Am I my Brother's Keeper, Yes I Am

by Alperez16

A different choice after the Battle of the Bastards brings another Stark back from the dead. Together with his brother how does Rickon Stark's living change the Game and what do another King in the North and his bastard brother mean in regards to the return of House Targaryen. An idea suggested by my good friend and co-writer Leilani972 that I just couldn't resist jumping on board

21. Do Look A Gift Wight in the Mouth

The Wall 304 AC.

Eddison Tollet.

They had simply vanished, faded back into the trees, and left them alone. It had been a huge relief and he thanked the gods for Jon Snow once more. He and the queen had settled the golden dragon down while their and the other two dragons' presence had no doubt been the reason for the dead men to depart. The fight he felt so badly equipped for was not one he was to fight that day, nor one he was to fight alone.

When the time came, Jon would return, the queen would return, and they'd not be returning alone. The largest army the North had ever seen would be making its way to the Wall and so while he was sad to say goodbye to his friend, he did so knowing he'd be seeing him soon enough. Though he'd be a liar if he said that he hoped it was not too soon.

With Jon no longer here and the dead no longer a pressing threat, things returned to how they had been at Castle Black. No man ranged north of the Wall, the food and ale were still as god-awful as ever and the cold was ever-present. Still, as much as he may have groused about it, he welcomed things being so mundane. Over the next few weeks, he even began to find moments when he'd not be constantly thinking about what lay on the other side of the Wall. Rare moments when he could put aside thoughts of the end of the world and what was coming for them all. It was during one of these moments, a moon or maybe more since Jon Snow had departed with his queen to go back to Winterfell, that the horns rang out once more.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Edd shook his head and bemoaned his luck once more. He dressed, ran from the Lord Commander's rooms, and made his way to the top of the Wall. Each foot that the lift rose filled him with dread and yet didn't prepare him for what he'd see once he reached the top. He moved past his brothers, walking with a purpose and resolve that he barely was able to maintain. One that was sorely tested when he looked down at the lands below.

"Oh for fucks sake!" he said as he looked at the sheer mass of dead men that were lined up by the tree line and beyond.

"What are your orders, Lord Commander?"

"We stand, we watch. We ready the defenses and hope the gods are good and the raven makes it in time," he said as he turned to head back down to his rooms.

"Raven?"

"Aye, we're not in this fight alone and I've dragons to call to our side."

'Dragons and a friend.' he thought as he entered the lift once more.

Watching the raven as it flew, he wished it a swift journey and that his request for aid would be answered as soon as he hoped it would. He had no doubt that it would be, unlike the many times the Watch had asked for aid before. This time it was not a lord who knew not of the Watch, nor men who cared not for its brothers, it was Jon, a man who'd served just like he, his friend, one of the few he ever truly had in this life.

Taking up his watch that night, his gloved hand held the hilt of the sword that he'd been gifted. Valyrian Steel in the hands of him Edd Tollet, never did he dare to dream of such, and certainly never did he imagine he'd be gifted such a blade. He'd wielded it only in training thus far and had felt the difference between it and his old sword from the very first swing. Though in his hands even Valyrian Steel wouldn't make him a match for Jon, it did make him a better swordsman and give him a far better chance in the fight to come.

Looking out on the darkness, knowing they were out there and yet could not be seen, a part of him looked forward to testing his new lady against them. It was a small part to be true, but a part all the same. When the dawn broke, he like the others who'd manned the Wall that night, all sought the trees with a small hope that they'd find no sight of their enemy. All to be disappointed and as he and the men were replaced by others, it was food and a bed that he looked forward to.

For days that was his routine, alternating between a night or a day on top of the Wall. Making preparations as best he could and sending word to Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower, relieved and yet not to find they had seen no sight of the dead. He welcomed that his brothers weren't facing more of them before he cursed that it seemed all had come to face him and those at Castle Black. After yet another shift on top of the wall, he made his way to his bed, and sleep soon took him.

"A raven, Lord Commander." the voice said waking him up "From Winterfell."

"What time is it?" he asked sleepily and then groaned when he found out he'd been asleep for a little more than an hour or so, only the thoughts of what was in the raven's scroll was enough to give him the strength to rise from his bed.

He broke the seal and read the words, a smile coming to his face upon seeing Jon's handwriting.

"The army has begun its march, they make for Castle Black and will arrive post-haste," he said to a relieved sigh from his steward.

"Shall I gather the men, Lord Commander?"

"Aye, best I speak to them, I'll speak to those up top first."

The words brought much relief and gave them renewed hope. His only fear was that the attack would come before Jon and the army arrived. It was one that he kept to himself and didn't share with anyone over the next few days. One that at night would threaten to rob him of his senses and his courage. Yet somehow it did not and when the second raven arrived a few days after the first, Edd broke the seal and opened it eagerly.

Edd,

The time has come for you and the Watch to stand the Wall no more. Our fight cannot be there, for we cannot win there. Send word to the men of Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower, tell them to ready to ride and ride hard. South and to the army I bring to bear, for I'd have you with me when we finally end this threat. Do not delay my friend, hold to no sentiment, and be assured this is not you or the Watch abandoning your oaths or duties. Together we'll be the shields that guard the realms of men once more. Where we are when we do so matters not as much as that we do so.

Make haste Edd, make haste and know I look north for a sight of you, look south for the sight of me and know it'll do my heart well to see you once again. You are my brother by choice Edd, a true friend and so don't break my heart by dying. For the Wall will be knocked down with you there or not, take comfort that at least it won't be you that does so.

Your brother,

Baelon.

"Soppy sod," he said under his breath.

He sent the ravens, ordered the men to pack up all the food and supplies they could carry, and found little argument from them at his orders. It turned out that none of them wished to fight alone, to be the only thing that stood between the realms of men and the dead that threatened it. Not because any of them were craven or feared death, though none of them would welcome it. More so that in the end, they wished to fight a fight they could mayhap win. To give up their deaths only if it actually meant something and not to waste them in a pointless endeavor.

Riding from the Wall, he led the brothers to take their place in an army that could win. To stand beside a commander that all could have faith in, and not one that held little in himself. His own will had been strengthened, his courage he knew now would not falter. For if he was to die and the gods had decided it to be so, he'd do so fighting with the one man who'd helped him through the many other times where he should have lost his life. He'd stand side by side with Jon Snow, Baelon Targaryen, his friend, his brother by choice.

The North 304 AC.

Baelon Targaryen.

The smile refused to leave his face, not even the need for sleep enough to make it so. She looked so at peace beside him, so content that he'd not been able to go back to sleep since he had awakened. His fingers softly caressed her cheek and moved her hair to one side so he could see her face even more clearly. Every single movement she made was one he took in and put somewhere deep inside his mind for later. Baelon wished for nothing more than when he closed his eyes and sought her there, he'd find a wealth of memories and moments to choose from.

They'd lain together, exhausted themselves with each other and he pitied Lady Melisandre and others whose tents were close to their own. Yet he felt no shame that they'd heard their cries of passion during the night. There was and would be no blush on his face when he faced them as they broke their fast. The days when he was a green boy who'd not speak of such things or wish people knew he did them, were days that were long since gone. Now he wished the world to know just how much he loved his wife, just how much they both enjoyed laying together. Life was too damn short to worry about what others may think, not when the only one it truly mattered to was the woman lying beside him.

Seeing the light begin to shine through a small gap in the tent, he rose from their bed and chuckled at the frown that then appeared on Dany's face. Be it from the loss of his body beside her or the coldness of the air as it briefly hit her body, it mattered not to him. Forgoing his own cold and his nakedness, he moved the fur so it covered her more truly and smiled as that contented look he so enjoyed, now returned to her face. Dressing quickly, he bent down and placed a kiss upon her forehead, before then moving to the opening of the tent.

"Baelon, come back to bed," Dany said sleepily.

"Rest my love, I'll return when it's time to break our fast."

Jaime Lannister looked at him oddly as they walked, Baelon's laughter was as true as it had ever been as he did so and confused the other man greatly it seemed.

"My wife bemoaned the fact I left her alone in our bed, Ser Jaime, it seems I'm some sort of spoilsport in her eyes."

"Better to be missed than wished to be gone, your grace," Jaime said and Baelon laughed once more.

They were less than twenty miles from the Wall, inside Brandon's Gift itself and he'd thought it best to not make camp at Queenscrown, much to the annoyance of some of the men with him. Baelon though felt these men needed to get used to the harshness of winter nights in the North. To allow them the comfort of a keep, even one in disrepair such as Queenscrown would be to coddle them somewhat.

The war they were to face would allow them no respite, so it was better they suffered and got used to that now than were forced to do so while facing the dead too. With Ser Jaime at his back, he toured the camp, offering warm words to any he passed as he did so. He was glad to see the fires burned and men took comfort from them. The lessons that he'd sought to impart and that the Free Folk, Northmen, and others had helped do so, were taken on board much to his relief.

Later after she broke her fast, Dany would do as he did now. She'd speak to her own men and to those who'd knelt and offered her their fealty. Her words would be even more welcomed than his, for they'd see her withstand the same conditions that they did and expect it not. Or those who knew her least would. Those who knew her best had already taken the mettle of his wife. As for his own mettle, this they expected of him, the truth of him would be more revealed to them when the battles themselves commenced.

"She kick you out of bed again, King Crow?" Tormund shouted out loudly when he saw him.

"I see I'm not the only one that has been," he answered to a laugh from Jaime behind him and a glare from Tormund.

"I overdone it on the mare's milk with the Dothraki last night, my maid was not best pleased," Tormund said sheepishly.

"Well, a cold night alone will make sure you leave the mare's milk to those who should be drinking it won't it?"

"Aye, it will King Crow, it will for sure, Har."

Two hours later they were breaking their fast, Dany sitting beside him and looking as if she'd spent the night in a bed inside a keep and had been bathed by handmaidens, rather than a cold tent with none. They laughed, japed, enjoyed their meal, and talked of things that mattered little or much depending on your point of view. The calm before the storm he liked to think of these mornings as and though he wished they'd continue for days or even weeks, he knew they'd not. This one spoiled sooner than most.

"Men ride, your grace. Lots of men." Artos one of the Northern guards he'd brought with him shouted as he ran into the tent.

"Be at peace. The dead don't ride fast," he shouted as around him lords, knights, and men at arms began to make ready for a battle that wasn't yet upon them.

"You're sure, Baelon?" Dany asked and he nodded.

"Aye, I'd wager it's the men of the Watch and not dead men that come our way."

He was right and wrong. It was men of the Watch and to see Edd again brought a smile to his face. Though the words he spoke when he greeted him very much did not. Even though he'd known they were there and had believed the words that the raven's scroll contained, to hear them spoken by Edd felt different somehow. It made it more real, brought the fight ever closer, and the small moments of peace he'd felt that morning were now a thing of the past.

"How many, Edd?" he asked when they reached his tent.

"Many, Jon, I know not how to count that many," Edd said and Baelon raised his hand when someone went to correct Edd's use of his name.

"I'll need to see them for myself. They are lined up at the Haunted Forest?" he asked and Edd nodded.

"Aye, they didn't attack though, seemed to be waiting for something."

"Mayhap it's us, King Crow?" Tormund asked and Baelon looked from him to Dany who seemed concerned, his wife knew what he was about to suggest and then do, already he believed.

"See that Edd and the men of the Watch are given something warm to eat and assigned tents, for now, I'd like to be alone with my wife. I'll go over our plans in a few moments."

He nodded to Edd and looked to Tormund who he knew would see him settled. Then with a look to Jaime and to Ned Dayne, he waited until the tent was clear and turned to Dany once it was.

"No, Baelon," she said firmly before he could speak.

"I need to see them, Dany. I need to firm up our plans and to do that I must see them," he said moving his hands to her shoulders.

"Then we go, together." she pleaded.

"We cannot. Drogon and Viserion must stay close by, we can't bring all three dragons to bear in case it's a trap of some sorts," he said and he knew the moment he did so that he'd said the wrong thing.

"Yet you can go and place your head in this trap? You can go and risk yourself so?" Dany argued.

"I'm not…"

"Don't tell me that's not what you're doing, Baelon, don't you dare lie to me."

"Dany.."

She moved from him and he swore he saw some tears in her eyes as she did so. When he took her in his arms, she fought against him and he had to hold her tight so she didn't break free from his embrace.

"It's not just you that you risk so, Baelon. If something was to happen to you….were you to fall…it's not just you…"

"I know, my love. I know it's not just my heart that would be at risk, which is why I promise I'll take no more than needed. I'm going to look, Dany, not to fight, not even if a fight is brought to me."

"You'll run?" she asked hopefully, the tears he'd seen in her eye now rolling down her cheeks and he brushed them away with his fingers.

"I was thinking, I'd fly, but Aye, I'll run.." he said glad to hear her small giggle.

"Promise me you'll not risk yourself and that all you're going for is to look, Baelon, promise me on your mother," she said looking deeply into his eyes.

"I promise, Dany. I go to look and that's all, nothing will change my mind on that. I'll not break a promise to you, not now, not ever."

The kiss they shared wasn't passionate, it was needy. Neither of them wished to break away from it until that need was sated. She made him agree to bring Jaime and Tormund with her and he only did so if she agreed to keep Ned Dayne, Jorah, and Grey Worm by her side. Both of them were more fearful for the other than for themselves.

He left orders with Thoros and Beric to ready the men, Qhono to have the Dothraki mounted and Daven Lannister to be ready to lead the reserve if it was more than himself he brought back with him from the Wall. When they reached the dragons, he bid Dany to stay with them, to be ready to take to the sky if the need arose and she agreed. His wife then went to speak to Rhaegal while he spoke to the men he'd leave with her and to Lady Melisandre.

"I feel the need to see them, my lady. A call of sorts and it's one I must answer."

"I could join you, my prince, offer my…"

"I'd see you do so to my wife, my lady," he said and she nodded.

"Be safe, my prince, for we are lost without you."

After speaking to Ned Dayne, he moved to his wife and they kissed for true this time. This one was a kiss of passion and not need, though mayhap there was a need there too.

"Don't break your promise to me, Baelon, I'll not forgive you for it," she said when they'd moved apart.

"I'd not forgive myself, Dany, look and that's all, I swear it on my mother," he said and she nodded as he moved to Rhaegal and as he, Tormund, and Jaime climbed upon the Green Dragon's back.

Looking at her before he took to the sky, he wished that Missandei was here to offer her the reassurances that she needed. He hoped that she believed him and that there was nothing that would force him to break his promise, for he meant each and every word and had no intent of fighting a fight that was not on his terms.

"Sōvegon Rhaīgal, sōvegon adere se Drēje." (Fly Rhaegal, fly fast and true.).

The flight to the Wall took no time at all, or at least it felt that way. Tormund grinned like a fool behind him while he knew that Jaime Lannister was anything but smiling. He'd wager that the man never even looked at the ground once and when they reached Castle Black, he was unsurprised to see just how quickly the man climbed down off Rhaegal's back. Baelon hadn't tried to get Rhaegal to fly too close to the Wall, instead, he dismissed the suggestion that Dany had made about him flying high and looking over the top from on Rhaegal's back.

He needed to see and to judge and not be concerned about the dragon's unwillingness to cross the Wall. To focus his attention on the army that was on the other side and not on the dragon beneath him. As Tormund looked around and Jaime got some color back in his cheeks, Baelon walked to Rhaegal's head and pressed his own down upon it. Eyes closed he spoke to the Green Dragon and told him that they'd not be staying long and that he'd be back with his mother and brothers again soon. He could feel Rhaegal's worries and concerns and so he did his best to alleviate them. Feeling he'd succeeded as much as he could without climbing back onto his back and flying away from here, he then turned and began to walk to the gates of Castle Black.

"You served here," Jaime said in disgust when they walked through the gates and reached the open yard.

"Aye, the tales of this place had both been told to me in truth and in lies and I believed the lies, Ser Jaime. I had some of the best times of my life here, despite how terrible it looks. Made and lost some true friends." he said thinking of Grenn and Pyp, and of Sam, the true Sam and not the one who'd tried to kill him on Dragonstone "I had some of the worst times of my life here too." he said a moment later as he looked to the spot where he'd bled out all those years ago.

"You never belonged here, King Crow. It was with my people that you found the truth of that." Tormund said and Baelon offered him his warmest smile.

"Aye, that I did," he said as they made their way to the ice tunnel.

He was relieved when he saw it, the tunnel had been made impassable and though he knew that Edd would make it so, it still meant much to see it with his own two eyes. Moving from it to the lift, he set the winch to work and they were soon on their journey to the top of the Wall.

"I hope heights bother you not, Ser Jaime," he said with a chuckle, looking to see him standing as far back from the edge of the lift as could be.

"More so here than on a dragon, your grace," Jaime replied making both he and Tormund laugh.

It felt like it took an age to reach the top, the lift shaking and stuttering and making even Baelon nervous as it continued on its rise. Eventually, they were there and he stepped out onto the ice for mayhap the last time he'd ever do so. The thoughts of which made him pause for a moment before he then moved and led the way to the flattened ice and small platform. He felt them before he saw them, swore he heard a voice in his head the closer he got to the edge. A plea to join and fight on the right side, a warning not to stand against them or to stop what must be done. Ignoring it as best he could, he, Tormund, and Jaime looked over the edge of the Wall and into the land below.

"By the Old Gods," Tormund said shakily.

"I'd not…I…I'd hoped it was a lie." Jaime said.

"It's not a lie, Ser Jaime, far from it."

Were he to name a number he'd say the army that stretched out before them was more than 40,000 strong. There were giants, men, White Walkers, and things he could see and yet not. Animals that he could name and yet not. To see them lined out as they were brought back memories of Mance's army to him and no doubt to Tormund too. Baelon moved to place a hand on Tormund's arm to offer what comfort he could.

"There are more in the trees, King Crow," Tormund said and Baelon knew he was right.

"How many more?" Jaime asked and before he could answer, he saw them ride out, the White Walkers rose on undead horses and he knew what was to come before it came.

"We need to leave, now!" he said and as Jaime and Tormund moved away, the attack began.

He'd scaled the Wall before, so he knew how difficult it was to climb it, and yet the dead seemed to do so with ease. Taking one last look at them as they did so, the questions came to mind.

If it was so easy, then why wait?

If it hadn't been the Wall as an obstacle that held them back? What had?

They were questions for another day, ones that would find their answers when he had more time to think about them. Hurrying to the lift, they were soon on their way back down to the ground, and yet all three sets of eyes looked to the top of the Wall and almost expected to see dead men there long before they reached safe ground. The gods, fate, or simple luck seemed to be on their side though and they stepped off the lift to find they'd done so with time to spare.

By the time they reached the gate, the first of the dead men had found their way to the top of the Wall and so they moved quickly to where Rhaegal awaited them. Less than a few moments later and they were in the air, the Wall fading behind them and the war he'd been preparing for was now finally upon them. He didn't notice the smile on his face, the eager look in his eyes, and had he seen it, he'd have named himself a fool. Yet he felt it in his heart, deep within himself he felt the fire as it grew and it would be that fire that he'd bring to bear and would see him win this war.

Brandon's Gift 304 AC.

Meera Reed.

She loved her family. She respected them a lot. Never said a word against them and always looked out to protect from any harm and defend them until her last breath. Yet as she was setting camp in the cold hard night with the few crannogmen who came with her on their journey to the Wall, she wished she could hate them.

She didn't want to go back there. She didn't want to walk back to the road she'd taken in another life and reminisce over her past. Most of all she didn't wish to see the army of the dead, to be faced with her worst nightmares once again. She had lost so much because of them, so many people she cared about and most of her cheerful self, she didn't want to lose more as she felt she had no more to give up.

Meera wanted to live, which was why she was there.

Why she'd listened to her father, she didn't know. He'd seemed so convinced that Jojen had come to him to warn him that in order for her to survive, she would need to go back to the Wall, that she'd wanted to believe him too. The thought that Jojen was watching over them still, that his spirit was tied to the Weirwoods and that he was willing to see her live despite her inability to save him from his fate was somewhat comforting. Yet she felt put out by his demand. The last place she would think to be safe would be in the eye of the storm.

"Jojen has been clear, Meera. You have to go." her father said.

"I…"

"I know, child. I wish I could send you back to Greywater Watch to be with your Mother. I wish I could come with you too, but I have to stay and train King Rickon."

"Train him?"

"He's a greenseer too and he has the gods' favor. He needs to understand his gift and to use it as his brother does."

This sent a chill into Meera's spine and she immediately worried.

"Is that wise, Father? Look what happened to Bran, look what he became… I don't want this to happen to Rickon too."

"I'm certain this won't happen." her father said emphatically.

"But you do not know for sure! You do not even know it was Jojen who truly spoke to you! What if it was a trap?"

"Do you not trust me to recognize my own son?" Howland said, visibly hurt, and she shook her head.

"I didn't mean it that way, Father."

"I know it appears strange, but I can feel it, Meera. I can feel this is what I'm supposed to do and I feel you have to go too. Have faith, my daughter. If not in the Old Gods, if not in me, have faith in your brother as you always did."

She couldn't voice her disagreement, not without hurting her father's feelings, so she swallowed her worries and resolved to spend the rest of her moments with him in relative peace.

This was of course not counting on Bran and his tendency to exacerbate her worse feelings. Before she left Winterfell, she had gone to the Godswood with her father to pray for a safe journey, shivering when she came face to face with her former friend.

"You're leaving."

"I am," she answered, crossing her arms as if they could protect her from him.

"You weren't going to say your farewells this time."

"Does it matter?"

"It does, especially when I cannot see your future."

"You've never been able to -"

"Remember what you told me before leaving Winterfell the last time? That Hodor, Summer, and Jojen weren't the only ones who died in that cave." Bran asked and she nodded, shivering as he stared at the Heart Tree. "You were right. And it was all for nothing."

"Bran…"

"I know what your father is about to do with my brother. I know the Old Gods plan to do with him what they did to me. I know he hopes that Rickon will be able to defeat the Night King, to succeed where I have failed."

"But you think it won't work, don't you?" she deduced, frowning when he nodded.

"I've dedicated all my time, my efforts, to find answers that could help us. They know. The Old Gods know how to defeat him. They were the ones who created him in the first place. Don't you find it strange that they couldn't show me anything? That they couldn't give me a straight answer while they kept showing me things about my family that I didn't want to know? Things about a possible future in which the Starks would be no more because of the dragons?" his monotonous voice made the young woman's heart clench in sympathy before she shook her head and took a step back to distance herself.

"You want something from me," she said accusatorily. "Each time you speak to someone, it's because you want something from them."

"I don't want Rickon to die as I did in that cave. I know I have cost your family a lot and I don't think I could live with myself if my family took more from yours because of the Old Gods' treachery."

"I thought you were serving the Old Gods?"

"And look where it gets me. My family hates me, my friends fear me. You do not trust me and I haven't been able to find anything of import for the Great War. They lead Jojen to die, they lead us all to die in that cave for nothing."

Bran's words resonated with her more than she wanted to. She managed to hold back her tears, as she didn't want to show her how affected she was, but the little twitch of his lips showed her he already knew. It was all it took to put her defenses back up and he seemed to notice it too, as a shadow passed on his gaze before he recovered quickly.

"I see. I guess I will have to do this myself."

"Do what?"

"Sorry for bothering you. I wish you good fortune for the war to come."

"What will you do, Bran?"

"I'll let you say your farewells to the gods and your father."

"If something happens to Rickon or my father, I swear to the Gods…"

"I will watch over them like I always do so that nothing happens. You can leave with your heart at peace."

Dread filled Meera as she watched Bran being wheeled away from the Godswood. She immediately went to her father who was praying, not caring about how she looked while interrupting his prayer, and proceeded to retell her encounter with the Three-Eyed Raven. Howland's calm demeanor at the end unnerved her greatly.

"How can you be so calm when he threatens you and Rickon?" she almost yelled.

"He does so because he's afraid. Him being afraid is good, it means that we're on the right path."

"But father…"

"Do not worry about my fate, child. I will join our ancestors when the time will come for me to do so. Be it by the Three-Eyed Raven's hand or anything else's, if it is the path I must walk I do so willingly but do not think I will not fight for my right to see you grow old." he ended, caressing her cheek tenderly and making her tear up once again.

"Father…"

"Moreover, do you think young Rickon will let his brother harm me if he has the power to prevent it?" he boasted and she chuckled at his statement.

"No, you're right. Rickon wouldn't."

"Then it's settled. Now come pray with me before you leave."

She knelt with her father, never letting go of his hand as she prayed to the Old Gods for protection for her, Rickon, and all those she held dear.

As the days went by, the journey, the harsh condition they were living in as well as the separation from her father weighed heavily on her morale. The time when they could see the sun was growing shorter, but Meera and the others could enjoy the few hours of light until they arrived near Last Hearth. There the light dimmed significantly as the cold was stronger, reminding her of the time she had spent fleeing the dead with Bran when they left the accursed cave. Thinking about that made her worry much about what Bran could do. She did not want to underestimate her former friend, and even the words of the King didn't assuage her fears when he came to check on her and the other Northmen before leaving for the Wall.

"Rickon and your father are fine, Meera. I can feel it. I would feel if something was wrong and so would you." Baelon said offering her a smile and touching her shoulder

"That's the thing, Your Grace. I feel that something is not quite right, but I do not know what it is."

"If anything, I can assure you that it is not in Winterfell. I know you've faced the dead more than once, as I have. Could it be this weighing on your mind? Because I too have this same worry, especially knowing that they are not so very far from us now."

"Mayhaps. I apologize for disturbing you needlessly, Your Grace."

"Never apologize for that, Meera, and do not stop yourself from coming to me should you feel the need to. I'd rather have to worry more and stay vigilant than be too confident and miss something important." he retorted, smiling warmly at her, making her feel as he was talking to her not as a subject but as a member of his family.

"What do you want us to do now, King Crow?" one of the spearwives asked.

"Make sure everyone in your ranks has two Dragonglass weapons. give a dagger to anyone you can and chose another depending on your skills. A spear and a dagger for you and the other spearwives. For the others, a dagger and an ax. Gather those who are more at ease with a bow and arrows so they can get their supplies near the Dothraki. Gather the ironwood too. Place them in front of everything so we can set it aflame as soon as we would need them. If you need help, don't hesitate to go to my wife and ask for it." Baelon's voice was now that of a commander and a king.

"Aye, it will be done as you say, King Crow."

They set out to work as soon as King Baelon left their side, not wanting to risk being caught by the dead while still preparing. That night Meera barely slept, the absence of the king weighing into her worry. She felt the unease grow inside of her when the sun didn't rise the next day and she could hear the sound of the storm nearby.

"Eat," Nessa said as she plopped down near her with a bowl of stew. "Get some strength, I believe we will need it sooner than we think."

"I would kill for some of this southern meat they made us taste. What's its name, woman?" Tormund asked Lady Brienne, who shrugged while enjoying her meal.

"You will have to be more specific than that if you want a specific answer," Brienne said exasperated as if this was a regular thing between them.

"The meat is really good. Much tender than rabbit meat." Nessa said as she ate hungrily.

"Anything is more tender than rabbit." Meera pointed out. "Except maybe for lizard-lion, but you need to know how to cook it properly. Mother makes a very good stew with it."

"You truly eat lizard-lion?" Hugo Wull asked. "I heard those beasts are fierce and dangerous."

"These crannogmen are fearless, so that doesn't surprise me." Tormund boasted and Meera smiled proudly. "It's still doesn't make me remember the southern meat. It was not this lizard thing."

"What does it look like, Tormund?" Brienne sighed, visibly annoyed at her lover's antics.

"Methinks it's a bird. I remember it has wings, but it doesn't taste like any bird I had before. Come to think of it, I remember finding it strange because I hear some Southern men say it couldn't fly."

"Chicken." Meera's words echoed Brienne as Tormund shouted the name in recognition. "I had tasted it a few times, some of our guards stole them from the Freys and you're right, it is truly delicious."

"I wish I could have eaten chicken before the battle. I guess that tasting it again will give me another reason to see another day..." He sighed pensively, probably thinking about his future meal.

"Because you need more incentive to stay alive?" Lady Brienne asked, arching a brow while Nessa and the others chuckled.

"Sounds like someone will get no dessert tonight…" the spearwife teased a blushing Tormund, who finally realized his mistake.

It was amusing to see him scramble to find a way to apologize, and for a moment his antics diverted Meera from the reality they would soon face. Tormund's departure with the King a few hours later led her and the rest of the Northern contingency to quicken the pace of the preparations. She focused on it and tried forgetting the feeling of dread inside of her, fighting her troubled thoughts with things that should be done. The Queen came to them and left some men to help them out, which she was grateful for, especially when she heard the dragon roar coming from the skies. She couldn't see him, because of the lack of light, but she knew Baelon was back, and as she was about to sigh with relief, the sound of an ominous horn shook her and the ground beneath her to the core.

The Battle of the Gift 304 AC.

Baelon Targaryen.

Their landing was overshadowed somewhat by the sound of a horn ringing out. Dany's hurried run to him one cut short by his own movements towards her. Though he knew he should be shouting out orders and readying the men for what was coming their way, he saw only her concern and knew he needed to alleviate it some. Not that the words he'd speak would truly do so. Yet still, they were the best he had and so he hoped they would.

"I'm well, Dany, we fought no fight," he said as he took her in his arms.

"I worried, the dark, Baelon, the night, the horn…"

"The battle is upon us, I wish we had more time to speak. I need you armored and upon Drogon's back as quickly as you can manage it. I'll speak to the men."

"You….you'll be on Rhaegal?" she asked worriedly.

"Aye. Together Dany, we'll beat him together."

"Together," she said, and then she and Ser Jorah were racing away from him and he wished he was by her side once more.

"Gather the commanders, Ser Jaime, Tormund the Free Folk," he said and both men moved from him.

Once they had, he moved back to Rhaegal and leaned his head against the green dragoon's own.

"Se vīlībagon iksis bē bē īlva, ñuha raqiros. Nyke gīmigon daor zūgagon kirimvose naejot ao. Hēnkirī, Rhaīgal, hēnkirī īlon'll maghagon zirȳ Perzys Ānogār!." (The fight is almost upon us, my friend. I know no fear thanks to you. Together, Rhaegal, together we'll bring them Fire and Blood!)

The roar that Rhaegal let out was one he was sure was heard by the dead themselves, one that would strike fear even into a heart that didn't beat for true. It was a roar of challenge, of fearlessness, a roar that promised only a fiery end.

Leaving the Green Dragon, for now, he hurried to his tent to find that Jaime had gathered the men he needed to speak to. There was no time for speeches, for fancy words, instead, he simply told them what he wished for them to do and that they had no time to dally for the war was upon them and the dead would be here soon.

"Fight well and be safe old friend," he said to Edd as he bid the man farewell for what he hoped was only now.

"My king," Jaime said turning to him.

"Your sword, Jaime, yours, Edd's Brienne's, should you see a White Walker, concentrate on him for your sword can bring about his end."

"I…"

"Keep your words for the victory feast, for I've no intent for this to be our end," he said and Jaime nodded before hurrying from the tent.

He bid Ned Dayne to lead the Dornish and to keep his eyes on Dany in the sky, should the worst happen he was to go to her. Then he turned to Tormund.

"I had not thought I'd live this long, Jon Snow. Had I not met you then I'd not."

"Then I'm fucking glad you did." he said to a laugh from his truest friend "Today is not our day to die, Tormund Giantsbane. Today we have but one thing to say to the man who wishes to be king and rule over our corpses. We do not kneel, Tormund, we do not kneel."

"Aye, King Crow, not to him I don't."

They embraced as brothers, neither of them wishing to see the other leave and both knowing that they must. As he watched Tormund walk from his tent, Baelon prayed to the gods who'd shown him favor. To the Old Gods, the Red God, to any who'd listen.

"Not today," he said simply, and as he walked from the tent he saw Melisandre standing there with Thoros before noticing him and walking his way.

"This day feels wrong, my prince. I know not…."

"It is the day it is, my lady. Be safe, be well, may you walk in R'hllor's favor and I look forward to seeing you when this war is won. You'd not let me down by doing something foolish now would you?" he asked smiling when Melisandre smiled back at him.

"I'd not dare to do so, my prince. Be safe, return for the world needs you for more than simply the Bringing of the Dawn."

He ran through the camps, watching as men mounted up, formed up, and hearing as commands were shouted out. Qhono and Daven Lannister would lead their horses in a charge, but only when they were given leave to ride. The Unsullied lined up with Dornish spearmen and men readied to form a shield wall. It would be a strange one to see, as the land they were in would require them to form a circle so they weren't taken from the rear.

When he reached the dragons it was to see Dany saying her goodbyes to Ser Jorah and with a nod to the knight, he moved to his wife.

"We stay in the air, Dany, we bring the dragons to bear and we stay in the air," he said and he swore she looked relieved at his words.

"I love you, Baelon, I love you."

"I love you, my love. With all I am, I love you and we will beat him on that I've no doubt," he said seeing her nod and then feeling her lips on his.

A few moments later they were on the dragon's back and then with a look at her and a look back at their army, the three dragons roared and took to the sky.

Dany.

Never had she felt the worry she did as they took to the sky. Not even facing the Lannisters and after Drogon had been injured had her heart beat this fast. It threatened to burst from her chest and she at first knew not why that was. Only when her head turned and she saw Baelon on Rhaegal's back did the answer become clear to her. She risked far more in this battle than she had in any she'd ever fought before. Not just those who followed her and placed themselves at risk, like her Unsullied, Dothraki, Ser Jorah, and Grey Worm. Or those far from battle like Missandei. It wasn't even that she risked her own life, for she'd done so countless times before.

Her heart worried for the man who flew beside her. The thoughts of losing him were ones that threatened to take away all her resolve. Beneath her, Drogon could feel her fear and let out a roar to tell her that he'd not allow it to come to pass. To the left of her, Viserion roared to show he too was of the same mind. Turning to look at her other son, she found Rhaegal's bronze eyes were on her own violet ones. The resolve that had threatened to leave her was there in those eyes. Words that went unspoken but that gave her all she needed to do what she must.

"I'll not let him be harmed, mother, not him, nor you."

When her eyes caught Baelon's own, she saw his own worries and concerns most clearly. Yet she saw the same resolve that she had in Rhaegal's eyes reflected in Baelon's dark grey ones. It brought a smile to her face, one she wore right up until she saw the dead army race across the lands below. How many of them there was, she knew not, but she feared it was more than their own army had brought to bear. With a look to Baelon, she saw his nod, and then, Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal, all dropped lower and with passion and determination, she shouted out a single word.

"Dracarys."

Three arcs of flame cut a swathe through the dead. Never before had she seen the likes of it. Not when she'd attacked the master's ships at Meereen, nor the Lannister army in the Reach. It felt different to her, looked different, almost as if this is how the dragons were supposed to be used. She wondered if that was because having Baelon ride Rhaegal allowed for more control. That Viserion despite being riderless was better able to do as both his brothers did, rather than simply try to copy what Rhaegal alone did.

Drogon's flames to her eye had always been the truest of her children's. the fiercest, hottest, and most devastating of them all. Looking to her other sons, watching as they matched their oldest brother, she almost reveled in the destruction they wrought. Had it not been for Rhaegal's cry of warning, then she would have. Her eyes turned to her son and to the man upon his back, Dany breathed relievedly when she saw that both were unharmed. Yet Baelon was pointing up and then Rhaegal began to rise, Viserion and finally upon her bidding, Drogon, doing likewise.

"SPEARS!" Baelon shouted as he flew close to her "ICE SPEARS!" he shouted and she looked at him worriedly "BEWARE THE WHITEWALKERS!"

She looked on as he dropped down low and though she wished to follow, for some reason she did not. Instead, she had Drogon and Viserion keep their height, and then she saw what the warning was for. The spears were made of ice and looked so very much like the bolt that had injured Drogon that she immediately feared for Rhaegal and Baelon. Yet they dodged them easily and then she watched with interest as her son laid down his flames on the White Walker who'd thrown the first spear. To her dismay, those flames had no effect and as Rhaegal rose again, another spear was thrown which thankfully he dodged. Soon enough her son was flying close to her once more and she caught the look that Baelon was aiming in her direction.

"AVOID THEM! DO NOT ATTACK THEM!" Baelon shouted and she nodded her head.

They dropped low once more, her eyes seeking out the White Walkers and finding them easily which she was most grateful for. Once again the three dragons brought their flames to bear and then she cried out as Viserion broke off to attack one of the White Walkers when a spear flew his way. Before she could react, Baelon had bid Rhaegal to follow after his brother and she heard the loud roar of warning that was aimed Viserion's way.

She held her breath as her two children flew too low and too close to the White Walker for her liking. Shouting out for Baelon to be wary, though she knew her words would not carry and her warning would be in vain. To her relief, they soon were higher in the sky once again and then they were back by her side. Her eyes turned to see a nod of Baelon's head and she wondered if it had simply been Rhaegal or had her husband warged her son once more.

In the end, it mattered not. They brought the fire to as many of the dead as they could before they needed to allow the dragons to rest. Baelon decided when the time for that was. It was behind them that they flew, near a stream so they could get some water for themselves. Upon landing, she moved to Drogon and thanked her son, seeing the weariness in his eyes. She then moved to Viserion and noticed that Baelon was speaking softly to Rhaegal.

"He listened to me, Dany." she heard Baelon say as she moved from Viserion "I bid him do as his brothers were and to forget about the man wielding the spears and he listened."

"You warged him?" she asked and Baelon nodded.

"We should eat, drink. We can't stay on the ground for long." Baelon said and she sighed.

"They need to rest, Baelon."

"As do we, but we cannot do so for too long. We took many from them, but not enough, not yet."

She ate the bread and cheese, drank the cool water, and all too soon they climbed back upon the dragon's backs and took to the sky once more. Beneath her she could feel how tried Drogon was, looking at her other two sons she could see it was the same, yet Baelon was right. The time to rest was not upon them, not yet.

Ned Dayne.

Watching the dragons unleash their flames showed both the true power they possessed and the folly of any who'd ever thought of standing in their way. Dorne may have taken comfort from the fact they'd taken down a dragon once before, but he, as his father had always said, knew full well that it had been luck that brought Meraxes to the ground. Looking at the three of them in the sky now, he prayed that those they faced would find no such luck here today.

For what felt like an age, the fight was off in the distance. The only sign that it was here at all was the flames that the dragons loosed. Around him, he could feel the confidence that the men felt. A belief held by them that the dragons alone would be enough to win this day. He saw it in not just the Dornishmen he'd brought with him, but the men of the Reach and West too. If he could still see those on horseback then mayhap they too would wear the same expressions as well.

The Unsullied did not. Instead, it was a resolve and resoluteness that he could see in their features. As for the men of the North and the Wildlings, they bore looks that he'd only seen once before in his life for true. Long ago, he'd rode out with Beric and Thoros and others to bring the Mountain to justice. At the Mummer's Ford, they'd found out that it was not to be them to do so. He'd watched as they'd barely escaped with their lives, and had then stood guard as Beric lay dying by the side of the Red Fork. Ned had pulled him to what he'd hoped to be safety, only to be forced to look on as Beric breathed his last.

Even after Thoros had given Beric the Last Kiss and R'hllor had brought him back, it had done little to raise their spirits. The fights that came afterward, the victories, losses, successes, and failures, all did nothing to remove a certain look from each of their eyes. He could see that look in the men of the North and in the Wildlings and as it had when he'd seen it in Beric, Thoros, and the men of the Brotherhood's faces, it sent a shiver down his spine. One that only grew when they first sighted the dead racing towards them.

"Fear not, for the dead are facing Jon Snow upon a mighty beast's back. They're facing the Dragonqueen, who though small is as mighty as King Crow himself." a voice that it took him some time to identify called out "So I say fuck these dead fuckers. Let's take our Dragonglass and fuck them right in their fucking arses. For Hardhome, For the Dragonqueen, For Jon Snow, The King Beyond the Wall."

"For King Crow."

"For King Crow."

"For Hardhome."

"For the North."

"For the West."

"For the Reach."

The voices all rang around and then he moved forward, Dawn raised in his hand.

"For Dorne!" he shouted as loudly as he could.

Spears were pointed forward and shields interlocked. Ned found himself in a circle of sorts and then the dead were upon them. Seeing them and watching them as they attacked would have threatened the courage of better men than he. Yet it was seeing the men of Dorne, looking around and seeing the realm united from the southern tip of Sunspear to Beyond the Wall and lands he'd never traveled. It was that and knowing that was his courage to falter here today, then he and they would see no tomorrow. Closing his eyes, he thought of Allyria, of Starfall, of Wylla back in Winterfell and then he bid Dawn sing her song.

The Unsullied were unmoving, while around them men fell and some to their shame abandoned their post, they were resolute. Baelon had told him the tale of the three thousand of Qohor back at Winterfell during one of their talks. Looking at them now, he could see why so many Dothraki had fallen that day. Their spears moved in unison, no wasted movement, and their Dragonglass tips ended dead man after dead man. Turning to his own spearmen, he could only wish they were as disciplined.

"LOOK TO THE UNSULLIED!" he shouted "MATCH THEIR MOVEMENTS!"

His words were heard and answered and where before their lines were ragged, now they were anything but. The Northmen and the Wildings fought like men who were possessed. Both sets of men showed savagery that even the dead were unable to match. Men of the West and Reach used their shield wall and held the dead back as they went about their work. As for him, Dawn was a blur as she cut down any who came close enough to her white blade. The star forged steel proving itself just as true as the Valyrian that Ser Jaime, Edd Tollet, or Brienne of Tarth wielded. Never was this more so than when he saw the first of them.

Its white skin was not skin at all, that was his first thought when the White Walker began to cut through their lines. It was ice, its armor was ice, its sword was ice. That was his second. His third was that it was unmatched by any who stood in its way. The ice of the sword the White Walker wielded broke any steel it came against and the man who had wielded that steel, was soon meeting his end. His fourth thought was that it was fast, impossibly so. This then led to his fifth and most important thought, it was up to him to stop it.

"Let it pass, let it pass." he called out to shocked looks and the shaking of heads "Dawn cries out to be swung," he added and then the White Walker was no more than a few feet ahead of him.

It looked at him curiously, or so he thought. Ned only realized after a moment that it was actually Dawn that raised the White Walker's curiosity. When he moved towards it, he swore he saw a smile on its face, though given that face was carved out of ice, mayhap it was just a reflection of his own smile that he saw. As the two blades clashed, his own smile only grew. The icy white of the White Walker's sword may look beautiful to some, compared to the milky white of Dawn, it very much did not.

Other than Baelon, he'd fought none as quick as the White Walker. Yet his own movements, the speed with which he wielded Dawn, and the years he'd spent proving himself worthy of such a blade, all combined to make this an even enough match. He feinted left and was followed, thrust, and was parried. His powerful swings were matched as easily as his more skillful ones were. The end came when he reached for the Dragonglass dagger by his side. Ned throwing it underhanded and yet not to try and end the White Walker as it thought, but simply to distract him.

As it shrugged the blade away, he brought Dawn down in an arc. The White Walker's move to parry came far too late and then he felt it when it hit against the icy shoulder and cut through it as if it was butter. There was an explosion of ice, which forced him to cover his face, then a loud cheer rang out and Ned opened his eyes to see no White Walker in front of him. It wasn't simply the death of the White Walker at his hands that had been the reason for that cheer, but its death had relieved the front of their lines somewhat. A large number of dead men had fallen as it had, which proved what Baelon, Tormund, and others had said was true.

"Archers, seek out the Walkers," he shouted as his own eyes sought them out too.

The sounds that rang out a moment later took his good cheer and almost robbed the men of their will as they saw what seemed to be dead animals race their way. Ned looked to the sky and prayed he'd see a dragon or three only to find no sight of them and so it was to the front of the line and his place in it that he went.

Jaime.

How many battles had he fought in?

How many times had he risked his life against someone who wished him dead?

How many times did he face that fight without fear in his heart?

The answer to all those questions was the same, many. Each and every time he'd wielded his sword in anger, he'd done so without fear, fought against someone who wished him dead and had come out of the battle or fight, victorious. True he'd lost at the Whispering Wood, but given the odds he'd faced, it was a fight that no man, not even Arthur Dayne himself, could have withstood. He feared this was another.

Like the men of the West he fought amongst, he cheered when the dragons laid down their flames. Had even for a moment believed that there would be no need for them to fight here today. A forlorn hope and one that was being proved untrue right at this very moment. The dead were relentless. They fought not like men, for they feared not losing a life that they no longer had. No matter how many you cut down, they still came and so it was tiredness that he felt was to bring about their ends here today.

The sword in his hand felt heavy, he'd swung it more in the last few hours than he truly had in the last few years. Not even when he was trying to retrain himself after he'd lost his hand did he use it as much as he had today. He'd cut down countless dead men, none of them a match for Widow's Wail and yet he knew it was the sword and not the man who wielded it that was the true threat they faced. At one time, he'd have fought twice the time against twice the number of foes. Was he still the man he used to be, then he'd relish the fight he faced today. That man was long dead and the one he was now, was a lesser one in most respects. Though not all.

At Winterfell, he'd found a reason for living. An answer to a question that had plagued him for more years than he cared to remember. Baelon Targaryen had sought to make him what he once was, or more truly what he'd once wished to be. Not simply a Kingsguard, nor a man who wore the white cloak, but a man who was worthy of it and of the king and queen he served. Swinging his sword, taking down yet another of the dead men who pushed against their shield wall, Jaime ignored his tiredness and looked to the sky.

"By R'hllor's grace." he heard a voice call out and after taking down yet another dead man, he saw the Lady Melisandre looking at hands that somehow seemed to be alight.

He watched in stunned fascination as the red priestess moved to where the Free Folk stood and touched one of the blades they were holding, then did the same to men of the West, Reach, North, and finally Dorne. Jaime believed not in the gods, for he'd seen enough of the shit in the world to know they cared not or helped not. He'd heard and seen proof that Baelon and his brother had been brought back by the red god, yet even that would not be enough to make him believe in R'hllor being different from others as Lady Melisandre had said. What he saw now, however, may make a believer even out of him.

All around him swords, spears, weapons of every sort seemed to light up. Where before it was only Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion who wielded fiery blades, now it was every single man and woman who the dead faced. It was a glorious sight, one that could only be the work of the gods and while his own blade didn't alight, it mattered not. Jaime looked on as the dead burned when they were struck, as they then set others on fire when they fell and it made him believe that they'd be victorious here today.

He believed it right up to when the White Walker extinguished any flame that came near it. Then he and others watched on in horror as men were cut down as if they were nothing and as weapons found no purchase against the icy skin. The fight was beyond any man or woman that the White Walker faced, it was beyond Jaime too and yet his weapon at least wouldn't break or be useless against the icy sword.

Moving as swiftly as he could, he arrived just as the sword threatened to cut down Lady Melisandre, who was kneeling on the ground almost as if she was waiting for the blow to come. In truth she was simply exhausted by the magic she'd expelled, yet had he not arrived when he did, then an execution that he knew Davos Seaworth longed for, would have been her fate. Instead, his blade stopped the icy one, blocked it, and turned the attention of the White Walker to him and not her.

In a way, he welcomed it and yet did not at the same time. For quickly it became clear to him that this was not a fight that he could win. His old self would struggle against the speed and strength he faced. Had he his sword hand, it would have been a fight for the ages. With his offhand, it was very much not and all too soon he found himself being played with. Jaime's end was inevitable and he remembered something that Oswell Whent had said to him once. The Black Bat had been the most humorous of the Kingsguard and as Jaime began to laugh it was with his words in his mind.

"Death smiles at us all; all a man can do is smile back."

He knew when the moment came, closed his eyes and readied for the blow, and then he felt warmth close to his face. Opening his eyes he swore he saw a ball of fire covering the White Walker's face and he heard a voice tell him to: END IT'. Jaime needed no second invitation and he swung Widow's Wail with all his might, the ball of fire soon fading away and in its place, an explosion of ice rang out, as did loud cheers.

"My god shows us both his favor this day, Ser Jaime, but this day is far from over." Lady Melisandre said and then he, and her, both moved to offer aid to wherever and whoever they could.

Meera.

This noise. The rattles the dead made before attacking would forever haunt her. She had tried to forget them when she went back to Greywater Watch but had dreamt of them far more than she had wished to. Now they were getting closer and those rattles, rather than playing into her fear, fueled her anger. These monsters were responsible for her brother's death, and she would avenge him as well as protect the others from losing any loved ones, for she knew how devastating that was. She grabbed her spear and ran to her spot next to Brienne and Nessa. The Forrester's guards had the ironwood lit up and the archers used the fire to shoot the approaching horde with their flaming arrows. In the distance, she could see the dragons raining down fire on their enemy and she wished they would get destroy the bulk of the army against them.

Meera tried her best to defend her position. Their orders were simple. Slash the dead, burn them, repeat, so she had to protect the one holding the torch to work efficiently on it. Lady Melisandre's gift proved itself a huge boon to their forces, as they now didn't lose time as their burning weapons did the work even quicker. The dead were now trying to extinguish the ironwood flames with their bodies, impaling themselves on them so they could cross over.

"Step back!" She heard Lady Brienne say. "Keep the line formed, but step back! They're about to…"

One of the dead jumped right into their ranks, narrowly taking her with him in his fall, and she was about to dispose of it when Brienne drove her sword into it. Around her, every spearwife was quicker and more alert than her. The Northmen were fighting fiercely, invigorated by the flames burning on their weapons, and Meera felt suddenly out of place. She had been trained, yes, she had faced them before and killed some, but she was not as good as these people. The fleeting thought almost got her caught by another corpse, but Brienne, ever vigilant, once again came to her rescue.

"Get a hold of yourself, Meera!" she exclaimed at the young woman. "You've got to be more focused, else you will be dead and will rise again as one of them!"

Brienne's words seemed to shake her out of her state for a moment, and she managed to fight and stop more corpses until she found herself facing something or someone she never thought she would.

She stumbled backward, her eyes filled with tears as the glowing blue eyes of a White Walker stared at her with glee.

"Hodor?" she whispered, the hold on her spear weakening as she watched the mauled face of her fellow protector now standing next to the White Walker.

He advanced on her and two of the men she traveled with went on fighting the giant she had grown to care about. Hodor had become one of them because of her, and she would now have to bear her guilt for the rest of her life.

Did they know she would be there? Did they do this intentionally? Why would they do so? Why would they target her out of those far more important among their ranks?

She had no time to think about it. Soon Hodor, or what was left of him began to truly attack. His giant blood had made it hard for him to fall to his enemies when he was alive, and it was even harder now that he was dead.

Set him free, Meera. You have to set him free… she thought as one of the men fighting him fell.

She looked to Brienne, who was trying to fight the White Walker, the Valyrian steel that she wielded seemed to be even more effective than Dragonglass, and seeing it strengthened her resolve. She took the fallen crannogman's dagger, her eyes full of tears, and with a run towards Hodor, she jumped on him and struck him in his eye socket with a heart-wrenching cry.

She felt him go limp under her as he fell to the ground, and she quickly set him on fire to make sure he would not stand anew, bracing herself as she turned to help Brienne and hoping that the female warrior was still alive. Before she could go into the fight, Brienne finally disposed of the White Walker, the sound of exploding ice resonating in Meera's ears sounded like a deliverance of sorts. Brienne fell to her knees, bloodied but still alive, and tried to stand up while Meera stopped her.

"There's no time to rest," she said weakly. "We must -"

As if the Gods were listening to them, the dragon's roars and their flames a little ahead of them gave them a little respite and time for them to regroup and close ranks.

Beric Dondarrion.

Around him it was chaos, the dead crashed against the shield wall and were brought down, only to be replaced by another wave almost immediately. Men's courage threatened to falter as they came face to face with things from their nightmares. If it was not for some of those amongst them, then all discipline and order would have been lost. But be it the giant redheaded wilding with his words, Ned Dayne with his incredible sword, or Jaime Lannister who fought like ten men, they held the dead back.

He, like others, had looked on when the dragons had brought their flames to bear. R'hllor's greatest gift to the world was finally showing his true power to one and all. Around him, men had seen it as both he and Thoros ignited their swords and brought their own fire to the dead they faced. Beric believed that it helped rally the men closest to him when he did so. He'd fought as he'd never fought before, his sword aflame and it moved swifter than it had ever done. The light from his flames shied like a beacon in the darkness of the night and held back the darkest of its terrors, for now at least.

When he'd seen the flames appear on the sword nearest him, he'd at first believed that it had caught fire from his own. Then he looked on in awe as every single weapon held by a man who breathed still, suddenly lit up. From the moment that Thoros had brought him back, Beric had been a convert to the God of Flame and Shadow. Each and every time he'd risen again, his devotion to R'hllor had been the one thing that had grown. Through his lost memories, his feelings of becoming a lesser man than he once was, all of it, he'd taken comfort from the fact that he was here to do his god's work.

Seeing R'hllor intervene so directly, witnessing his power firsthand, brought him something he'd not known since the first time he'd died, comfort. His god was with them, as clearly as if he walked this field and touched the shoulder of each and every man and woman that fought. The dead may have the favor of the Great other, but he was not yet dead, those with him were not yet dead, and they too carried a god's favor. As he swung his sword, he did so with a renewed vigor. A strength that he'd feared was long since past. He fought for the living and for his god and they would win here today.

"For R'hllor," he called out as he took down another dead man.

To his left, his right, in front of him, and once when one got lucky enough to somehow make it behind him, the dead found no quarter from Beric's flaming sword. He heard cheers as a White Walker was taken down and a large group of the dead fell with him. Looked on as the shield wall began to push back against what felt to him like a lesser force pushing against it. Every so often his eyes would look to the sky in search of the dragons, to the hills to the sides for the cavalry, and around him for Thoros and others who fought with them.

Ned Dayne was as majestic as he'd wager his uncle had ever been. Dawn sang in the young man's hands and though he could remember little about their time together, or what their relationship was, he felt proud of the lad for some reason. Jaime Lannister may not be the swordsman he once was, yet he was more than a match for the dead he faced. Melisandre he could see held their god's favor even more than he and at times he swore he saw fireballs seem to come from her hands. As for Thoros, drunk or sober, he was as fierce as ever. He was unstoppable and though not a man who smiled much if, at all these days, Beric smiled as he watched his truest friend.

"WATCH OUT!" a shout rang out and Beric turned in its direction, the sight he found himself looking at was one that almost defied explanation.

There were animals running at them, animals and what seemed to be giants. Shadowcats, Aurochs, Mammoths, Wolves, Direwolves, and things he could name not, all were now racing toward their lines. He looked on in horror as the largest of them broke through a part of their shield wall. Men who'd faced off against dead men were no match for dead things. Beric mayhap because of how many times he died and had been brought back, now felt a calmness that was much needed. He knew what needed to be done and moved forward to see that it was.

"SPEARS, TAKE THEM DOWN WITH THE SPEARS. SPEARMEN TO ME!" he shouted

One, two, five, ten, and then more moved with him. Dornishmen and Unsullied from the back of the ranks. They moved and he watched as a Mammoth was poked and prodded and eventually fell. The sight restored the will of men who'd lost their discipline, as did the sight of a giant falling. Wolves were set ablaze, Shadowcats hit with arrows and Beric could see the tide turning in their favor once more. He felt it, right up until the moment he saw the Snowbear and what lay in its path.

"THOROS! THOROS!" he called out but in the sounds of battle his warning went unheard.

He ran as fast as he could, his sword slashing out and taking down anything that wasn't living in his path. Though it was a forlorn hope he bore, it was all he had other than the prayer he sent to R'hllor. At what point he knew that he'd be a tool late, only his god would be able to tell for true. Though he was no more than twenty feet away from his friend, he may have been on the other side of the Wall. Beric looked on in horror as the Snowbear crashed into Thoros and took him to the ground. Moving even faster than he had been until then, the rage, anger, and despair he felt fuelled him and made him feel a man once more.

His sword slashed out and caught the bear across the back, the flames soon catching and setting it alight, though not stopping it from its grisly work. Beric reached in to take his Dragonglass dagger and began to stab furiously until finally, the bear fell to one side, dead for true now. He moved to where Thoros lay. Blood pooling on the ground beneath him and a look in his eyes of shock and to his surprise, mirth.

"I think I saw a bear, old friend." Thoros coughed as Beric knelt down and raised up his head.

"I.."

"A drink, my pouch, don't let me go to my god with a dry mouth."

He moved and took the pouch from Thoros' side and held it to his mouth, around him men fought dead men and the last of their dead beasts, and yet for now he cared not.

"Send me to my god, don't let me…don't let me…" Thoros said as he dropped the pouch and were he not so concentrated on his friend's fate or not the half of a man that he now was, then he'd have smiled at the fact that it was finally empty.

"May you find the comfort you deserve in R'hllor's embrace, old friend," he said as he lay Thoros back down on the ground and stood up.

Beric moved his sword to the red robes and watched them catch fire. Once he was sure that Thoros would burn for true, he turned and moved back to the front of their lines. He walked with a purpose, feeling the grief flow through him and when he saw the white figure off in the distance, he knew what he needed to do. Moving past men who tried to stop him, out past the shield wall, and into the open ground, he glared at the White Walker, and then he began to run.

Dead men tried to stop him and yet they were no match for him or his fiery blade. Beric almost ended them contemptuously as he sought his target. When he finally reached him, he felt the cold that came from him, and yet he felt something else too. It was inside of him, filling him up, giving him the strength to do what needed to be done. R'hllor would work through him and the flames of his sword grew ever brighter.

"For Thoros," he said as he moved forward.

His lifeblood ran from his body, the cold threatening to be the last thing that he felt. To his side lay a pile of ice that had once been a White Walker and around him, was empty ground. The fight had been one that he'd won and lost. His Dragonglass dagger ended the White Walker but not before he'd found his own end too. As he felt his eyes begin to close, he saw them in the sky. Fire made flesh, R'hllor's gift to the world and he took comfort in knowing that they'd win this fight. Then he felt it, the flames as they washed over him, the Green Dragon laying them down even though there were no dead men near him.

"Thank you, R'hllor," he said and then he said no more.

Baelon.

The dragons were as rested as they could be. Though he wished they could give them more time, he knew they could not. It was not here they were needed and while he believed they'd done enough so that their lines would hold, they'd only hold temporarily. Without the dragons, they'd lose here today. So they flew back towards the battle and he spoke to Rhaegal through his bond. His dragon told him he was tired but not exhausted, that he would like to rest more, but didn't need to and Baelon thanked him for all he had and would do.

Turning to Dany on Drogon, he offered her a comforting nod and then looked to Viserion. The Golden Dragon had almost allowed his natural instincts to be his downfall. When the spears had come, Baelon through his bond with Rhaegal had felt the danger of them. His dragon shared with him what had happened to Drogon when he faced off against the Lannister Army. Drogon had listened to his mother's will, Rhaegal to his own, Viserion though was bonded to no one and so he'd needed to warg him once more.

It was different from before, lesser than it somehow. Mayhap because he was doing so on his own and without Rickon's help or mayhap because Viserion wasn't weakened as he had been the first time he'd done so. So things had been more difficult and Baelon had felt Rhaegal's own worries for him more so than for his brother. Yet it had needed to be done and only the promise that just as Rhaegal had found him, there was no doubt a rider out there for Viserion too, had been enough to get the Golden Dragon to accept his will.

Now as they neared where the battle was raging, he had no fear that Viserion would fall prey to an ice spear. He, Drogon, Rhaegal, all three dragons were fully aware of what those spears meant and of the ones who wielded them. They'd avoid them and allow those on the ground to deal with them, only bringing their flames to bear against the White Walkers in order to distract or cover their retreat. Seeing the army below him, Baelon breathed a sigh of relief that they'd held so well. Looking down on the flames that covered their weapons, he believed that Melisandre, Thoros, and R'hllor had played their parts here today, it was now time once again, for he, Dany, and the dragons to play theirs.

"Dracarys," he said and Rhaegal let loose his flames over what seemed to be an empty piece of ground, yet for some reason, Baelon knew it was not.

He'd felt something there, a call to him and so he'd had Rhaegal answer it. They flew around the back of their army, to where the dead had surrounded them, and then they began to loose their flames for true. He knew they were far enough from their own lines to ensure that it was only dead men and their dead beasts that were caught by the flames. Dany followed his own flight as did Viserion and once they'd loosed their flames in one place, it was to another that they flew.

On and one, flying wherever the lines of the dead were thickest, the dragons though tired continued to lay down their fire. Dead men, dead animals, even at times their icy masters all felt their flames. Spears came their way and were easily dodged and after he knew not how many passes, he knew now what needed to be done. Directing Dany to follow him, he bid Rhaegal first to one hill and then to the other. The Green Dragon roared out its signal to the men on horseback and bid them charge and end this once and for all.

Just like the men who fought within the circle of their shield wall, the cavalry too bore weapons that were aflame. Lance, Arakhs, even the arrows fired from bows all alight and from atop a dragon, it was a majestic sight to see. Feeling the tiredness of the dragon beneath him, seeing that both his brothers too had given their all., Baelon bid them do a circle of the place he'd chosen for them to land. Once he was certain they were safe and there were no enemies nearby, he brought Rhaegal to the ground on a hill overlooking the field below. Drogon and Viserion soon joined their brother and after shaking his head at Dany when she moved to climb off Drogon's back, he looked out at the end of the battle and then thanked his dragon for all he'd done.

"Kirimvose Rhaīgal, se tubis iksis īlvon." (Thank you Rhaegal, the day is ours.).

Daven Lannister.

"Sit and wait for the signal, ride not until the dragons bid you to, no matter what you see or hear."

"You would have me wait like a craven, your grace?"

"I would have you win me the day and not lose me, my cavalry. The Dothraki I know will do as their queen bids them to, Ser Daven, they'll ride at our signal because they believe in their Khalessi and name me their Khal. They understand the value of taking advice from someone who's faced the dead men before. Would you have them show a discipline that you and your own men could not match? Them follow their Khal's orders while you question your king's?"

"I mean not to question them, your grace, only understand them."

"You'll understand them when you see the dead, Ser Daven, you'll see why these are the plans I've drawn up and why I only wish you to charge at the right time. With luck and the god's graces, your charge will break them, should things go badly, then I'll need my cavalry for other plans."

"As you command, your grace."

"Ser Daven, trust me on this and you'll see it's not folly that leads me to the choices I make."

Despite himself, he'd accepted the words. He'd bid his men hold no matter what and as the battle began and then raged, he'd seen the reason for the king's orders as clear as day. A charge would end them. For these were not men they'd ride against and to do so as they were now was truly folly. Yet it was hard to sit and wait. To watch as men fell while you did nothing. Around him, he could feel his men's need to ride and join the fray. For now, they held, they watched, waited, and looked to the dark of the night's sky for the signal to come.

It seemed to take some time, the fight below them was almost a stalemate where one side pushed against a shield wall while the other held that wall and pushed them back. When the weapons being wielded by the living caught fire, he and others knew not what to make of it. Though it allowed them to see the battle even more clearly. Mayhap that was why men that he knew were disciplined began to show signs they'd lose it here today.

"We should be down there."

"Men of the West are dying,"

"Give the order.

"Bid us ride."

The questions were all met with the same reply. Daven could see now why the king had bid them wait, the plan he had in mind was finally clear to him. To ride now was to ride to death, not just theirs but those men they wished to save. So no, he'd not give the order, they'd not charge into the dead's lines, not yet, not yet.

When they saw the giants and the animals, men who'd wished to charge just moments before, wished it not now. The folly that their ride would have led them to commit was now clear to see by even the most blinded of his men. Daven smiled when the dragons returned, felt his heart beat that little bit faster. His hands gripped his lance and horse's reins that little bit tighter as his body shifted on his horse. To see them so was a majestic sight, one that he was glad he'd not been on the receiving end of during their failed attempt on Highgarden.

As he saw them fly towards the hill opposite, he called out for his men to make ready. The sound of horses' hooves, lances being readied, swords being unsheathed were all drowned out by the excited whispers that ran around the ranks of his men. Moments later the Green Dragon flew over their heads and let loose the loudest roar that Daven had ever heard. He bid the horses forward, a walk, trot, canter, and finally a full-on charge.

"For the King and Queen and for the West!" he shouted out.

"For the King and Queen and for the Reach"!

"For the Living!"

Beneath him, Shadow was in full charge now. His black stallion reveled in being let loose to do what he'd been trained to do. The Men of the West and those of the Reach were born to do this. Their heavy charges were unmatched in a battle against any foe, and so they'd be against the dead. When his lance alighted, he smiled, as he did upon seeing the sight of the flaming weapons ahead of him. The Dothraki rode forward too and would reach the dead before them.

The first strike of his lance sent a dead thing flying, Daven almost wishing he could stop to admire the sight of it as it landed many feet from where it had once stood. He could not, for his lance struck another and then another, deadmen no match for the speed that Shadow had gained or the force with which his lance caught them. At what point he lost the lance, he knew not. His sword was soon in his hand and it too was covered in fire. Slashing down to his left, right, and left again, he set fire to any dead thing that his sword connected to.

Eventually, the numbers he faced began to thin out and the enemies were replaced with allies. The Dothraki's charge had been just as effective as his own and as Shadow moved to a Dothraki charger, Daven looked back over his shoulder. It had been devastating. Never had he ridden in a charge as successful as this one. Few of his men had fallen, which was more than could be said for the dead. The shield wall that held them back had been completely relieved, so much so that the men behind that wall were now out from behind it and ending what little of the dead remained. As were some of his men and some of the Dothraki too.

"The Great Stallion favors us today." A Dothraki called out before he too was riding to end whatever remained of their enemy.

Daven knew not who the Great Stallion was, his own black stallion had proved himself once again though and so he patted Shadow on the back and looked to the sky to see the dragons flying overhead once more. He'd never forgive the Starks for what they'd taken from him. True it was Karkstark's blade that ended his father's life but had it not been for Robb Stark then the man would not have even been in Oxcross. Looking on as the Green Dragon landed, he smiled shook his head.

"I'm not a Stark." Baelon Targaryen had told him as they had ridden to this war, he could take comfort and kneel to such a man, especially after this day.

Tormund Giantsbane.

He joined the cries of relief and joy the army screamed as the last corpses fell on the ground, meaning their enemy had been defeated. He was exhausted, battered, and had thought his day had finally come more than once during this battle. May it be the Old Gods or simply his desire to live, he never gave up on fighting despite his exhaustion and all his thoughts were now on those he cared about. Jon was on the dragon and his wife, who he grew to appreciate, was too, but Brienne who was at the front as himself was unaccounted for and it made him worry.

He quickly went to look out for her, praying the Old Gods she was safe, and breathed a sigh of relief when he found her being held by the girl from the crannog.

"There you are!" he boasted, deciding against making a fuss in public as to not embarrass his lady love with signs of affection.

"Thank the gods you're alive..." she breathed, visibly exhausted, and her concern warmed his heart.

"Har! You thought a few dead things would get rid of the Giantsbane! It will take more, way more than this to take me to the Old Gods!"

"Is it over? Is it really over?" Meera asked, frowning.

"Aye! We did it. We won." Nessa replied cheerfully, while the girl seemed troubled.

"But... The Night King..." she stammered, making Tormund frown in turn. "Has anyone gotten him?"

"I think the dragons did, else we would still be fighting," he replied.

"Then why..."

"Stop worrying, girl!" Nessa exclaimed, patting her back. "All the White Walkers are gone! Brienne here killed one and now we just have to burn these fuckers to make sure they won't come back!"

"I'm going to see the king." Meera retorted, getting back to her feet and walking towards the crowd who surrounded the dragons.

"What the hell is wrong with her?" Nessa asked confused.

A look at Brienne, who seemed worried about the girl, was all it took for Tormund to know his next move. With a sigh, he followed the young crannogwoman, promising his maid that he would look after her. She had visibly been shaken by something and Tormund knew it wasn't the first time she had faced the dead. Part of him felt that she was right, that it should not be over. He felt like he should have fought more, that compared to Hardhome, even if they got the numbers on their side, they got away with very few casualties. He would keep staying on alert until he spoke to Jon.

His friend seemed to dislike the attention he was given as he dismounted his dragon, the effusion of joy around him contrasted with Jon's demeanor and it gave Tormund pause to think. He should be happy, they should be happy, both of them, yet for some reason, he felt as if Meera's concern was not for naught.

The Night King was an impressive fucker. He just like the rest of the surviving Free Folk had seen what he was capable of at Hardhome. As much Tormund trusted Jon to do what he must to end him, he doubted it would be easy to defeat a monster capable of raising thousands of dead with a single hand flick, even with dragon fire.

Was the fight truly over? Was the Night King down and were they worrying for nothing?

"I'm glad to see you in one piece, King Crow," he said slapping Jon hard on the back.

"And I, you, my friend." Jon smiled when he reached him. "Brienne?"

"She's breathing still."

"Thank the gods." Jon sighed before giving him a warm embrace. "We need to gather the commanders, Tormund."

"This is not over, is it?" he whispered back.

"I…I know not." Jon confessed. "I need to make sure of some things."

"Have you seen the Night King, Your grace? Have you fought him?" Meera pressed, panting, as she got next to them.

"I haven't, hence why I need to know if someone else here got to him."

"I think not, Your Grace. I saw White Walkers being killed, but I didn't see him at all. They knew we were coming. They targeted us, me… They sent Hodor to kill me…" she ranted, making Jon recoil in horror.

"Gather the commanders. Quietly. Let the others celebrate but make it quick." Jon ordered. "We need to assess our losses, to burn and mourn those who fell. We owe them our lives today. Whatever happens next, we need the time to rest before gathering information."

Tormund nodded, silencing Meera and holding her back when she was about to protest. Jon was the one in charge, and he might have not knelt to him, he was however ready to follow him blindly.

Meereen 304 AC.

Daario Naharis.

Ruling was boring, he'd thought so for the longest time. Being in charge and responsible for the safety and prosperity of a city was harder work than he wished it to be. Each day he'd risen, he'd felt the weight of being his queen's representative in this city. Then each night when he'd gone back to his bed, be it alone or with a willing partner, he'd felt the absence of who he wished to be laying down beside. He'd asked her once "Who comes after you, who could ever follow the Mother of Dragons" and she'd replied "A great many women I'd imagine" In this, she'd been proved right. Yet it had never been about a number to him, never about quantity only quality and he had not come close to meeting any who even matched her when he was drunk and lonely.

Walking back to his bed-chamber, knowing he was to spend the night alone for once, he felt that loneliness more keenly than ever. Soon enough he was asleep and there she waited for him as always. Close enough to imagine all the things they could do together, but too far away for him ever to take her in his arms. When he woke the next morning, he readied for yet another boring and dull day, only to find it was to be far from either.

Daario made his way to break his fast, then once he'd eaten he moved to sit a throne that had seen was made for a much nicer arse than his own. He was the Protector of Meereen, the Queen's Justice, and the embodiment of her will. Beneath him, a council of sorts ran the actual day-to-day running of the city. Her will was done even in her absence and when it had been formed and he'd trained the men, he'd thought about leaving this place. Had he believed she'd have welcomed him, then he would have. Boring and dull though it may have been, he had a comfortable life here and wanted for nothing other than the one thing that he could never have, her.

"Ships, Commander, ships have been spotted heading our way bearing the flag of the Kraken." Prondil na Dala, a freeman of Meereen and one of the men under him shouted before Daario could hold the first of his meetings that day.

"The same as the ones that sailed with our queen?" he asked and the young man looked at him hopefully.

"Mhysa has returned," Prondil said hopefully.

"Did you see the dragons?" he asked to a shake of the man's head.

A part of him wished to feel the same excitement that he could see on Prondil and some of the other faces around him, yet something about this felt off to him.

Over the years, Daario had developed a second sense regarding certain things. He knew when trouble was stirring and it had served him well. Not many men who sold their swords lived as long as he did, fewer still enjoyed years of relative peace before they met their end. As dull and boring as his time in Meereen had been, other than a few minor skirmishes, he'd known peace. So what he was feeling right now, was something he'd not felt in far too long.

"Lysono, Aronos, with me," he said and both men moved when he did.

By the time he reached the bottom of the Great Pyramid, his horse had been readied and so he, the two men with him, and five others rode and rode hard through the city. The ships were not yet close to the docks and so it was to one of the large watchtowers that he'd had built that he rode to. Dismounting his horse quickly, he was soon taking steps two at a time, and before too long he had reached the top of the watchtower.

Taking out his Myrish Eye, he looked to the horizon and saw a rag-tag small and battered fleet. There were maybe thirty or forty ships and for the briefest moment, Daario thought the worst. Things had gone badly for his queen, her invasion had faltered and she was upon those ships seeking refuge. As soon as the thought hit him, it was gone. No army could stand in the way of Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. The Unsullied, Dothraki, there was no force in Westeros that was large enough or skilled enough to beat them.

Holding the Myrish Eye, he sought more and more of the ships, his eyes finally finding what it was he wished to see. Men were readying themselves for an attack, these ships were not allies seeking refuge, they were enemies seeking conquest. A smile appeared on his face almost immediately. His blood began to race through his body and the old excitement he'd felt in the moments before a battle was now back once more.

"These are not allies, nor our queen's men. Ready the Defenders of Meereen, Ready Mhysa's Marauders."

His words were soon being shared amongst his men. Lysono, Aronos, Vargor, Gyllos, Prondil, Ordaz, and Drazhaq, all ran from him and went about their work long before Daario had mounted his horse once more. By the time the first ships neared their docks, he'd readied the Second Sons and Mhysa's Marauders. Almost four thousand men at arms, cavalry, infantry, archers, and those to use the catapults and scorpions, now all awaited the enemy that would soon be landing.

Daario sat upon his white horse, for now, he'd command from the rear, but soon he'd be in the thick of battle himself. With his Myrish Eye, he looked out to the ships and noticed one that was larger than the others. Upon its deck, he saw a man looking their way and he smiled at the sight the fool would see. Meereen looked ready to welcome the men as if they were truly sent from their queen and the truth that they were not welcome here, would only come when most of the ships had crossed the point of no return.

He's sent a rider to let loose the two fire ships on the left side of the bay and Lysono had taken men to ready to use the large chain that would keep them from sailing away. His time here may have been spent trying not to give in to his boredom, but it didn't mean he'd been idle. A man with time on his hands and no true threat can do far more work on raising defenses than one who was constantly under attack and raced to do so. Meereen had been left to him to see safe, she'd bid it of him, and on the off chance that one day she'd return to him, he'd done as she'd asked.

A few hours later.

The smoke was everywhere, in the bay ships burned and sank as they had crashed into the chain before being broken up. On the docks themselves, so much blood had been spilled that the stone had turned a dark shade of crimson. Men cried out for mercy and found none, for these men had sought to enslave men and rape women, something that Meereen no longer tolerated. By the morning the walls would be full of heads on spikes and the clean up of the docks and the city would begin. Now it was the end of these fools that he and his men saw to.

When he made his way onto the deck of the large ship, he heard the choked screams of a woman and hurried down to the cabins below. With his Arakh in one hand and his lady close, he and his men opened doors to silent men bearing weapons that they wielded badly. Eventually, he came to the door where the sounds were coming from, and upon kicking it open, he saw the reason for those sounds.

On the bed in front of him, a man was strangling the life out of a blond-haired woman. Her eyes looked to him pleadingly and then before he could reach her, they closed. The man was wearing a Valyrian Steel breastplate that was somewhat magnificent. He had short hair and a beard and bore a glint in his eyes that showed madness of a sort. Moving quickly from the bed, the man picked up an ax and glared at him.

"The bitch had it coming, she lost me my ships, both here and in Westeros. Fucking Lannister cunt." the man said before spitting.

"She cost you more than that, for now, your life is forfeit too," he said and the man laughed as he ran towards him.

Daario's men knew better to interfere. His Arakh swung and was parried by the large ax the man wielded, the two of them moving around the small cabin and though he may have wished the fight to be elsewhere, you never truly got to choose where you fought. Daario had fought in fighting pits, in pitched battles, on the streets, and in buildings. He'd fought in houses of ill repute and drinking dens, and even once in his tent at night while deep in his cups. Fighting in a cabin on a ship with a dead woman laying on the bed may have been a new experience for him, but he'd ensure it was not the last one he'd ever know.

When the opportunity presented itself, his lady was brought to bear. The underhanded throw found the gap in the man's armor and lowered his ax momentarily. It was all he needed and the sweep of his Arakh took the man's arm from him. The knee to the face as he dropped down to reach it with his other arm, then knocked the man to the ground. With his Arakh pointed to the man's neck, he bid Vargor to see if the woman lived or was dead as he believed her to be.

"She breathes no more, commander," Vargor said and the man in front of him spat out a mouthful of blood and began to laugh.

"So dies Cersei Fucking Lannister, the golden lioness who thought she could rule the world." the man spat and Daario looked at him.

"And the name of the man who killed her?" he asked.

"No man, a god. Euron Greyjoy the greatest…"

It was the sound of a man's head hitting the floor that was heard and not anymore of his voice. Daario needed no more than his name and looking at the woman that lay on the bed, he smiled as he moved towards her. His Arakh made quick work of the removal of her head and he bid his men take them both back to the Great Pyramid, while he then explored more of the ship. He was stunned by just how much gold and jewels there were, and by the books and the jars that seemed to contain either eyes or tongues. There were charts of seas and lands he knew not, writings in languages that he spoke not, and treasures of a like he'd not seen before. Between the attack on Meereen, all that he had found in this ship, and the heads he'd taken, he knew it gave him an excuse that he had not had before.

"My Queen," he said smiling as he walked back to the deck of the ship and turned his eyes to the west.

The Gift 304 AC.

Dany.

She and Baelon had embraced and she'd spoken to her children. Her praise for each of them was fulsome as was her relief that none of them had been injured or hurt. As Baelon moved one way, she readied to move another and soon she was smiling broadly when Qhono and some more of her Dothraki rode to where she and the dragons had landed.

"A great victory, Khalessi," Qhono said happily.

"The Great Stallion favors us once more, Qhono." she said to a nod of the man's head "How were our losses? How many ride no more?"

"Few Khalessi. Khal Ver's orders saved many." Qhono said his eyes searching for Baelon and not finding him, so he turned to her and looked at her questioningly.

"Khal Ver seeks to find out how many of the men of Westeros paid the true cost today, as I now seek with the men of Essos," she said and Qhono and two of his men took their places beside her as she moved to where the survivors had gathered to pay respects to the dead and see to the injured.

It was Ser Jorah who reached her before Grey Worm. Dany embraced her bear knight almost as warmly as she had Baelon when she'd climbed down off Drogon's back.

"You are unharmed, Khalessi?" Jorah asked and she nodded "His grace?" he questioned and she nodded once more.

"How bad are our losses, ser Jorah?" she asked worriedly.

"Far less than they should or could have been, Khalessi. The lines held, the men fought bravely and the dead found their match amongst us."

"That they did," she said proudly.

They found Grey Worm standing with the Unsullied injured and looking over those who'd fallen. Dany felt the number of both to be far too high and yet in the end it was very much not. Four hundred men had lost their lives and another three hundred had been injured. While it was one-tenth almost of their forces, considering what they faced and the victory they'd achieved, it was far less than she'd feared when they'd set out on this march.

"My queen." Grey Worm said when he saw her.

"Torgho Nudho, you are well?"

"This one is well, my queen, and happy to see the same is true." Grey Worm's nod to Jorah and Qhono and then the half-smile he gave to her were both enough to prove the truth in his words. When she saw him look over her shoulder, she smiled back at him, knowing who he looked for.

"Baelon is gone to speak to the men of Westeros, to find out their losses."

"Men of Westeros fought well, my queen. This one was happy to stand with them."

As praise went, it was true and good and as fulsome as Grey Worm was like to give anyone. She offered her sympathies for the fallen, then spent some time with the injured men. Dany thanked many of them for what they'd done here today and let them know in no uncertain terms just how proud of them she truly was.

It was hours later when she met back up with Baelon. Her husband was walking with Jaime Lannister, Ned Dayne, Lady Melisandre, and Tormund. He was smiling, truly. Baelon showed both his relief that those he was closest to had lived through this day and of the truth of the numbers they lost here today. All in all, they'd lost close to four thousand men. A huge number and yet very much not. Of those she truly knew, only Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr were unaccounted for. Melisandre had said when asked that both were in R'hllor's embrace.

Lady Brienne, Meera Reed, Ser Daven Lannister, all lived and breathed still, and while some bore looks that showed their shock at what they faced, more bore looks of relief that they'd won the day. Baelon said that they would need to burn the dead still. That as much as he may wish to send bodies back to their families or bury them, the cold ground wouldn't allow for the latter and they were far too far from the former to see that done.

So pyres were built and her husband moved bodies onto them the same as other men did. Food was eaten, ale drank and though not yet a celebration, she knew it would soon be one. Her own celebration of their victory would be much different. True she'd drink and share time with the Dothraki and Unsullied, with the Men of Westeros and the Free Folk. But it would be the time spent alone in their tent with her husband that would bring her the comfort and goodwill that others would gain from drinking and making merry.

"Each and every man and woman here today fought bravely and played his part as much as any other. All of us won this victory, each and every single one of you won this victory. Those we say goodbye to now won that victory even at the cost of their own lives. They fought for the living and the living owe them a true debt, as they do to each and every one of you.

To the Brave Fallen.

To the Men and Women who stand still.

To the Heroes who beat the Dead.

On behalf of her grace, Queen Daenerys, I Baelon Targaryen, King of Westeros, salute you all and name you the Heroes of the Living."

Baelon's words rang out and then the dragons went about their work. While some men stepped forward and laid their torches on the pyres, it was the dragons' flames that truly set them alight. She felt her husband take her hand in his and looked to see Tormund standing close to Brienne and one or two men and women standing closer to each other than they may have the day before. Despite the sadness that she felt at the losses they'd incurred, the smile she wore was a true one. Life goes on, it perseveres, and after this night she'd not be surprised if new life was created. She prayed with all she had that Baelon was right and that in time, she too would see a new life brought into this world.

They were moving back to begin their celebrations when the commotion broke out. Men in front of them surrounded a lone horse with a rider upon it and seemed ready to strike them down. Dany didn't hear what Melisandre said to Baelon, but before she knew it, he was running towards the horse and its rider, yelling to the men to lower their arms. Seeing her husband run, quickly had her doing the same thing and she arrived to find Baelon embracing the rider as truly as she had seen or felt him do to anyone.

"What do you mean we've been played, uncle?" she heard her husband say and she, Jorah, Grey Worm along with Tormund, Melisandre, and Ned Dayne all moved to Baelon, and the man he'd named his uncle, Dany was surprised to see Jaime Lannister had beaten them all there.

The words she heard sent a shiver down her spine and she wagered she was not alone in feeling it. Nor was she the only one who flinched when Baelon turned and she saw the angry look on his face.

"We've been played, Jon, this was only a diversion. The Night King marches to Winterfell and he brings with him his full army. An army much larger than the one you faced here today." Baelon's uncle, Benjen Stark she believed his name was, said and then her husband's voice rang out loudly.

"MOUNT UP! WE RIDE FOR WINTERFELL!"

The Bridge of Skulls/The Wolfswood 304 AC.

The Night King.

Many times he'd considered how to finally cross the Wall when the time came. From seeking out the Horn of Joramun and bringing the entire thing down to crossing at Eastwatch after icing the sea over. When he'd hoped that those who shared blood with him would come to his side, it had been through the tunnel at Castle Black itself or through the hidden gate at the Nightfort that he'd thought of using. In the end, circumstances, the plans he made, and the foes that stood against him had decided where he'd bring his army to cross to the southern side of the Wall.

Upon arriving at the Bridge of Skulls, he sent some of his forces across it and to the two nearby castles. One of them, Westwatch by the Bridge was uninhabited he knew, the other, The Shadow Tower, he felt was the same and yet he needed to be sure. The cover that the night's darkness afforded his advance as well as the diversion he'd set in motion at Castle Black, would have few if any eyes upon them. Yet should they find any, they needed to be closed and reopened as men of his army in order for his plans to bear fruit.

Using his connection with those who served him, the Night King found no men in either castle and ordered those he sent to take them and cross the Wall there. Then he moved onto the Bridge itself and closed his eyes before raising his hands to the sky. He felt it when the storm arrived, welcomed the wind and the icy hail it brought to bear. Concentrating and feeling the magic he possessed grow ever stronger, he set about his work. By the time the storm had blown itself out, his work was done. On either side of the Bridge of Skulls, the ice had formed and created a steep hill down into the gorge below.

Their path around and through the Wall now lay ahead of them and he bid his army forward. Some moved to the two castles and climbed the Wall unhindered. Most moved down the icy hill and into the Gorge below and simply walked around to its lowest path and back up to the lands on the other side of the Wall. How long it took for his entire army to cross, was something he could not tell. Hours, Days, a week or more, time to someone who had existed for as long as he, was a tenuous thing. All he knew was that they had crossed unhindered and the path ahead of them was now clear.

"What you wish us to do cannot be done."

"We see not what you see."

"Our gift has been wasted upon you, but you still have a purpose, a role, not the one we'd chosen for you, but another just as important."

"Why would I seek to do your bidding when you won't see what your apathy leads to?"

"Why should I trust you know what's best when I know you do not?"

The argument played out in his mind as he moved over the lands south of the Wall. It stopped him from looking to the battle that was soon to be held far behind him and forced him to relive things long since past. He'd served them only because it suited him to do so. Listened to them only in as much as he had needed to. For even the gods were fools and full of hubris. They believed that they could control the uncontrollable, rein in the worst tendencies of man and boy. He knew better. He knew the truth. For he had foreseen it all before they'd taken the ability from him.

Their plans led to the doom of the world. His to its salvation. Power left unchecked and ambition unresolved was as dangerous as any combination the gods had gifted men. It took a man to understand such, and he had been a man once. He knew what lay in the heart of his enemy, what desires he truly held. They may have ignored his warnings and told him that it was but one possible future he had seen, but he'd seen it and waited and it had come to pass. Or would had he not prepared for it.

"Damn you all for your inaction."

"Curse you for the path you forced me to walk."

"May you suffer for making me walk it alone."

The curses were not spoken aloud. Yet he knew they would be heard by them all the same. His time to rest was almost upon him, his reason for being almost at hand. To the living, he'd be a monster, a villain, and a foe to be defeated. In his cold icy heart though he knew the truth. He was the hero of this tale, the first and last hero. He was the prince that was promised, for had he not been a prince once. Had not the blood of kings once run through his veins. Destiny had led him to this point, a destiny that he'd not sought or asked for. Just as it had led his enemy to the path he had chosen, and Destiny was All.

Days passed, his army marched with no need for sleep, food, or rest. For some of it, he rode upon an undead horse, yet most of it found him walking amongst the army he'd created. Though he couldn't truly feel the lands beneath his feet, he felt the memory of when he could and that was enough for him. It may have been thousands of years before that he walked these lands as a man, that he rode over them with those he called kin or friend, yet to him it was but yesterday. They had changed little, were still empty and barren, and still lands he had wished to be buried in when he died. Though now the true place he wished to sleep eternal in was some distance away from them.

When they reached the large forest, he had to fight down the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. Memories of those he named brother and sister, uncle and aunt, mother and father. Thoughts of hunts and pleasure rides, of facing off against bandits, and of food cooked over an open fire. Whether they were his own thoughts brought to him by the feel of the lands he'd once named as his home or sent to him by the gods to dissuade him from what he must do, he couldn't be certain. So he forced them away and bid his army to march faster.

"Soon," he said as the trees welcomed and hid his army. "Soon you will fall and my destiny will be fulfilled."

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up Next Winterfell plays host to a dwarves arrival, Rickon continues his training and is given a warning through Ghost and his bond with Baelon. Bran plots the downfall of his enemies while Jaqen moves closer to taking a life for the Many-Faced God while the Night King and his army arrive for battle and the truth about him is finally revealed.

Victoria: Thanks so much, my friend. I think goodbyes are such an important part of things, especially ones said while heading off to war and an uncertain future, so I'm glad you liked them. We were robbed of any sort of subtlety or nuance with the NK, so we wanted to give him some motivations that were better than what the show gave him, you see a little more of it here and there will be the big reveal of his motives next chapter. Unfortunately, you have to see some characters fall and all I can say is that I agonize over each and every single death, and hope to find the right balance over time. Rickon is in a way the heart and soul of this as he enables Jon to be Jon and plays such a key role, I also love Lyanna Mormont as a character so no death by giant for her. I think it's funny that you have these characters who should be given a key role, such as Rickon/Lyanna, and yet in the end were almost afterthoughts in the show and so here I wanted them to be more than that. As for Mel, she has a key role to play, more key than she did even in this battle. Hope all is well with you my friend and that you still find a reason to smile each and every day, if you do not, then I say do so, for life is so much better that way.

Kingmanena: So very glad you thought so.

Darkjon: Rickon/Jon und ihre Bedeutung hier werden jetzt noch deutlicher, wir sind fast am Ende. Was Dany/Jon betrifft, ist ein Teil ihrer Zusammenführung, was mit Rickon kommen wird. Jon/Rickons Vater, Sohn/Bindung ist Mittel zum Zweck, sie sollen Brüder sein, von denen wir die Wahrheit vor dem Ende der Fic sehen werden. Bei Mel/Jon ist es sowohl sein Bedürfnis nach einer materiellen Figur als auch, dass sie ihm sehr geholfen hat, also ist er hin- und hergerissen.

Celexys: I do think at times we need a humorous break from the drama and Tormund most easily allows that to be done. We're probably at the last building block, the next few chapters are really all about the war.

Dunk: That was one of our main goals here, to give him a motivation and reason better than the show's lack of one. I agree while on paper this enemy whose motives are unknown or unexplained can work, in practice, it makes it very dull, especially when you see it done over and over again. We've seen the show's terrible version of the Long Night, countless fics have shown it to and I'm not knocking any of them. But without actually coming up with a motive, showing some insight into the NK, and in essence making him a character with a back-story (more than just the children made him) it kind of becomes rinse and repeat. It's funny because when you see how many different paths you can go with Jon/Dany or Jon's rise to take the throne, be it in timeline or application, you ask yourself, why don't more people do something different with the NK too. As you see with Bran he's sort of playing two games, on one hand, he wants the NK dead, on the other, well we're about to see.

Rhatch: So glad you liked it.

Zyrus: LMAO, could you imagine, sort of an Indiana Jones moment where the guy was spinning his swords and Indy just pulled out his gun and shot him. The NK being all dark and foreboding, hands raised, and then whoosh, an arrow ends it all and a lone guy at the back is like "Oops, does this mean I'm king now"

Supremus: It's sort of potato/potato really with Bloodraven, the actual sentence or the intricacies of it really don't matter, to everyone in Westeros his crime was kin slaying, and his known as a Kinslayer. On Tyrion, I don't see how you can come to that concussion, honestly. Show Tyron was an idiot by the end who let's face it, other than plot armor, would have lost the pin very quickly after the number of failures he presided over. They make everyone around him a moron who keeps taking the advice of a guy who repeatedly fails at the big decisions. From losing Olenna and the Sands to the Gold and food of HG, to the Trip beyond the Wall and his idea that Cersei, a woman he supposedly knows better than anyone, is someone who can be trusted to keep her word. To literally forgetting his own damn argument that Dany needs a marriage alliance and so can't have a lover with her in Westeros.

So that's Book Tyrion and we're not even getting to the point about his crimes which no matter how you may wish it to be are known to one and all. Politics is all about perception and the perception of Tyrion Lannister as hand would be a terrible one, worse when you then add in his failures. BookTyrion would be even worse as he's going down a far darker path and is not a man you should ever have by your side, but you also have the warning that Quaithe gave Dany there to, where she literally tells her not to trust a group of people all of whom screw Dany over or are threats to her in some fashion. After what Quentyn tries to do, why would Dany trust the Kraken, Dark Flame, Lion, and Griffin or the Mummer's Dragon?

I always think Quaithe's warnings are a direct parallel to Mel's to Jon, except in one key area of difference. Quaithe's are shown to come true right from the start, whereas Mel's are proved false making them ones that Jon would think twice about accepting as fact. Dany sees the Pale Mare, she is visited by the Dark Flame, Kraken, and the Sun's Son, and Quentyn tries to steal her dragons. So for me, more faith should be put in Quaithe's words, whereas with Mel it's not Arya that arrives proving her wrong, though in a way she's right, and so Jon is right to ignore her warning about daggers in the dark.

Tyrion when he actually serves as acting Hand is the one time when he shows he'd be suitable for it, if his life doesn't follow that path it does from then on, then I'd agree with you. But once he kills his father, which we know he does in both show and books, then Imo he can no longer serve any true role with anyone who understands politics, but we can agree to disagree.

Wrysenseofhumour. Could you imagine Cat finding out that under the law, her children were bastards lol. I think that setup is an interesting one for a fic. I've always wished to do a Stark Civil war fic too.

I think also the biggest issue with the Mance thing is how do you explain him as Arthur and yet then with Jon there is nothing, no hang on, you're the babe I was protecting at the TOJ lol. Like there are just far too many holes in that theory for me. Also, Arthur led men, he was a knight and understood tactics, the Free Folk are the most tactically inept fighters ever, no way Arthur doesn't prepare them better than Mance did.

I feel that way about Tyrion/Theon too, people forget all that Theon did, just because he saved Sansa which let's face is not even what he did in the damn books anyway. I can somewhat let Tyrion's slide over Tysha, because his father is going to make him do so no matter what, but on the other hand, it does show what sort of a man he is too that he doesn't refuse to do so or put up a fight.

In my Live as a Wolf fic, I had Jon remark that Tyrion's biggest issue is that he believes he deserves more, and no matter what he gets it'll still never be enough. If he got CR, he'd want more than that, which is why here I have him not happy even though he got what he supposedly wished for. Cersei does share a lot of traits with him and the two are more closely aligned in character than either is to Jaime. One of the best quotes in the books is Tyrion's description of Cersei's character.

"Cersei is as gentle as King Maegor, as selfless as Aegon the Unworthy, as wise as Mad Aerys. She never forgets a slight, real or imagined. She takes caution for cowardice and dissent for defiance. And she is greedy. Greedy for power, for honor, for love"

I think that a whole lot of that can be applied to Tyrion too.

Very much so with Jon/Mel, I think a maternal figure is something he really wants more than anything in the world. Here with Olenna too there is some of that going on, now obviously with Wylla arriving as well. But I think as humans we seek what we don't have, be it a paternal, maternal, fraternal presence and among so many characters in ASOIAF, that need or bond with certain family is just such a big part of things, from Dany to the Tyrells, Starks, even Lysa and her son, it's there in spades.

Had he not had a father figure, he'd seek that too, and had Cat been a maternal figure to him, then she'd have had no more loyal son than him. Mel and Olenna both offered him advice, helped him come to terms with certain things, which to Jon is what a mother would do, while Wylla offered him more of the physical comforts that a mother can, hugs, warm words, love.

That's exactly what we went for, I know Lemon is not everyone's cup of tea and so it's nice to put a warning in and allow people to just skip over it if they wish. The pillow talk is that newlywed thing, both of them are in love, and yet it's a first true love too.

I'm glad you felt that with the small little clashes and conflict, we wanted to show that yes they all want to do what's right, but what they may think is right, isn't necessarily so. Arya is exactly as you point out and Rickon too, Sansa has grown so much, but she's in a way the most mature of them as she understands her limitation and can see the reasons for everything far more clearly. The discipline argument, I think you see in the battle here, had the knights and Dothraki rode early, it would have led to large losses, but by holding and keeping their discipline, it led to few.

Sandor is one of the most aware characters in ASOIAF, he just doesn't offer up any of that awareness because he's a gruff sod, but he sees and notices everything. I think Sansa is still a romantic at heart and so she'd notice it quickly.

I think you want that line between taking the best warriors and those who've faced the dead and having characters act logically and emotionally. Had Tormund stayed, Brienne would be happy to, but having him leave and then her not, just makes little sense to me and is sort of the OOC stuff that the show had characters do so certain plot points could happen.

It's such a terrible battle plan, and I actually like Edmure somewhat but he's so not a wartime lord, and so prone to making stupid decisions. What bugs me is that they spent all their time going on and on about a double envelopment and how devastating it was, they established that characters like Jon knew such things, then had him be a moron and come up with such a piss poor plan. Hell even as bad as the BOTB is, they make it out that Jon's initial plan is a good one, only for Rickon's running man act to derail it. Then they just go full moron with every battle plan afterward, such as the battle of WF and the GC standing in front of a walled city.

It just bugged me with Varys, like they couldn't even come up with Dany having a clever plan to make him reveal himself, instead, they just walk in on him writing raven scrolls, they may as well have had him hold up a sign saying, Traitorous is a Traitor. As for Olenna, I think they simply wanted to get rid of characters they had no use or plans for. Both her and the Sand Snakes/Ellaria just got in the way.

Like in the books, that Euron facing off against the Sand Snakes and it leading to the same outcome, that could be interesting because we know that despite him being as crazy as a loon, he's a vicious dangerous SOB, his show version was a clown which made their deaths pathetic and they screwed over Ellaria terribly. Olenna got her lines, mainly I think because she was Dianna Rigg and they knew better, but she was still wasted, we have more plans for her here and we'll see her in a little while.

I liked BookKevan too, he is one of those characters who truly shines after Tywin's death, yet another show version that was a shadow.

The Next Chapter is the full reveal of the NK's back story and goal.