I. Tyrion
Once the first light of morning shone into the walls of Tyrion's chambers, he decided that it was finally an acceptable time to be roaming the halls of the castle. After his decision to turn into bed early the night before, he had hardly been able to sleep even the most miniscule of amounts.
For the life of him, he couldn't stop thinking about his conversation with Sansa. It was almost as if when she told him to sleep well, she knew that it would have the opposite effect. Out of everyone gathered in Winterfell, she arguably knew him the best. Along with Varys, she was one of the lucky few to have been able to see him at his highs, as well as his very profound lows.
As he slowly walked his way through the stony halls, he began to feel less than. Less than was not a new concept to him, as that is how others had viewed him his entire life. He was less than Jaime in his father and sister's eyes. Being a dwarf made him eternally less than in the eyes of the realm and the majority of its' people. However, maybe for the first time in his life, Tyrion was sure that they were all right.
After walking around with a glass of wine in his hand aimlessly for the better part of an hour, he found himself in the most fitting of places. The library at Winterfell was more impressive than he imagined it would be. As he walked between shelves, slowly brushing his fingertips against the spines of the books as he walked past them, he saw books that were rare and several hundreds of years old. If he didn't already have plans for the day, he did now. Tyrion decided that a thick book was exactly what he needed to feel like himself again.
Once he had chosen his reading material, he made his way over to a long table to settle in for the day. He was sure that in all of the commotion, very few would notice his absence. As he flicked his way through the old pages, he felt a feeling of serenity wash over him. Then, faintly, from the other side of the room, Tyrion heard whispers.
In all his self-pity, Tyrion hadn't even considered the possibility that he might not have been alone in there. However, as he listened closer he heard two men speaking in hushed voices.
"This is the way it must be, Samwell. I've known for quite some time. When the time comes, you must help him make peace with the situation," said a low, steady voice.
Suddenly the voices stopped, and Tyrion became more curious. Just as he was about to try to get a closer listen, an unfamiliar voice sounded from behind the bookshelves.
"Normally I'd think it's a bit early for wine, but I heard Lady Stark stocking multiple casks of it for you a few days ago. You're considered quite the connoisseur around these parts, I would assume," the young man said through a gap in the shelf.
Walking towards Tyrion was a man about five times as large as him, and in his hands he carried a heavily populated armful of books.
"I'm touched," Tyrion said as he rubbed his temples. "but even for a connoisseur it would be considered early," he said as he sat down his book. "Since you know my name, I feel it's only reasonable you tell me yours, as well."
"I-I'm Samwell Tarly, My Lord. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard a little about you from my friend Jon. King Jon," he stated, correcting himself. "Though, you can just call me Sam. Everyone else does."
Tyrion shifted in his seat slightly. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, as well." It would have been an even greater pleasure to have been sitting here with him had the queen not roasted his father and brother, presumably, only weeks ago. Did he know? Tyrion quickly assumed not as the man didn't seem to hold any resentment towards him. He decided it best not to ask about his family, as ones from high houses usually did when meeting for the first time. Instead, he opted for a more light-hearted approach.
"What brings you to the library this early in the morning, Sam?", asked Tyrion. "Usually this is the farthest place from where others choose to be," he added, as not to sound too intrusive. Especially since he wasn't sure if Sam knew he had been listening to his whispers.
Sam sat at the table across from Tyrion with a look of defeat and bags the color of storm clouds under his eyes.
"W-well, I suppose it's going to sound pretty stupid to you, but since you're asking, I'm trying to find a way to beat the Night King." Sam started laughing. "Not that it makes much a difference now, after months of reading I haven't found anything." he said, still chuckling. "You'll have to forgive me. It's just that I've been up all night reading and I'm fairly certain that the lack of sleep has made me a bit hare-brained. I'll be off here in a couple of minutes once I've put all the books back, so you'll be able to get back to yours in peace," said Sam.
To anyone else, the boy's ramblings might have sounded like the utterances of a mad man. To Tyrion, it made perfect sense to seek solace from those that had come before them. He supposed in his own way, that is what he himself had been doing when he walked in here.
"No, actually. I'm now far more interested in what you're reading." Tyrion said as he settled more comfortably into his chair. He predicted the two of them would be in here for some time. "Have you found anything close so far?"
II. Daenerys
Daenerys woke up feeling extremely fatigued, and not even a hot bowl of porridge was enough to give her more energy. She had spent her entire life in warmer climates, so she hadn't ever considered just how much the cold weather could take its' toll on a person.
After she had finished her breakfast, she set off to find Jon. The two of them hadn't had much of a chance to speak since their arrival, and as embarrassing as it was to admit to herself, he was her only source of comfort in the unfamiliar place. The only time that she had felt confident here was with him by her side. She wasn't sure if that was her fault or her hosts'.
Since she had left her chambers, in what felt like hours ago, she was no closer to finding him. Winterfell was much more extensive than she had ever realized. She was positive that it had to be the largest castle in the North, and surely one of the largest in all of the Seven Kingdoms.
Just as she rounded yet another corner in an unfamiliar wing, she was face to face with a brown haired girl who walked quiet as a mouse with a sword strapped to her hip. If the Stark looks weren't enough to give it away, the sword surely did. She resembled Jon more than any other of his siblings, Daenerys noted.
"You must be Arya. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Your presence was missed at yesterday's festivities."
"It's kind that you say so, Your Grace. You'll have to forgive my absence. Formalities are better left to my sister. She's the true lady of the family," said Arya. Daenerys would have to disagree with her, though, as this is the warmest greeting she had received so far concerning the Stark siblings.
"Well, I do hope that we have a chance to get better acquainted during my stay here. I know how relieved your brother was to find out that you were alive while he was at Dragonstone."
"It would be an honor," said Arya before they started to part ways. "If you should have any need of my brother, I believe I last saw him under the Godswood," she added, turning back to face Daenerys.
Although she couldn't be sure, Daenerys thought that she saw a glint of a smirk creep onto the girl's face. Surely it wasn't possible for her to know; they had been so careful and had barely spent any time together at all since they had arrived.
"Thank you, Lady Arya. You've been exceedingly helpful." Daenerys said, as she grinned and turned her head down slightly.
"Oh, I'm just Arya, Your Grace," she said
Daenerys thought to herself, if only her title could be so simple. She found herself liking the youngest sister more than she imagined she would. "You're not just Arya. You're Arya." For a moment, the two women's gazes lingered on each other with a sense of understanding of who the other was, and Daenerys sensed that neither had any objections. Once the short trance was broken, Daenerys made her way down the hallway and out into the courtyard.
The weirwood tree in the Godswood was the most majestic tree Daenerys had ever laid her eyes upon. Even though she had spent years surrounded by the finest castles and materials that gold could buy, the exquisiteness and glitz of all the major cities back east was grandiose and lacking subtlety. What she saw before her was a natural rarity in the world, as was the man sitting beneath it.
Jon was sat on a snow covered rock underneath the tree, overlooking the frozen pond. In his hands he held his Valyrian sword, which was propped up against his knee as he cleaned it with the freshly fallen snow. As she made her way over to him, Daenerys felt her feet drag through deeper and deeper patches of snow until the tail of her winter coat was tracing through the white softness behind her.
"Will you allow your queen to interrupt your deep brooding, Jon Snow?," she said as she lingered before him.
"Aye, just as long as she doesn't stop me from being sentimental, as well." Jon scooted over to one side of the rock, signaling that he meant what he said.
"When I think of him, this is always where I picture him. Sat underneath this very tree, on this very rock, cleaning his sword. Foolish, really, now that I think about it. I have a childhood full of memories with my father, and the only thing I think about is him sitting. Praying, truly. Not that the gods ever heard him," he spoke softly, returning to the silence that was in the air before her arrival.
Daenerys wasn't quite sure how to respond in such a sensitive moment. She knew that this was a situation in which her comfort would have been welcomed, but she wasn't sure how to offer it to him. All that she had ever heard about Ned Stark came from her brother, and his words certainly weren't kind. As the years had passed, she had seen that his recollection of certain events became warped to fit the anger that had consumed him. Now that she was grown, she recognized that she wasn't able to differentiate between what was true, and what was fabricated.
"All that I've heard about your father came from Viserys. I would quite like to hear about the man from you, as you knew him as he was. You saw him when no one else was around. I've found that is where you reach the truth of a person. How they behave when they think no one is watching." As she spoke, Daenerys intertwined her cold fingers into his, and he stroked the back of her hand softly with his thumb. For the first time in weeks, she finally felt warm.
"I could try, but his presence in my life feels like a lifetime ago." As he paused, Jon fiddled his fingers. "He was the best man, the best father… the best Lord. He cared, with an undying devotion, for his people. Their problems were his problems, none of them a burden to him, unlike with other Lords. He strived to make a difference for the people of the North. It's the only thing that kept him involved in the southern politics of it all." He paused for a moment, and Daenerys thought that he might have been done sharing.
"When I was younger, he seemed like an unmovable force. To me, he was the strongest person in the world. I never even thought about a day where he would no longer be here. The concept still seems so unbelievable. But he's gone. I miss him always, but it's days like today where I truly feel his absence. He would have known exactly what needs to be done, and he would have known the right way to do it all," he said, still looking at the ground.
Daenerys gently reached her hand up to grab his chin. Slowly, she lifted his head up so that she could look into his eyes. "He's here. I never had the pleasure of knowing him, but from what you've said just now, you're more like him that you'll ever know. What did you say to me when you first walked into the throne room?"
Jon stared intently for a moment, as if trying to recall exactly what had been said.
"You said, "the Lords of the North placed their trust in me to lead them, and I will continue to do so as well as I can." The Lords made you King in the North because they trust you, Jon. They were functioning without a leader after the death of your brother. They didn't need to crown you King; they wanted to. They trust you, just as they trusted your father all those years." Daenerys stared fixedly, trying to make him see his own worth.
"Ah well I was foolish then. That was before I saw the enormity of the Night King's army again. The dead are almost twice what we have of living soldiers, and it'll only continue to grow in battle. How are we to survive in a war, when our enemy has the power to raise the dead?" Just then, as he finished speaking, Jon quickly sucked in a short breath.
After a moment of confused silence, he stood up and "The Starks." He began to pace under the tree, and Daenerys started to wonder what she had missed.
"What do you mean, "the Starks?" Presently, she was very perplexed.
"The Starks, in the crypts. At no point during the battle do I plan on letting the Night King into the castle's walls, but I don't know how far his ability to raise the dead extends. It wouldn't do us any good to be fighting for our people outside, if more of his risen soldiers are just killing them on the inside." As the realization of his words meant hit her, Daenerys wondered why this hadn't occurred to any of them before.
"We have to burn the bodies in the crypts. It's the only way to ensure everyone's safety," he said, with a voice full of grief.
"Jon, is this truly the only way? What will your siblings say? Everyone already thinks that I've made you forget your Northern roots, what will they think when you begin burning the bodies of all the Starks that ever were?" She pleaded. Daenerys already knew that what he was saying was necessary, but she worried for what it would mean for their future. She was sure that if Sansa could find some way to blame this on her, she would.
"He's been gone for years, Dany. It's like you said, he's still here. And if I knew him, this," he said as he looked up into the tree, "is where he would be. Not in some damp, concrete hole." He reached out his hand for her to help her up from where she was still sitting. "Let's go. I want him to meet you before going down to the crypts won't mean very much anymore."
III. Sansa
Sansa looked around the Great Hall and felt very far-removed from everyone else in attendance. She wondered if there would ever be a time in her life when she would feel true joy again. As she considered everyone's current situation, she assumed probably not. Happiness is a hard thing to find in normal circumstances, so she deduced that there wouldn't be much to go around at all while they waited for their enemy to arrive. She began to wonder when that would be. Had anyone ever fought a war against an enemy this unknowable? Surely not.
Dozens of different conversations were taking place around her, but she couldn't bring herself to join into any of them. Sansa shuffled the roasted potatoes around on her plate as she sat across from Lady Brianne, who seemed just as content sitting in the silence as she did.
Everyone else's focus seemed to be on the queen, who was sitting at the main table up front alone with Jon. The northerners didn't seem to be any more warm towards her than they had yesterday, and Sansa noticed that many of them looked upon her table with confusion. Had they all come to realize what she already had months ago, even before they arrived together? The spectacle of the Jon and the queen sitting at the head table as equals had caused some confusion among the people. Even though they presented it as the queen respecting Jon as the North's leader, Sansa was sure the people had to suspect there was more to it.
Davos walked into the hall, and down the aisle to whisper in something into Jon's ear. Once he had heard whatever it was that had been told to him, he whipped his head around to stare at the main entrance. Seconds later, two of the queen's Unsullied walked in, leading a man in ratty looking clothing. His hair was long and shaggy, as was his beard. The realization of the man's identity didn't hit her until he right beside her, still following behind the guards. The same could be said for Brianne, who had turned pale.
"Your Grace, this man calls himself a Jaime Lannister. He wished to meet with you both the minute he arrived." said one of the Unsullied. His name was "Grey Worm," if Sansa had remembered correctly.
Queen Daenerys stared at the man in front of her. If looks could kill, Jaime Lannister would have been dead moments ago. She looked to be attempting to compose herself, and for the first time since meeting her, Sansa felt compassion toward the young queen. She knew what it felt like for someone to have to look their father's killer in the eyes, as she had every day for years after her own father's death. Even though his hadn't been the hand that swung the sword, her father's blood was still on Joffrey's hands.
"Ser Jaime, I hope you had a pleasant journey North. We thank you for joining the fight." the queen was able to muster up.
"Yes, Your Grace. Even though winter is upon us, the weather is still much colder than I had expected it to be," said the Kingslayer.
"Well, Queen Daenerys is right. We thank you for making the journey here, despite it all. I expect you'll be needing a bed and place to wash up. Everyone's just finished up eating, so we'll have supper sent up to your room. If you talk with Ser Davos, he can help accommodate shelter and food for your soldiers. I imagine they'll be needing food, as well, after the long journey." said Jon, sincerely.
The Kingslayer shuffled his feet in place for a moment, as he looked down at the ground. "I came alone."
"Is that so?" the queen said through her teeth. "Well, please tell us when we can expect your sister and her armies to grace us with their presence? It is unknown exactly how long we have, but the wall will not be enough to hold them off forever. Eventually we will need to fight, and it won't do us much good if they're still leagues away." By her biting tone, Sansa could tell that the queen was trying her very best to keep her disillusionment with the situation in check.
"You misunderstand me, Your Grace. I've come alone, and it will remain that way. My sister's armies are still south. They will not be marching North." He paused a moment, and took a step closer to them, as if he was trying to keep the moment secretive from the prying eyes and ears. "She lied to you. She lied to me as well. She never had any intention of sending her armies here to fight alongside us. As we speak, she has gathered Euron Greyjoy's Ironfleet, as well as bought a sellsword company from Bravos, the Golden Company. With them, she has added 25,000 soldiers to her existing army. She never had any intention of sending her armies here to fight alongside us, she only lied to buy herself some more time to strengthen her forces in the event that we all make it out alive."
"We? Please enlighten us as to what that could possibly mean. You stand alone in this room," the queen scoffed.
"Yes, we. I meant what I said back in King's Landing. I promised to fight for the living! I intend to keep that promise, no matter where my sister's misguided priorities lie." At this point, the room had long ago fallen silent, and now every eye and ear in the room were focused on the scene playing out before them. Sansa noticed Lord Tyrion, who must have entered the room sometime during the exchange, staring sheepishly in the back corner of the room.
"You must forgive me, but I am failing to see how you can be of any help to anyone. You are just one man with one hand. I'm searching for reasons as to why I shouldn't have my dragons burn you alive tonight." The queen, herself, looked as if she was an extension of her dragons, as she stared at him with a wild fire in her eyes. "I feel that I have been more than cordial to you in the past, certainly more than you deserve."
Sansa heard the sound of quick footsteps on stone in the deadly quiet room, and noticed Tyrion making his way hurriedly towards his brother.
"Your Grace, Ser Jaime came here knowing fully well how he would be received once he delivered this news, but he came anyway. Surely that should speak to his true intentions," said a very panicked Tyrion.
"Your brother, you mean? Your opinion will be the very last that I consult in matters concerning your family, Lord Tyrion, I can assure you of that. Because of you and the trust that you placed in your sister, should we make it out alive, we will almost certainly lose against her with whatever forces we have left." The queen was no longer able to keep her disgust towards the Lannisters at bay any longer, it seemed to Sansa.
"I will remind you, Your Grace, that you placed your trust in her as well. We all wanted to believe that my sister was capable of caring about something other than herself for once. It seems that we were all wrong in giving her the benefit of the doubt. However, Jaime is here now, proving that he's left her. He is still worth giving the benefit of the doubt."
The Queen closed her eyes for a moment. Once they were finally opened, she was staring at the two brothers with a look of amusement in her eyes. "My brother told many gory stories to me as a child, as they were always his favorite. His very favorite, however, was the one of our father's death. As a child, you," she said as she focused her eyes on Jaime, "were the scariest monster of them all to me. I couldn't fathom how one person could be so cold and calculating, as to stab their king in the back. A member of the Kingsguard, no less. You killed him, and as his warm blood poured down the steps of the Iron Throne, you took his place for yourself." She paused as if to reign herself back. "My brother's favorite part of the story, however, was when he would detail, even as a child himself, how we would take our home back and kill all of those who wrong our family. Starting with you. So do not presume to tell me who I should be giving the benefit of the doubt, Lord Tyrion," the queen said as she turned her focus to him, "I'm still not sure if you're on that list yourself, as you reached your quota of mistakes made, while in my service, some time ago."
Jaime Lannister stared at her for a prolonged moment, considering what words he would use to explain the worth of his existence. "The Mad King earned that affectionate title for himself appropriately. After Rhaegar fell on the Trident, he was fully consumed by his madness. He was going to burn all of King's Landing with wildfire, civilians be damned! The choice I had to make wasn't an easy one, but even knowing how all of it would turn out, even though I have carried the title of Kingslayer with me since that very day," Ser Jaime looked pointedly, "I would make the same choice all over again."
The queen was taken aback, and rightfully so. Sansa couldn't imagine what it must feel like to hear such lies spewing out of the man who had killed her father. The Lannisters really didn't have any honor left, she thought to herself. At least two-thirds of what's left of them, that is.
"My father was an evil man. I don't need his murderer to point that out to me. Everything that I have done, every decision that I have made in my journey to Westeros, has been done to try to right the wrongs committed against the realm by my father since I learned the truth about him from Ser Barristan Selmy. I am fully aware of the type of king he was, but I am not my father. In the new world that I am building, tell me why I should allow someone with your list of accomplishments, as you seem to be proud of them, to live in it."
Before the two had begun their latest exchange, the room was already quiet. However, the silence that was now upon it seemed eerie and unnatural. The most that anyone dared to do was look at the person sitting next to them out of the corner of their eye. Sansa couldn't imagine how intriguing this all seemed for some of the commoners, as they very rarely saw political discussions of this magnitude discussed in public. This type of situation was foreign, even to her, and she had seen a lot.
"I wanted to fight beside Rhaegar at the Trident, but I bet your brother never told you that part of the story, did he? It's true though. I wanted to. Begged even, but your father wouldn't allow it. I was of more use to him as a political hostage to keep my family in check, than I was as one soldier on the battlefield. I never got to shield your brother, as our future king in battle. If you'll have me, should the chance present itself, I will shield you, to the best of my ability, as I wanted to for Rhaegar all those years ago.
"You will never be anywhere close to her on the battlefield, if she lets you live, I can promise you that." Jon said calmly.
"Whatever the battle tactics are, I feel that I could be of some help. I do have experience leading an army," he said as he looked around the room. "I don't see too many people who could say the same," he stated as he looked back at Jon. "As your queen pointed out, I only have one hand, so my chances of survival are already stunted in comparison, but a man is a man, and just recently you've lost fifteen thousand that you were counting on. Can you really spare another?"
Jon looked to the queen, seeming to allow her to make the decision regarding the man's fate alone. As she stared at the man who had murdered her father, she had a choice to make. Would she kill him to finally settle her own personal desires, or would she spare him, to the vexation, but good of the realm? As Sansa posed these questions to herself, the queen had made her way up from her chair to stand inches away from the face of Jaime Lannister. "Very well. I will allow you to fight alongside us, but should I hear that you are conducting business on your sister's behalf," she paused as she leaned in closer, "I will have my dragons burn you alive faster than you can utter Kingslayer." With that, she turned to leave the room, separating herself from the stunned audience.
It seemed that as a generation, they were making leaps and bounds compared to those that had come before them when it came to working together. At least for the time being, an understanding was reached, which was more than they could say for what any of their parents had been able to accomplish. Maybe, just maybe, she thought to herself, they had never tried to understand each other. Perhaps it was just the fact that they were all facing death by the same enemy, but as Sansa stared down at the table in front of her, she would have liked to have thought that it was something more than that.
Once the queen's advisors and Jon had also left the Great Hall, the room erupted into fantastical whispers. Brienne looked at Sansa, from across the table, as though she had already been through the battle against the dead.
"She let him live, Marvin, would you believe that? It's certainly kinder than what he deserves!" said one woman down the table from her.
"Did she say she knew Ser Barristan Selmy?!" said a man in wonder.
"What type of cockamamie bullshit does he think he's selling?" said another. "He's about 30 years too late in coming up with a defense for his crimes. All that was, was pitiful lies while he was begging for his life."
"He was called the Mad King for a reason. Just because he didn't get to blow up King's Landing, doesn't mean that he wouldn't have, had he been presented the chance. He burned the Starks alive down there not long before it, don't forget that. With all that talk of burning him alive, it seems she's carried her father's affinity for fire," replied one more.
As she sought out what others were saying in the room, most seemed to be on the side of the Dragon Queen, as they couldn't believe that she had shown him mercy. Was it possible for her to have won the affection of some of the northerners? Sansa couldn't imagine so, but she determined that the exchange did speak volumes towards the queen's decision-making skills as a monarch. It simply wouldn't have been acceptable to have murdered the brother of her hand, especially when he was here in front of everyone begging to help. His decision-making skills seemed to be razor sharp, as well. It couldn't have been a coincidence that he demanded to have been brought before her in the Great Room, during meal time, with an audience. His gamble seemed to have paid off, at least for the time being, Sansa thought to herself.
IV. Davos
Two days had passed since Jaime Lannister's arrival, and the fractures between the different houses were finally starting to show. No one had seen much of either Lannister brother, except at mealtimes, and even then their appearances were scarce. Davos suspected that he, too, probably would have acted the same. While he didn't know Ser Jaime well, he had become fairly acquainted with Lord Tyrion over the past few months. It struck him as odd that he hadn't been itching to be by the queen's side, especially now that she almost certainly suspected him of treason in some fashion.
Presently, in the second hour of the morning, with the sky still dark and the moon still up, Jon and Daenerys had chosen a select few to be included in an important discussion; a brief "state of the realm" tête-à-têtes, one could say. Only those who could be trusted with the strictest of confidence were informed of its' inception in the crypts of Winterfell. Davos himself had received notice of the gathering, only moments ago while he was fast asleep in his chambers.
As the candle lights flickered off the damp stone walls, he looked around unnervingly at the many graves of the Stark family. Even though he had been invited into the intimate family space, he still couldn't help but feel that he didn't belong in the sacred dwelling. It was no secret that prior to Theon Greyjoy usurping their home, the family scarcely let anyone other than themselves roam the halls beneath the castle. Nonetheless, here they all were. Old ways be damned.
In the dark halls stood Jon, Queen Daenerys, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Samwell, Jorah, Missandei, and Grey Worm. After the spectacle involving the Lannister brothers had occurred in the Great Hall, behind closed doors, the queen insisted that Lord Tyrion could no longer be trusted in matters concerning his family. No one dared to question whether or not he was still Hand of the Queen, but it would have been safe to assume that after he publicly questioned her judgement, the odds were stacked against him.
"We've gathered you all together because you are the only ones that we trust," the queen said as she looked at all of the faces of those in attendance. "We've gathered you all here, because it might be the only place left where this can be delivered without eyes and ears following our every move."
Jon stepped closer toward the small group, whose faces were exhibiting signs of worry and unease. "Two days ago Samwell came to see me. Along with his greetings, he delivered to me this." he said as he held up a scroll bearing a message. "I received this from Tormund Giantsbane. He was stationed at the wall to keep watch over Eastwatch-by-the-Sea after we returned from our mission to capture a wight from beyond the Wall. Although his message is brief and somewhat hard to make out due to the weather, we have reason to believe that the Night King and his army have breached the Wall." As he said this, Jon ran his fingers through his hair, a sure sign of the stress he was feeling.
Davos took the small slip of paper and read the words, "King Crow- Night King through. Wrote from outpost." After reading the faint handwriting, it became entirely clear to him that although the message was from Tormund, it was physically written by someone else.
"It wasn't signed, but from the greeting, it's not hard to guess who the sender was. We had no other information at the time, so I instructed a small riding party to journey to the outpost that we have stationed at Long Lake to try and find them. If the weather is fair, they should be arriving back any moment, which is why we've decided to share this information with you now." As Jon spoke, Davos noticed that he looked like hell. This observation didn't sit well with him. How long had he been grappling with this information, essentially alone? Davos felt guilty that he hadn't noticed the signs of his distress earlier.
"You've had this information for how long? Three days? You didn't feel that you should have shared this with us sooner?" Sansa Stark was quickly becoming heated, and her red hair was an accurate color to depict her fiery demeanor concerning almost all of life's surprises.
"Two days," the queen said as she stared directly at Sansa. "If we had shared the information with you any sooner, we would have run the risk of it getting out to the people. This has nothing to do with our confidence in any of you. When I accepted Lord Varys into my service, I never imagined that I might still be shielding secrets from his little birds. Nevertheless," she said with an exhausted voice, "I cannot be sure of where his loyalties truly lie. Although he has never given me cause to doubt him, he arrived to Meereen with my Hand, and I don't want to know what his decision would be if he were forced to choose a side." She straightened the neckline of her dress as she paused for a moment, seemingly trying to decide how best to explain her viewpoint.
"I would bet my life on the fact that Cersei is feeding lies about me to the rest of the country. Thanks to Lord Tyrion's blunders, I have lost all of my southern allies, so our ties to the rest of the country are severely severed. Presently, we can't be sure that she doesn't have her armies camped somewhere close to us outside of the North waiting for the right moment to strike. Although we would all like to believe that Ser Jaime is here to fight alongside us, it wouldn't be the first time that a Lannister was sent to infiltrate a castle. If we'd told you, there is a chance it could have made its' way to the smallfolk, causing them nothing but worry these past few days. It would have accomplished nothing other than providing them with a constant gut-wrenching fear. A fear that nothing could subdue, as everything is out of our control. They're already scared enough. Believe me, laying that burden on them is not something that I would wish on my worst enemy. This was our only choice. You don't have to agree with it, but I am the queen. Ultimately the decision was mine to make, and I would do it all the same if presented with the choice."
Everyone in the room remained still, as the tension in the air was thick. Davos noticed Arya looked at the queen, and then over to Jon.
"When you came here you thought that we would have more time before the wall fell," Sansa said as her voice cracked slightly. "What does this mean for us now?" Now, her voice was low and scared; far from the boisterous tone she was exuding moments ago. In that instance, Davos realized that he was surrounded by children. King, Queen, and Lady they may be, but young people nonetheless, with not a parent alive between all of them. How scared they must all be, he thought to himself, even if they're doing a good job hiding it.
"Lady Sansa, if I may…" Davos said as he trailed off, waiting for her approval to continue. Once she gave him a slight nod, he began again.
"No one has any answers. This is unchartered territory that we find ourselves in. The way I'm choosing to look at it, is as if it is a storm. You may know snow is coming, but not until it truly arrives do you know how long the snow will fall. The Night King brings the storm with him, but he also brings an army of the dead. There is simply no way to know what this means in the worldly sense, but for us here today, it can only mean one of two things: life or death. You brother, bless him, has had more encounters with the dead army than anyone would care to have in a lifetime, and the war still isn't over. Unfortunate as that may be, however, he has been able to study the Night King and his soldiers to see what we're up truly against. This fact cannot make the Night King happy, as no Lord Commander, no matter how dead, wants the enemy to see what he's bringing to the battlefield before it starts. I count that as a win for us." Once he had finished speaking, Davos gave Sansa a small smile to try to help comfort her nerves. Yet, his smile did little to settle his own.
Ser Jorah took one step inward towards the group. "I agree with Ser Davos. While we may not be fighting a familiar enemy, the same rules of war still apply. Albeit, slightly different. The war is not yet lost, My Lady."
"Forgive me, but it's hard to have faith when we are fighting against an enemy that can raise the dead. Say that we do manage to get the upper hand, how will we ever be able to win when the enemy has the power to raise the newly dead?" said Sansa, still searching to make sense of a senseless predicament.
Davos noticed Jon exchange a look with the queen. After a few moments, he began to turn his attention to his siblings with a look of agony in his eyes.
"There is something else that I need to tell you," said Jon, softly. "it's another reason we chose to meet down here. The Night King has the power to raise the dead. As I told Queen Daenerys, no one intends to let him breach the walls of the castle, but in battle there are no guarantees. Ramsay Bolton thought that he would be safe behind these walls, but his death is confirmation that nothing goes according to plan." He took a deep swallow as tears brimmed in his eyes. "No one will be safe if… if…," but he couldn't finish.
The queen placed her hand on his arm and looked into his eyes for a moment.
"What Jon is trying to say, is that we cannot guarantee that all of the women and children will remain safe if the Starks remain in the crypts." Daenerys paused for a moment, and it seemed to Davos that she was trying to prepare the room for the weight of her next words. "We believe that the only way to ensure everyone's safety, is to burn the bones that lay here. The bones of your family."
The two Stark sisters exchanged a horrified look. Bran remained seated in his wheelchair, his face never moving a muscle.
"There must be another way. Surely." Arya pleaded softly.
"There is no other way," stated Bran. "They are right. If we allow them to continue resting here, we may soon see them again." The weight of his words resonated with all in attendance. Davos knew that although Bran said very little, it was enough confirmation for everyone involved to know that the decision was the right one.
"We wanted to give you a chance to say your goodbyes. I know Father and Rickon are already gone, but they'll hear you. This is a chance for us all to say farewell properly. It's one of the only things left that we have a say in, and I won't have them roaming the halls once more. Here they are at peace, and they will remain that way," Jon tried to reason with his three siblings.
Just then, several loud sets of footsteps could be heard making their way to the group. Down the hall, a faint light floating in the distance was slowly getting closer. As three figures could be seen in the shadows, Grey Worm reached for the hilt of the weapon on his waist.
"Well if it isn't good-old-fuckin' King Crow!" As he spoke, Tormund Giantsbane enveloped a far shorter Jon into his arms. Jon stumbled back at the impact of his embrace, and muffled noises could be heard coming from the man.
Beric Dondarrion gazed at the scene with a look of slight amusement, while Sandor Clegane's scarred face remained stony. The only time his face moved was to glance at the youngest Stark sister, whose eyes met his with a look resentment. Odd, Davos thought.
Once Tormund had finally released him, Jon said, "I suppose it's just crow now. You won't find a king here anymore, Tormund. I bent the knee."
"I'll call you whatever you want me to call you, so long as you agree not to get rid of this glorious hair too," said Tormund as he threw a hand into Jon's dark curls, thrashing them in every direction. "Pretty boy." The two old friends exchanged huge grins, and for a moment everyone had left the dark conversation that had just taken place. How nice it would be if they could stay like this, thought Davos.
"But enough of the fuckin' greetings. We have business to discuss; The Night King has broken through the wall. The last we saw him, he was leading his army past the abandoned Queenscrown. We had to ride around him, so we lost track."
"How long do you think we have until he reaches Winterfell?" said Samwell Tarly sheepishly.
"It's hard to say as we had to ride around him just to get the message sent out to you in time, but I would say they're no more than a five day's ride away. If that. No matter how deadly they are, they've got to be the slowest army I've ever seen. So we have that at least," said Beric.
"Well, five days is a longer warning than we could have hoped for. At least that leaves us time to warn the others. The forgers have been working overtime to finish with the weapons, so we should have a nice supply built up. Soon Gendry should be returning from his ride south to gather all of the Valyrian steel he can find, I just hope he doesn't come back empty handed." At least for the time being, as Jon spoke, he seemed more at ease than he had for the past few days. It could be assumed that he thought they would have less time. Davos wasn't sure if the extra days were a gift or a curse. True, it left them more time to prepare for battle. It also left them more time to dread the outcome. The days would serve as a countdown to consider their own mortality, this he was sure.
"There's more," Tormund added faintly. He looked down in the direction of the queen, a sympathetic look taking over his face. "The Night King has your dragon, Your Grace. It's the weapon he used to break down the wall. He's one of them now."
Everyone turned their attention to the queen as she was receiving the news. For the first time since he'd met her, Davos saw a glimpse of the young woman she truly was. In this moment, she could not keep up the strong exterior she so often presented to the world. Her lips parted slightly as her face fought to hold back tears. Jon grabbed ahold of her hand, which caused a few in the room to exchange quick glances with one another.
Queen Daenerys quickly took a step back and removed her hand from his. "If you'll excuse me…" She swiftly turned to exit through the dark tunnels alone.
Seconds after her departure, Missandei and Grey Worm were quick to follow behind her with a torch to light her way. This left everyone still staring at Jon, who looked as helpless as a child.
"Go be with her," said Sansa gently as she nudged Jon's shoulder, much to the surprise of everyone in the room.
With that, Jon walked quickly away from those remaining in the group.
Silence suffocated everyone for a moment, but it was quickly broken.
"So, they're fucking eh?" Tormund said as he let out a deep chuckle.
V. Jon
Although Jon hadn't been far behind her, the walk to Daenerys seemed like it stretched on for ages. Once he had reached her chambers, he lifted his arm to knock on her door, but hesitated. He was flooded with a feeling of melancholy as he remembered the last time he had knocked on her door, unsure of how he would be received.
Three knocks later, the door was opened by Missandei, whose face was holding the same feeling of helplessness that Jon was feeling. Coming from behind her, he heard muffled sobs. What was stopping him from entering, Jon couldn't say. The only thing he knew was that in that moment, his legs were betraying him.
"She hasn't stopped crying since we were down in the crypts. Grey Worm went back to find your maester friend to see about getting her some milk of the poppy," Missandei said as she stepped aside. "She'll be glad to see you, I think."
As he looked into the room, he saw Dany in a ball on the floor sobbing the hardest he had ever heard another person cry. Before he was aware of his surrounding, he found himself crouched down beside of her with his arms wrapping around her shaking body.
"I- I can't- breathe," she said as she tried to talk through her sobs. She struggled as she began to pull her dress away from her body. The desperation of her grasps proved useless, so she started to pull especially hard on the neckline of it. As he watched her, his heart ached realizing that this was something she needed to do. Seconds passed before the sounds of material ripping finally filled the air.
As she shredded the thin dress to pieces, Jon could only look on while a puddle of material was gathering on the floor. After she had successfully peeled the dress from her body, she reached up to undo her braids. Missandei quickly walked over to take over, slowly untangling the thick rows of hair.
Unsure of what to do next, he walked to the bed to grab a thick fur blanket to wrap around her naked body, which was still laying on its' side atop the cold wooden floor.
"Dany…" he said as he brushed his thumb softly along her hairline. "Tell me what you need, darling." Still, he was met with only sobs of pain. It killed him to think that she was suffering through this alone. He made the decision to lift her tiny body up into his lap, resting her on his legs. She reached up to grab the fur of his coat, wrapping her fingers tightly around into a ball near his chest. Although her crying had softened a little, she still wept deeply into his chest while the two of them stayed on the floor.
How long the three of them sat in the room, he couldn't be sure. Long after she had cried herself out, the only sound that filled the room was the crackling of the logs on the fire in front of them.
Just as he had thought she was beginning to drift off to sleep, a knock came from the door. Grey Worm entered holding a cup a hot tea, with a small potion bottle holding a white liquid.
"Your friend had the kitchen make her this," he said as he handed Jon the cup. "He said to put three drops of this into her tea. He said it will help her sleep."
Missandei grabbed the tea and the milk of the poppy, and she walked away to begin mixing them.
Jon lifted the two of them up, and he walked towards the bed still cradling her.
"I don't want it," Dany said with a hoarse voice. "I want to feel it all. I want to mourn my child now. I don't want to prolong it. I'd only be saving the pain for another day."
Grey Worm and Missandei exchanged a quick glance, but did as they were told.
"Before- the first time I grieved for him, I did it with a sense of resolve. I knew that his death was a casualty for the greater good. If he had to die for us to retrieve the dead soldier, I was at peace with it because I thought it would help us convince Cersei. But now," she said as tears filled her eyes once more, "I see that he died for nothing. He's one of them now; controlled by evil and it's all my fault." She leaned back onto the soft pillows as she began to weep again.
Jon took off his shoes so that he could crawl up to her closer on the bed. He met her chin with his hand as he gently lifted her head up so he could look into her eyes. He couldn't be sure what emotion he was emoting, but he hoped that she was met with nothing but love from him. "It's not," he said, matter-of-factly. As she closed her eyelids, tears fell down onto her cheeks, but he quickly brushed them away.
Jon pulled her into him closer so that he could softly kiss her forehead. For a moment, it felt as though they were the only two in the world. The only thing that brought him back to reality was the sound of Grey Worm and Missandei making their way towards the door.
"It looks as if there's nothing more for us to do," Missandei said as Grey Worm reached for the door. "I left the tea on the desk should she change her mind. If you need anything, I'm just down the hall. Please don't hesitate to come get me, no matter what time."
"Thank you," Jon said in a whisper. "Thank you both."
Once it was just the two of them in the room, he was terrified of his own ability to comfort her in a time like this, but knew that he had to make it clear to her that she wasn't alone.
"Dany, none of this is your fault. There is no way that you could have foreseen that this would be the outcome. Nobody knew that he held a weapon with enough power to bring down one of your children. If I had, I never would have sent word for you to come to us. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine." He shifted slightly, reaching for her hand. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Quickly, she sat up so that she was looking intently into his eyes. "You have nothing to apologize for, Jon. If you say this isn't my fault, then it certainly isn't yours." She stared for a prolonged moment before she pulled the covers back over herself.
"I'm scared. I'm scared for the Great War, of course, but I'm more scared of what comes after. Since I arrived here in Westeros, everything has fallen apart. Every decision I have made has backfired in some way. I thought that I was born to rule, but I'm beginning to think that I was only born to conquer. The people here certainly don't want me. My home, the home I longed for all those years, has rejected me before I even got a chance to say hello to it. What comes after?" she wondered aloud. "I feel so alone. There's nothing for me here."
Jon couldn't believe what he was hearing. The woman that he loved was broken, and was presently a shell of the person that she was when he met her all those months ago. Westeros had a habit of breaking even the strongest of people. His father was proof of that.
Daenerys was the strongest person that he had ever met. Although he wished that he could have shielded her from the pain and heartbreak of the past, it was not an option. However, there was something that he could do to protect her from pain in the future.
As he held her in his arms, he knew that the decision he was about to make was not one that could be taken back.
"Should we live through the Long Night, you will rule Westeros. I'll make sure of it. You will break the wheel, just as you told me you would the day that we met," he let out a deep breath that he hadn't even known he'd been holding. "and if you'll have me, I'll be there with you for all of it." His pulse quickened slightly. "With me you'll never be alone."
He felt her body still in his arms. After a few moments, she turned on her side to place a soft kiss on his lips. As he deepened the kiss, he felt her warm tongue slide into his mouth, desperately trying to get closer to him than she already was. Her tongue achieving things that their bodies had failed. Tears still fell down her face, and he tasted the saltiness of them on their lips and felt the wetness of them on his own cheeks. Jon couldn't say if they were from joy of despair. She broke the kiss to wipe underneath his eyes, and he realized that the tears had been his own. Joy, he decided.
No words, from either of them, were needed to describe the understanding that had been reached. Jon would not allow his family, or anyone for that matter, stop him and the north from helping her take the throne.
Just then, scratching sounded at the door, and the two of them froze to look at each other in confusion. After it refused to go away, Jon rose from the bed to see what it was.
As he opened the door, he saw a flash of white rush by him. Closing the door, he turned to see Ghost sitting atop the bed, resting on Dany's legs. After her shock had dissipated, she lifted her hand to softly scratch him behind the ears, causing him to lay his head down into her other hand.
The three of them laid in the bed together in a blanket of understanding. Unsure of what the future would bring, Jon could be sure of one thing. Tonight, he felt only love. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he began to dream of a future he thought could only belong to someone else, and the thoughts danced their way into his dreams.