Tyrion

The day of the march to the Wall was approaching rapidly, far faster than anyone was hoping it would. The armies were going to set out from Winterfell and arrive three days before the dead were believed to, and that was a fortnight away. But no matter how much everyone worked, no matter how much the persevered through the cold and snows that winter had, everything did not feel enough.

The shipments of raw iron for weapons and armor had stopped arriving, not because of depletion, but there was no more time to make any more runs from Winterfell to the suppliers. The armorers and smiths had made enough boiled leather and chainmail that their fingerprints were worn away. But the constant efforts and labor among them built their muscle, ready to switch from swing hammers to swinging axes and swords.

But one smith in particular kept to wielding his hammer. Gendry had attempted to learn swordplay, but he said it didn't feel natural to him and using a hammer was better. He even went as far as to forge a new Warhammer that had spikes of dragonglass to impale the dead deep enough for the effect to work on them.

The Dothraki traditionally never wore steel armor, or any for that matter, but they took to using chainmail shirts under their furs and few of them still wore the Lannister armor looted from the Blackwater Rush. The Wildlings on the other hand had no rejection when it came to such matters. All of them, the women and the children of the North who were fighting alongside the men were outfitted with Northern boiled armor and looked like they were all soldiers of House Stark. It would have been hard to tell the Wildlings apart if not for them all wearing heavy fur coats over their armor.

The only armor Tyrion ever wore was the set made for him for the battle against Stannis Baratheon's forces, but a smith from the vale was kind enough to make him a small steel breastplate and bracers. He wouldn't be in much need of such protection since he wouldn't be in the heart of the battle. He would be wielding a crossbow alongside the other archers since every arrow was almost as tall as he was.

But that was the last thing on his mind he was concerned about since a raven with a scroll marked with the symbol of the Hand arrived just moments ago. He was in the company of Varys on the balconies of the castle surrounding the training yard. They were waiting for Sansa and Daenerys to join them and passed the time by watching Jon spar against Bronn and the Hound. Surprisingly to all who watched, Jon was holding his own against the brute strength of Sandor Clegane and the dirty tactics of Bronn.

They had been going at it for near two hours now and the only one not exhausted was Jon himself. "Come one," he said, "once more."

"In a moment," Bronn told him as he had his hands on his knees, wheezing for breath, "where in fuck's sake do get so much energy?"

Sandor held his greatsword in both hands, preparing to go again. "Maybe if you'd stop fucking that Dornish girl you'd have some left to fight."

Bronn laughed at loud, but he was the only one amused. There had been a great many complaints that he and Tyene were sometimes too loud at night, but also some whispers that in the camp that it was pleasing since the Wintertown brothel was frequently busy and only had several whores. "Did you know that no man has ever fucked a Dornish woman? Thar's because they're the ones who do all of the fucking. And unlike you, you big celibate giant, I've been behind on some important work and just tryin to catch up."

Things would've turned into a brawl had Brienne of Tarth not shown up to join them against Jon on his request. "Forgive me for being tardy, your Grace." She undid her sword belt and placed it on a rack, swapping Oathkeeper for a sparring sword.

"Bout time you showed up." Bronn told her. "The King doesn't know when to take a break."

"If only you knew how to as well." Sandor angrily replied.

All of them readied themselves to fight against Jon and all of the onlookers had a wave of excitement to see what would occur.

"I'm surprised Edric Dayne isn't down there with them." Tyrion commented. "He's so eager to become the greatest. I feel he wants to be the rival of our King."

"He's in a meeting with the other Dornish Lords and Commanders." Varys informed, hands folded into his robes as always. "I've no little birds in the camps to hear the whispers they say, but the men they command are talking of rumors to leave and reclaim their home."

Tyrion grew concerned and shifted his gaze from the match to Varys. "Are you certain?"

"While it is only rumors for now, it could well turn into truth and then action. But I believe Lord Dayne won't let that happen when the dead are so close to us."

Tyrion thought that it might not be the only reason they wouldn't return home. Ever since Robert's Rebellion came to an end, Dorne has remained neutral from any conflicts that arose in the Seven Kingdoms except for their own. The Dornish people hated it, but their prince commanded it. If they ran from one war to fight their own, they would be considered fools and cowards by all of the world. Men who only fight the war around them when they feel like it.

"He won't,'" Tyrion said, sounding adamant, "he knows that the dead have to be dealt with first and so does every other person in this army."

The sound of clashing steel turned their attention back to the match and Jon was facing off Brienne and Sandor while Bronn was on the ground, clutching at his stomach.

"Have you read the scroll yet?" Tyrion asked.

"It's sealed for the King and Queen." Varys told him, but Tyrion knew the Spider better than that.

"What does it say?"

Varys sighed in disappointment. "Hardly any good."

The sound of footsteps approaching drew their attention to Lady Sansa and Queen Daenerys, finally joining them. "Apologies for being late." Sansa told them. While Jon had to be preparing for the war, Sansa would be the one to help him with things that didn't regard the battle.

"There is no need," Tyrion said, "but now that you're here, we can see what Cersei has to say to us."

Varys unfolded his hands and revealed the scroll. He broke the seal and unraveled the parchment, reading it aloud. "As long as I am the only one who can keep any secret, the traitors trying to save the city from a fiery death shall remain unnoticed. I am not turning my allegiance from the rightful Queen, but I do not want to die before my work is completed, and such rash actions pose a threat. I wish you good fortune in the battle against the dead. Signed by the Hand of the Queen, Qyburn." Varys let the scroll roll back into itself before handing it to Daenerys.

With the knowledge that the scroll contained, there would be one less thing to worry about. Without the abilities of Brandon Stark such a thing would've been thought to have been a bluff or ruse. But now it looked like there was a thread of hope for the city, even if it could be cut at any point.

"Who is this Qyburn?" Sansa asked.

The only one who had any decent knowledge of him was Tyrion. "He was once a maester, but he was expelled when he was caught doing experiments that were very unethical to the Order's reputation. But that doesn't deny that he is one of the best healers in Westeros."

"You call what he did to the Mountain heeling?" Sansa doubtfully asked.

"I didn't say that his work was absolutely medical, only unethical. He does what Samwell Tarly did for Ser Jorah."

"He cures Greyscale?" Daenerys asked.

"No, he does what the maesters are too afraid to try to do. I'm not defending his reasons of course, but his research saved my brother's entire forearm after his hand was severed, not that it mattered in a sense."

The conversation was interrupted by a loud thud and everyone turned their gaze to the sparring match and saw Jon on his back with Sandor Clegane standing over him with his greatsword over Jon's chest. Brienne stood across from the Hound, her sword lying next to Bronn who was just now getting up.

"Bout time someone knocked you on your royal ass." Bronn commented as Jon got onto his feet, disregarding any respect he should be showing. Brienne took notice of that when she retrieved her sparring sword.

"Do you have no respect for anyone?" She asked, anger present in her tone.

"Only a few in this world, the rest are all dead."

"But none for your King?"

"When I pledged myself to the Targaryens, it was to the Queen up there." He pointed his sword up to the balcony. He then switched to pointing it at Jon. "Until I see him give me a reason to call him King, he's just a lad with too many titles."

"That never stopped you from calling the Lannister bastards King." Sandor reminded.

"Aye, because the Lannisters were feared when Tywin was alive. And with eyes and ears everywhere, no one could even talk shit about them without worrying about having their head on spike."

"That is true," Jon informed, "and I am not one who would do something like that just for someone speaking ill of me. But if I must take action to discipline he who acts to free regard with thought to those among him. Bronn raised his brow, wondering what could be in store for such a person.

"And if I chose not to, what then? Will my head be taken from my shoulders? Cersei did say that was the only way to kill a Stark these days.

Everyone could see Jon's fists clench and his knuckles whiten when Bronn was bold enough to say such a thing. "That would happen if you continued defiance. But ever since I realized my Targaryen heritage, I've thought that maybe I should feed traitors and scum to the dragons."

"Good thing it doesn't look like it's about to happen right now." Bronn patted Jon and his shoulder and began to walk away.

Jon took a deep breath before giving his response. "Then why don't we fix that? Brienne, Sandor, if wouldn't mind bringing him with me."

Before Bronn realized what was happening, Sandor and Brienne seized Bronn by his arms and dragged him against his will as they followed Jon outside of the training yard.

"What does he think he's doing?" Tyrion openly asked.

"Disciplining those that disrespect a dragon." Daenerys informed, not showing any resistance to hiding a smirk.

"So he's going to kill the Lord of the Twins?"

"I don't mind. He has been a pain in the ass since he arrived." Daenerys began to follow her husband's trail to wherever it was he was going, those with her kept close.

"Bronn has helped us in more ways than one," Tyrion said, "he's one of the best fighters we have and a good commander."

"And why should I allow such people to hold lands and armies when they have no respect for those they pledge to fight for? Why should I let another Walder Frey hold the Twins?"

"Despite how well you rule and change the world, there always be men like Walder Frey. But Bronn is far from him."

"Not far enough it seems."

They all followed Jon outside of Winterfell and towards where the dragons nested. When they left the gates, they gathered a small following of soldiers, curious as to what was happening.

As they neared the presence of the dragons, Drogon and Rhaegal lifted their heads up to see what was approaching them. Drogon's gaze fell on Bronn and he began to stir.

"Oh… fuck." Bronn said as Jon stopped and he was pulled next to him.

"Let him go." Jon ordered. Sandor and Brienne kindly obeyed and Bronn was frozen in his place. "Walk forward, Ser Bronn."

"I'd rather hang myself than get close to that big fucker." Jon shoved Bronn forward, causing him to fall on his knees a few feet away.

Tyrion quickly walked up to, hoping that he would listen to reason. "Your grace, I'm begging you to reconsider what you're about do. We need every man who can fight and Bronn happens to be one of the better ones."

Jon looked down to Tyrion, revealing a sly smile before looking at the dragons. His eyes flashed white and so did the eyes of Drogon and Rhaegal. Bronn was shaking in his place as the crawled closer to him.

"You're grace," Bronn called out, "please, show mercy!"

Never before had Tyrion seen Bronn so afraid. And there was no reason for him not to be when he shot down one of them. The two dragons opened their mouths slightly, looking preapered to unleash a fury of fire on Bronn. Everyone held their breaths as they arched their necks back and opened their mouths wide. But instead of fire, they let out loud roars, their heads only feet away from Bronn. The force they let out made Bronn fall backwards. His eyes were clenched shut and his arms in front of his face.

When the roaring stopped, the dragons backed away from Bronn and Jon's eyes returned to their normal brown. He stepped forward and knelt down to Bronn who was still shaking where he laid in the snow. "I don't give a rat's ass about what people say about me, I was raised a bastard after all. But I do care when others insult my family and those who follow me. I didn't ask to be King until the Queen asked me to be hers. I don't give aa damn about crowns or titles, but I care for those who put their faith in me and I will serve them as best I can when we fight against the dead and until the day I die. But if you have none in me, why should I care about you?" Jon patted Bronn on his shoulder before leaving him in the snow.

Tyrion was speechless as Jon walked passed him and joined Daenerys and the others back to the castle, but overjoyed that he didn't roast Bronn.

Bronn was still shaking a little when Tyrion walked up to him. "Are you alright?"

"Some shit has come out." Bronn admitted.

"I could tell." Tyrion said amusingly as the scent began to fill the air. "Better your shit than you turning into dragonshit."

Bronn nodded slightly. "Aye, much better."


Arya

The sounds of the Great Hall were never lacking any merriment in the nights of winter as long as there were Northerners and ale in it. The only one who wasn't in such a high mood was he who suffered an encounter with the dragons, even after downing three mugs of the North's strongest brew and a new pair of breeches. Not even Tyene could charm any seduction to bring him out of his state of mental petrification. But then Tormund solved the dilemma with a mug of Free Folk ale. Whatever was in it, it was strong enough to make Bronn spray the first sip over four people and cause an uproar of laughter from some of the Wildlings. She was intrigued to try some herself at first, but then she remembered Jon and Daenerys's wedding feast and her hangover. She kept to light drinking and her portions of bread and rabbit stew.

Meals were the only time Arya could let herself relax nad not worry about preparing for war. While her family ate at the High Table, she decided to join the masses with Gendry and Sandor sitting with her seeing as they were better company.

"I didn't think your brother could be so terrifying." Gendry said before taking a large bite of stew dipped bread.

"He isn't," Arya said, "the dragons are."

"You obviously haven't fought him yet." Sandor told her, eating chicken stew instead of rabbit.

"You were there at the Dragonpit when I dueled him." Arya reminded.

"I was, but after practicing with him today, what he did back then wasn't a fight."

"Then what was it?"

Sandor started chuckling to himself before he answered. "Pity."

"I saw the fight too y'know." Gendry told them. "That was definitely not pity."

"Have you fought anyone at all with that hammer of yours?" Sandor asked. "And I mean a real fight."

"I've killed two Goldcloaks when I left King's Landing. Caught them completely off guard."

"Off guard? So their swords weren't drawn and they didn't know what was coming?"

"Um, yeah."

"Then whoop de fucking doo. I real fight is when you another man in front you trying to end your life, without a fucking care who you are and what you've done. That's war and that's where we're headed. Are you sure you want to do battle with the men instead of the women and children?"

Gendry slammed his fists on the table and stood up, staring the Hound down with a great anger. "Fuck you, you limping dog. I could best you in any duel now that you're not even half of what you once were."

Sandor stared him down before slowly standing up, rising much higher than Gendry. "Do you want to learn how to fight? To really fight instead of being a smith?"

Gendry didn't break his gaze from Sandor's. "I want to learn how to win."

"Then stop swingin your hammer in a forge and start swingin it at me. Tomorrow with Tarth and her squire. Now sit down, and shut your hole."

Gendry looked on the verge of breaking his rage over such a matter, confirming he truly was a Baratheon. But whether or not he acted on it would define if he was the Baratheon's before him or the Baratheon he wanted to be. He slowly relaxed his fists and sat back down in his seat, Sandor following after him.

Arya scoffed as she rolled her eyes and ate her food. She did as Gendry was doing and dipped her bread into her soup before eating. The taste was delicious and reminded her of the last meal she had from Hotpie at the Crossroads, but his food was better. "I wish Hotpie was here."

"Me too," Gendry agreed as he calmed down and resumed eating, "no one could cook like him."

"Who's got hot pies?" Tormund asked as he shoved someone aside to take a seat next to Sandor. "I've only had one pie before and it was the greatest thing I ever ate."

Arya failed to suppress some laughter as did Gendry. "We're talking about our friend. His name is Hotpie."

Tormund looked disappointed in a way that one does when they drop delicious food on the ground. "Oh… little Stark, you cannot get my hopes up with talk of pies then smash them by telling me you're talking about people." Tormund take a quick swig of the concoction that no one south of the Wall could stomach. "Who is this man of pies?"

"He was with us when we escaped a castle in the Riverlands." Gendry informed.

"The fat one from the Crossroads?" Sandor asked.

"Yeah, best cook you'll ever meet."

"I saw him before I came North." Arya informed. "Brienne even told me that he made some Direwolf bread for me. He told her it turned out much better than the first one."

"He bakes bread out of Direwolves?" Tormund asked.

"No," Arya corrected, "it was in the shape of a direwolf."

"If you could call that shape a direwolf."

Arya smacked Gendry over the shoulder. "It was his first try and it tasted excellent."

Gendry nearly choked on his food laughing with Arya. "Do you think he's still there at the inn?"

"I know he is."

"Maybe I'll invite him to come to Storm's End with me." Gendry suggested before finishing his bowl.

"Don't you dare," Arya said, "I was going ask him to come to Winterfell."

"If you came with us to the Stormlands then we wouldn't have to have such an argument."

"If Hotpie came with me then you would have to come to the North."

Tormund raised his brow as they conversation pressed on. "Are you two fucking?"

Arya's gaze quickly shot to Tormund to see if he was drunk or honestly asking. Unfortunately, it was both. "No!" Arya exclaimed.

"Why not?"

"Because we're not like that!"

"Oh, I get it." Tormund said. "You don't know how."

"We know how." Gendry told him.

"Then why? You both are acting like Jon and Ygritte before they broke his vows." Arya had no idea who Ygritte was, but her name was close to Ygris. She realized that the woman Tormund spoke of was who Jon named the dragon after. "Who's Ygritte?"

"She was a Free Folk and a ginger, like me but her hair was as orange as the eyes of the white dragon, and she was the one who taught Jon how to be free and how to see someone before you love them like you never have before." That was all it took for Arya to confirm the origin of Ygris' name.

"What happened to her?" Gendry asked.

Sandor stole Tormund's mug from him and downed its contents, not enjoying his presence in such a discussion. Tormund let him be as he leaned closer to Arya and Gendry. "After we made Jon one of us, we all scaled the Wall together, took us hours. But when we got to the top," he began chuckling to himself, "let's just say that if they were the only ones there the two of them would have been breaking his vows for days."

Arya shuddered at the thought of that lingering in her mind. "But you were there so what happened?"

"It was Ygritte's first time seeing your country, the first time seeing a land that wasn't covered in snow. It was like watching the two of them fall in love all over again. But then we got to the other side and Jon had to reveal he was still a crow. She had the chance to kill him before he made it back to the Wall, but she let him go. Then at Castle Black, she had him right in front of her. But she couldn't do it, that's when the child crow that stabbed Jon shot an arrow through her. She died in his arms that night and was burned by the weirwood a mile north of the Wall."

Arya felt sad knowing Jon went through such a thing. "He got the chance to love someone as a man of the Watch, but his love for her died when she did."

"No," Tormund said, "the ones we love never die, not all the way. They take new forms, like Ygris. Why do you think he named her that?"

Arya felt comforted with that kind of knowledge. It made her wonder if the same love she had for her father would take a new form one day. "Thank you for telling me about her." Arya set her mug on her plate and left it there for a servant to collect it later. She got out of her seat and began to leave the Great Hall.

Gendry was going to join her, but Tormund stopped him. "woah now boy. You're not going anywhere until you learn a valuable lesson about women. Now then, when you're in bed with one, most men fuck like dogs."