, but I intend to double production of arrows, spears, and daggers. Unfortunately. . . your Uncle has just been killed. It won't be long before your brother takes revenge." Matthew crossed his arms. "How am I supposed to convince him that a being which hasn't been seen for thousands of years killed Oberyn?"
"I will speak to my father, tell him what has really happened."
"I can do so as well, Your Grace." Ellaria bowed. "If they have indeed returned, we must face them together."
"He won't believe a word of it," Jaime scoffed. "I saw it for myself and a part of me still doesn't believe it."
"All right, I've got more information about the Others than I had an hour ago." Dorne to the South, Daenerys to the North, and the Others waiting for us to butcher ourselves. Whoever's leading them knows something about Westerosi politics. Matthew doubted Doran Martell would be convinced to refrain from taking revenge.
Forty-four guards had been killed, with no evidence left behind. Matthew spent much of the night rousting others from their beds while rumors spread about what had transpired.
He checked the armory for dragonglass weapons, finding them to be severely lacking. Despite all his efforts, Matthew could not equip more than a fifth of his troops with what was necessary to defend themselves.
"Surely this is a jest, husband," Margaery took a step back when Matthew next had the chance to speak with her.
"I saw it with my own eyes. Ask my Uncle, Ser Barristan, or Arianne Martell if you don't believe me." Matthew sat down on the bed, formulating plans to deal with the Others. Only problem was, none of them appeared workable. They can cross the goddamn wall. For all I know, they're building armies all over Westeros. How am I supposed to fight that?
"If they existed at all, they were wiped out thousands of years ago. How can you be so certain you fought one?"
"Is there anything else capable of shattering a sword in a single blow? It stood seven feet, slaughtered everything in its path, or do you find it mere coincidence there was no sign of any assassin? Doubt me if you wish Margaery, but I've seen the face of our enemy. Even Daenerys pales beside them." At least with her, Matthew had methods of countering her. What could be done against the others. . . if they could cross the Wall without breaking it, what more were they capable of?
"You've fought overwhelming odds before and still won. I don't entirely believe this story, as it sounds too much like children's tales of monsters, but we'll win this war as well. I can't yet be sure I'm pregnant, but I'm optimistic about it."
Least I managed to get out of that alive, somehow. He could have killed me, I'm certain of it. What I can't figure out is why he didn't. There were several possibilities, none of them good. "Daenerys is bad enough, but I can handle her. Supernatural beings are out of my experience." Maybe they can cross the Wall, but their wights can't. Could explain why I saw no sign of attempting to bring them back from the dead. Even that was speculative, though. Too many unknowns.
All Matthew was certain of was that the Others intended to wait until Westeros was exhausted, even sparking further division. Considering how violent the continent was under ideal circumstances, he doubted much could be done to prevent it.
"Our alliance has already brought stability to the realm," Margaery reminded. "The dwarf tried to shatter it and failed. So did whoever attacked us last night. My family will not forget either of them."
"Does that mean you believe me after all?"
"You're prone to saying outlandish things, most of which have ended up coming true. You even raised a dragon, though I question the wisdom of this. Seems evident magic is returning to the world."
"You know. . . whoever we're facing may have just screwed themselves over." If the Others intended to wait, it would give him more time to build cannons, to arm his soldiers with obsidian, to increase his supply of wildfire, all of which would be useful. If the Night King (Matthew still wasn't convinced it was him, but they possessed a leader of some sort) wanted to give him the opportunity, Matthew didn't intend to waste it.
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I know Matthew's first meeting with an Other seemed a little abrupt, but we know next to nothing about them. I've got some of my own thoughts, so I'll see how much of it I'll be able to implement. However, it'll be very different than what the TV show decided to do.
One of the things overlooked by both, though, is just how much food a creature that size would require, especially after a long flight. Logistics are often a decisive factor in warfare, and Westeros has entered winter, impairing efforts to support the army on both sides.