As she had been ordered, Rhaena left without any of the dragons as her mount. She bade them goodbye, whispering to them and kissing their huge faces which were now several times the length she was, smiling when each of them nudged and nuzzled at her until it was time for her to leave. Instead she took the horse one of the Dothraki had gifted to her, the cremello courser whom she had named White Tempest because the beast had quite the temper despite his beautiful and delicate appearance. Rhaena often simply called him Tempest, however. She quickly tamed the near wild creature who had become mad with fear, using her magic to console and soothe him until he became as docile as a filly with her, though refused the touch of any other upon him and would bite, snap and kick rather ferociously if one was not careful. Rhaena left with Jon, Ser Davos and the new addition of Gendry, the bastard son of Robert Baratheon. Taking an initial dislike to Gendry, Rhaena loathed him simply for being his father's son, but soon Gendry had begun to talk to her of Arya and their travels together as Arya had apparently spoken a great deal of Rhaena whenever they had talked in private. Gradually Rhaena began to recall Arya making mention on the crossing to Braavos of a Gendry who had looked after her somewhat during the time she had travelled as a boy with the men intended for the Night's Watch.
It took some time, but Rhaena gradually accepted that Gendry was not his father, though they bore a striking resemblance. The memory of Robert was a sour one, one Rhaena longed to keep buried, but each time she looked at Gendry, they rose unbidden. This alongside the manner of her departure did not improve her mood, and so she made for poor company sailing up the coast in order to travel directly to Eastwatch. Jon wanted to set Rhaena down somewhere on the northern coast for her to ride to Winterfell, but Rhaena would hear of no such thing, reasoning that if Jon intended to go beyond the Wall then she would be with him, for they would need every sword they could take and with her magic, perhaps they would stand a greater chance of keeping the rest of the dead at bay with her fire. They did not have dragons, but Rhaena could still produce her own flames. Unable to argue, Jon did not suggest it again, though he often looked like he was considering simply tossing Rhaena overboard close to shore and making her swim back as to keep her from going with them.
In the end, they only made one stop, and it was to place both Lord Randyll and Dickon Tarly in a rowboat with provisions enough for the both of them so that they could row to the shore where they would be able to walk their way back to King's Landing. Standing above them, Rhaena had watched them both as they settled upon the rowboat and began to row themselves away. Lord Randyll said nothing to her, and neither did Dickon, but he at least looked up to her, taking one last look at the silver haired woman who had saved both his own and his father's life and was now willingly releasing them. It would have been safer for her to simply kill them. To cut their throats and throw them to the ocean, but she had chosen not to. Even Ser Davos had advised not to let them go, but Rhaena was unconcerned with what they might take back to Cersei. If anything, she hoped it would make her all the more wary of her. She had had Jaime Lannister in her hands, it would have been effortless to take him hostage, but she had let him go. She had saved the men of House Tarly, taken them prisoner and then released them also. There was nothing more Rhaena wanted than to stand before Cersei and smile whilst saying look at what I can do and what I have done. I could have taken them from you, but I chose not to. This is the power I have over you. I can take what you have and choose to whether or not to break it. Of course she still had possession of Myrcella, but she was safe under her uncle's care, and Daenerys would never harm a child. At least, that was what she hoped. Thrusting aside thoughts of her sister, Rhaena turned away from the receding image of Dickon and Lord Randyll in their little boat before giving the word that they could weigh anchor once more.
The winds were fair, and they made good time to the Wall in the north, clinging to the coast until gradually, the sight Rhaena had awaited finally came into view. It came so slowly that at first, Rhaena simply thought it a distant mountain. Then she began to take note of its shape and slope, and realised that it was not a mountain, but the Wall itself. It grew so gradually and slowly that one should have become disinterested upon watching it day after day, climbing inch by inch in height the closer one came, but the sheer magnitude of its creation retained its hold upon Rhaena's mind no matter how long she looked upon it. When the party finally landed upon the shores before Eastwatch, Rhaena still could not take her eyes from the Wall. Despite not feeling the cold, her awed breaths escaped in thick white clouds, gazing at the monument which rose higher than she could ever have imagined. Solid ice turned blue and so cold Rhaena shivered simply from imagining what it would feel like to touch.
Coming to stand beside her, Jon looked up also and could not hold back a slight smile. "It's like a dragon." He finally spoke, realising that he felt the same way looking at the Wall the way he did when looking at a dragon. "You never quite get used to it." Giving a quiet laugh, Rhaena found Jon's hand in order to squeeze at his fingers. This was beyond anything she had ever done before, and now they were going to willingly pass under the Wall and go searching for the enemy that threatened them all. The likelihood that they would die and become new foot soldiers of the undead was more than likely. Yet Rhaena had come this far, and she was the blood of a dragon. A dragon did back away from danger or death. Feeling Jon return the grasp of her hand, she managed a shaky smile before allowing him to lead her into the castle of Eastwatch, where they were greeted by Tormund who held the keep to watch for the arrival of the enemy.
They gathered together in the dining hall, dust covering every surface. Rhaena looked around her contemplatively, thinking that the great castles and keeps of the Wall were now little more than empty shells of what they had once been, monuments of a lost age. Ignoring the dust, Rhaena sat herself down beside Jon, the men all bundled in their wool, leather and furs whilst she garbed herself in simple clothing, soft leather breeches, shirt and jerkin. Her armour would do her little good where they intended to go, though she had brought it with her. She was dressed more like a hunter, for that was the aim of their mission. To hunt the undead and bring one back as a prize. The men looked at her as if she were mad not to feel the cold, so she touched each of their hands in turn to share a little of her internal fire, warming them from within so they did not shiver so greatly whilst Tormund listened to their intention to go beyond the Wall and capture a live wight to bring back to show Queen Cersei that there was an army marching upon them from the North. Tormund simply stared at them all as if they had lost their minds before looking at Ser Davos. "Isn't it your job to talk him out of stupid fucking ideas like this?"
"I've been failing at that job of late." Incredulous, Tormund turned back to Jon.
"How many queens are there now?" Listening as Rhaena played with the flame of a candle in front of her, she glanced up only briefly when Jon informed Tormund that there were currently two queens contesting for the throne. "And you need to convince the one with the dragons or the one who fucks her brother?" They almost smiled.
"Both."
"How many men did you bring?" Looking around at their rather pitiful party, Jon could do little more than admit that they had not brought enough with them, not for what they planned. Yet then again, Rhaena mused aloud that a small number of skilled people might accomplish a great deal more than an army of witless cravens. It was something to bolster their spirits, at the very least. Tormund's greatest disappointment of all was learning that the source of his affections, Brienne, had not come with them. At this Rhaena did smile. She admired the pureness of Tormund's fancy for Brienne of Tarth. He admired her for her strength and battle prowess, and thought her beautiful because of them. What love could be finer than that?
"We were hoping some of your men could help." Ser Jorah spoke finally, looking at Tormund appraisingly and praying that he was everything Jon Snow had promised.
"I'll be staying behind. I'm a liability out there as you well know." Despite his own bluntness against his age and condition, Tormund did not soften to blow towards Ser Davos when he agreed, earning a sharp look of reprimand from Rhaena who assured Ser Davos that he was by no means a liability. Smiling gratefully to Rhaena, Ser Davos inclined his head but did not delude himself into believing that he would be any use beyond the Wall. He was old and would not survive the climate or the terrain, let alone whatever beasts they might find out there, even besides White Walkers and wights. He was better off here where he could at least attempt to put himself to some use.
"You really want to go out there again?" Tormund questioned quietly after a few moments passing in silence, staring at Jon who eventually nodded. "You're not the only ones." Rising to his feet, Tormund gestured for all to follow him, leading them down to the cells where three men were being held in the cold which seemed as if it would steadily gnaw upon flesh and eat away at life little by little. "My scouts found them a mile south of the Wall. Said they were on their way here." Approaching the bars alongside Jon, it took only a moment for Rhaena to recognise them. She had seen their faces many years before even in her earliest years of life at court. Two were knights, and one was…
"You're The Hound. I saw you once at Winterfell." Jon spoke as Rhaena stared openly at him. At first the Hound did nothing, continuing to lay on his back with a blanket wrapped tightly around him before resigning himself to see his visitors, beginning to rise until he heard a woman's voice speak his name.
"Sandor Clegane." His eyes snapped upwards and caught sight of the unmistakable silver white hair and lilac eyes looking straight at him. One of the few people and even fewer women who had never shied away from looking at him. She smiled. That smile sent an unwanted chill through Sandor's body. He was unused to people smiling at him other than in mockery and disdain, yet whenever it was this silver haired chit, it had always been something soft. He continued to stare "Why…you look far handsomer than when I last saw you, Clegane. It appears life has treated you both kindly and unkindly, seeing as you are locked in a cell." Sliding her arms through the bars Rhaena rested herself against them, still smiling at Clegane as he measuredly rose to his feet and observed each of the faces who had come to look at them. Unable to help himself, his eyes lingered longest upon Rhaena.
"Finally grew in a pair of tits, I see." Several of the men made rather angered gestures and starts, however Rhaena merely snorted and grinned at Clegane's bluntness. Intrigued by the interaction, Tormund glanced between the tall man and the white-haired woman before feeling prompted to fill the following silence, as neither of them spoke further.
"They want to go beyond the Wall too." Arching her eyebrow questioningly at Clegane, the former Hound of the Lannisters turned his face away from her as to reveal nothing.
"We don't want to go beyond the Wall," one of them clarified, a cloth covering one eye as he rested his back against the wall of the cell. "We have to. Our Lord told us the great war is coming." Berric Dondarrion, though last Rhaena had seen him, he did not seem so…zealous.
"Don't trust them," speaking in a dark and despising tone, Gendry moved from the shadows where he was yet to be seen by the prisoners, though now he moved closer and into the light where he then lowered his face towards the opening of the bars to look inside. He wore an expression which seemed as if he might spit upon them. "Don't trust any of them. They're the Brotherhood, and the last thing their Lord told them to do was sell me to a Red Witch to be murdered." Hearing of a Red Witch, Rhaena thought of Melisandre. She had never met the woman herself, but she seemed to be the only woman tied to the Red Faith and the Lord of Light who seemed adamant to meddle in the affairs of Westeros, so presumed that it was likely her Gendry referred to. Now they were facing a couple more zealots. Rhaena wondered if it would be too much to suggest that they strip them naked and fling them into the snow. See if their Lord of Light would keep them warm with his holy fires.
"Thoros?" Gendry was not the only one who knew these men, it seemed. Ser Jorah also spoke, looking to the other man yet to speak, who tied his hair in a topknot atop his head. Sitting up, Thoros of Myr also recognised Ser Jorah, calling him by name. "I hardly recognized you." Glancing to her right, Rhaena caught sight of a rather inflamed expression Tormund wore, staring at Ser Jorah whilst murmuring his name. Apparently, everyone here was acquainted in one way or another. Perhaps this was another of the gods whimsical arrangements to observe for their own amusement.
"They won't give me anything to drink down here. I haven't been feeling like myself." Tormund cut in, addressing Ser Jorah with a sharp tone.
"You're a fucking Mormont? Like the last Lord Commander?" Drawing himself up proudly, Ser Jorah informed Tormund that the last Lord Commander of the Night's Watch had been his father. "He hunted us like animals."
"You returned the favour, as I recall." Both men eyed one another warily until Rhaena stepped between them, placing one hand upon their chests and lightly pushing in order to place a little more space between them without so much as a word. Her simple motions were enough to encourage Ser Jorah to yield to her in deference to Rhaena's sister, though Tormund remained stiff and unmoving whilst staring at Ser Jorah. He had been toying with the idea of slicing off the knight's ear or simply killing him for the sake of it, but now that the white-haired woman stood between them, Tormund reasoned that it would not be a clever thing to try. He knew this woman rode dragons and commanded fire. He did not want her as his enemy.
"Here we all are, at the edge of the world at the same moment, heading in the same direction for the same reason." Ser Beric spoke though his voice was hollow, as if all the faith he had once possessed had bled dry. Despite it, he still obeyed the supposed will of the Lord, which Rhaena thought to be exceedingly foolish. If it were a king or a queen who commanded a party of three to go beyond the Wall for whatever reason, armed with so little and provisioned with less, no man with a wit of sense would obey, and yet because it was supposedly a god who had commanded it, any number of men would willingly commit themselves to the same foolishness. In Rhaena's mind, why should she do anything a god should be able to do for themselves? If a god was truly all-powerful and all-knowing, then why could he not simply pluck a wight from the army of the dead and drop it at Cersei's feet? It would save a great deal of time and effort on their part.
"Our reasons aren't your reasons."
"It doesn't matter what we think our reasons are." Rising to his feet, Beric began to grandstand before them, delivering his words with poise as the faith in his Lord gradually began to return. Rhaena turned up her nose towards him. Seemingly, he could recall his faith in the Lord of Light when attempting to convert others to the same faith. "There's a greater purpose at work and we serve it together whether we know it or not. We may take the steps but the Lord of Light…"
"For fuck's sake, will you shut your hole?" Clegane finally cut across him and silenced Beric, much to Rhaena's gratitude. "Are we coming with you or not?"
"Don't you want to know what we're doing?" At this the sober man who would rather be drunk lifted his head.
"Is it worse than sitting in a freezing cell waiting to die?" At this, Jon reasoned that everyone present were all standing on the same side, indicating that all differences should be put aside in order to work together to achieve their goal, though Gendry did not immediately take to the idea, questioning how they could possibly be on the same side. Turning himself in order to look directly at Jon, his words were short yet cut deep.
"We're all breathing." The living against the dead. It was a dreary concept, one that Rhaena imagined would become something more poetic in years to come were there still maesters to write about the history of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps they would look upon this moment as the key to what would become the most astonishing development in history, where due to the actions of a few, proof was laid before the warring queens who would put aside their differences and their war in order to work together to combat the onslaught of the dead. Hearing the rattle of metal against metal, the door swung open and released the three prisoners inside, where Rhaena lifted her head to come face to face with Sandor Clegane. She had meant what she said. The years had been good to him. Physically at least. He seemed smaller than she remembered him, not so large and imposing. Perhaps it was because she was taller, or perhaps it was because he was not as strongly built as he had been. Perhaps it was simply because he was not wearing his armour. Rhaena did not care to know. They simply looked at one another, two people who had known one another longer and better than anyone else with them. Shifting her attention to the faded scars of his face, Rhaena noted how Clegane's hair had thickened. Raising her hand, she rested her palm against the scars which no longer tore at his flesh, having faded to paler shades which seemed less distinctive than she recalled them. Clegane allowed her hand to touch his cheek, watching her warily. They stayed that way even whilst the others watched them, trying to determine what would happen next, Tormund expecting there to be blood. He was disappointed. In the end, Rhaena merely smiled to Clegane, softly and warmly, and greeted him like an old friend. When he replied, he was not entirely gruff or unkind. It was a beginning, and Rhaena was satisfied with it for now, turning aside in order to walk away as the eyes of men followed.