"Well, that could have gone better," sighed Daenerys. She was now back in her council room, overlooking the city of Meereen. She was joined by Daario, who was standing closest to her, Missandei, Varys and their latest recruit, Tyrion. He was currently observing the room, surprised at how easy it had been to get here. He was sure that Varys had given him a good word to the queen; he'd make sure to have a conversation with the Spider when the chance arose.

"Yet it could have gone a lot worse, your grace," inputted Varys, "you've shown the people that you are willing to encourage their culture. That will only increase when the main battle takes place, in front of the people."

"But it has just given me another problem to think about." She was talking about Jorah, the disgraced knight who had made his way back to her despite her urgences not to. She didn't know what to make of the older man sometimes. She had been truly disgusted by him after she had found out about his treachery. Yet the man he conspired with was stood advising her right now, and Jorah had definitely proven himself more times than Varys so far. Was she simply scared of becoming close to him again? Especially after the recent revelation. "What would you have me do, Lord Tyrion? You have been with him most recently."

"I have already told you what I think. You will face an enormous battle when you reach Westeros, that can't be doubted. My family will not give up their power and control so easily, even in the face of your dragons. And I'm sure some of the noble families will remember the last time a Targaryen sat on the Throne."

"I am not my father," a hint of anger in her voice.

"I know that. Everyone in this room knows that. But people out there don't. They get fed drips of stories and your story could definitely be twisted into something much darker than it actually is. So, a war is the only way you are going to win. And what will improve your chances of surviving is having someone so loyal protecting you."

"You believe he's loyal?"

"You're alive."

She thought of that for a moment. That point had come up a few times now; despite his initial actions, he had saved her. On multiple occasions. And he had been the one she turned to when she needed advice that she could trust. Why hadn't she been going to Daario instead? He was apparently her lover, surely that meant she should seek his opinion more? It confused her greatly, which she didn't need right now with other problems arising constantly.

"You know I don't have the fondest of feelings towards Mormont," started Daario, "but, from what I've seen, he would die for you. The reason he came back was because he has nothing left in life to work for. He's invested in you - he'd gladly take a sword for you if it meant you survived and sat on the throne."

"So you want me to use him as a human shield?"

"I don't think he'd complain." Daenerys was hurt by how callous Daario had sounded. Jorah meant far too much to her to use him like that. And that was the fact that was scaring her the most at the moment.

"I'd like it if we didn't discuss him anymore for the time being. He's preoccupied with that sorcerer for the time being."

"Sorcerer?" asked Tyrion, although his question went unanswered.

"I'm still confused as to why he is locked up," Varys spoke. From what he had heard, Bruda had done nothing but help her.

"Because I can't trust him yet. He has the capability of killing me with a gesture, surely my advisor would tell me to not risk having him in my presence?" Her tone was dangerous, annoyed at being questioned. Varys bowed his head in apology. "And, right now, I have to focus on the fighting pits. Once that's done, then I can prepare for the next steps on our journey."

Before anyone could respond, a knock came from the door. It slowly opened, revealing an Unsullied guard stood next to a white-haired old man. A large smile graced the lips of Daenerys.

"Ser Barristan! It is so good to see you on your feet."

"Thank you, your grace." He looked strange in simple clothes, a bandage around his torso. Seemed so much feebler than the man in full armour. He eyed the others in the room, a couple he didn't recognise. "Have I missed much?"

xxxxxxxxxx

"Will you sit still!" grumbled Bruda. Their current tight confines was beginning to wear the two men down. It had been a day since Jorah's arrival, and a day since Bruda had exposed his recent infection. Jorah had told him about his encounter with the stone men in Valyria and how he had sacrificed himself to save Tyrion. When Bruda had asked why he had put his body on the line for someone he barely knew, the response had come that Daenerys needed him. Bruda doubted though that that was the case; he was sure that, if she had to pick, it would always be the knight. He hadn't voiced that opinion however, not wanting him to think about the prospect of returning to her when the inevitability was that the greyscale would claim his life. Unless Bruda could do something about it.

Jorah had spoken at length of how, when he realised that he had greyscale, during a brief moment of solitude on the boat to Slaver's Bay, he had obviously been devastated, but also fine with it. It had spurred him on even more to reach Daenerys, to see her at least one more time so that it would all be worth it. Bruda had thought the whole situation cruelly and needlessly tragic. If Jorah had confessed sooner to his crimes, then he wouldn't be in this predicament. He knew that he had the capability to solve the issue, he knew that he wanted to. He just didn't know if Jorah trusted him and, more importantly, his magic enough. Within the next few days, the infection would spread on a scale that would make it incredibly difficult to deal with. If he didn't act soon, then it would be too late, probably for both of them. If Daenerys found Bruda in a cell with a dead Jorah (because he had asked the other man to kill him before the greyscale took over him), then he suspected that he would be joining him in the afterlife.

"I can't stay put. I have a clock counting down on my life. And I'm stuck here. So close to her, and yet even further away than ever."

"Your love for her is incredibly sickening. I hope you realise that." Bruda's sarcastic comment did nothing to ease the tension in the room. He was trying to show Jorah that he didn't think the situation was as serious as it seemed. His attempts were failing, a lot more frequently as the day went on.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Well, to make sure your precious Daenerys doesn't die, you'd have to leave. Because there's no way you're gonna last in her presence without reaching towards her once in a while. But, as you may have noticed, your stuck here. So that's not an option. Any chance of curing it with proper medicine is most likely going to be at the Citadel in Old Town. Lots of maesters there, bound to be one with some knowledge of this disease. But they're very finicky with the rules; I doubt they'd risk the infection spreading across the city to save one old man." Jorah sent a disapproving glare. "Oh, and you're stuck here. So that's not an option. Killing yourself would be the noble way out but you have no way of doing that, and I'm not going to do it just yet. I'm not fond of being noble anyway, it's just a way of becoming dead much faster than necessary."

"So what you're saying is that I have no hope and I should wait here until I succumb to its effects?"

"Of course I'm not. You're a miserable bugger as it is, if you lose the last bit of hope you have, then you're gonna make my time here massively unbearable."

"You haven't given me a proper choice though!" he growled, frustrated at how right Bruda was, yet still happy for the company. "Maybe if I asked her, she would allow a guard to kill me."

"You know more than anyone else that she would never do that. She cares for you far too much, from what I've heard. Until you're no longer you, then she will make you live."

"Another dead end then."

"You're getting the hang of this now. So you're left with one remaining option. Do you trust me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you trust me? Or have you forgotten that I'm a warlock, and can then do amazing and wondrous things?"

"You could help me? Cure me?"

"I certainly think so. I've never had to do it before, heal such a serious infection, but I'd hope it's within my capability."

Jorah contemplated the decision for a moment. In his current predicament, it was likely that this was his only chance of survival. And what did he have to lose now?

"Yes…I trust you. For some stupid and unknown reason, I trust you." A smile crept onto his face, the first Bruda had seen from the Bear.

"Don't start smiling yet. I haven't done anything. But, when you next see your queen, tell her that. It would go along way in getting me out of here."

"If you manage to perform a miracle, I definitely will."

"Well then, sit yourself down and roll up your sleeve."

"We're doing it now?"

"Of course. We've got nothing better to do, have we?" Jorah nodded at that, and did as Bruda had instructed. He stretched his arm out, exposing the small area of skin that showed the symptoms of greyscale. The warlock shook his wrists and cracked his back, preparing himself. With each crack, small gasps of golden energy flickered from his hand. Jorah eyed him wearily.

"Is it going to hurt?"

"Undoubtedly. Although, as I said, I've never done this before. It may be painless, it may actually be the greatest feeling you've ever experienced. Is that reassuring?"

"No."

Instead of answering, Bruda leaned forward and quickly grasped Jorah's arm before he could argue. The knight was shocked when the other man touched the infected skin, sure that all that he had done was give himself the disease. Bruda seemed to read his mind.

"How do you think I shook your hand?"

Nothing happened for a few seconds, as Bruda sat with his eyes closed, concentrating. But then, that same, soft golden glow emanated from his hand and surrounded Jorah's arm. And, by all the gods, old and new, it burned.

Bruda was surprised that none of the guards were roused by the screaming as the golden energy pulsed between the two. It was criss-crossing along the skin, weaving its way around the patch of greyscale. He didn't really know how long they sat there for, he suspected it wasn't as long as Jorah was probably thinking. But, eventually, his hand shifted slightly down on the arm, touching normal skin. He removed his hand, the glow slowly dissipating, and looked down in the same direction as Jorah did.

The greyscale was gone.

xxxxxxxxxx

"So you eventually made it, it seems." The statement had come from Varys as he noticed Tyrion enter the room. He didn't even to look up from where he sat to know it was the dwarf; no one else had any reason to visit him. Since their arrival, they had been given their own private quarters. Whereas Tyrion's was spacious and now decorated fairly lavishly, with an open view of the city, Varys's was much darker, with most of the space taken up by a large, wooden desk. It was there that he was currently sat, writing notes to send off across Essos and Westeros. News would have to get out that the Dragon Queen was going to be on the move very soon.

"Did you have any doubt in me?" Tyrion hadn't lost any of his ego on his journey, Varys noted. He had expected nothing less.

"Sadly not. I must say, it has been much more peaceful without your incessant talking."

"Excuse me, the last time we were together I was stuck in a box! I wasn't allowed to speak!"

"That doesn't mean you now try to make up for that time."

"It's good to see that you haven't changed."

"I wouldn't do you the disservice of evolving. Your life has changed enormously already, it is sometimes essential that you have at least one constant to keep you grounded."

"I have missed your company, Varys."

"Oh I know." Was that a smile wondered Tyrion. "But it seems you quickly found a replacement for me."

"Trust me, I didn't find him. That brothel in Pentos, that's when he got me."

"I did notice your disappearance. At first, I presumed you had finally found a woman to occupy your time. Alas, it seems instead you walked into the bear's cave."

"You know him." It wasn't a question.

"I know of him. I haven't had the opportunity to meet him just yet. Although I'm sure you know that we have corresponded in the past."

"He may have mentioned it once or twice. I'd be wary of him when you do meet. He hugely regrets what he did and you were the one who participated."

Varys nodded at that. "So you think it is an inevitability that I will meet him, so you assume he will be let out eventually."

"It's surely only a matter of time before she sees her senses. He's a valuable asset."

"A dangerous one for her though."

"A risk she will be willing to take, I bet. The way he spoke about her, she would be a fool to lose him."

"I'd advise you holding your tongue a bit more in front of her. Or you'll be visiting her dragons."

"I wouldn't actually mind meeting them. I've always had a fascination with those beautiful creatures." His voice trailed off at that, thinking back to his youth when he would dream about having his own dragon. His father had told him that no dragon was small enough for him to ride and that his hopes were completely ridiculous. That had actually been one of their best conversations. His favourite though was the one that had ended with him shot through the heart. Varys rolled his eyes at the comment, standing up from his desk. There was a large holder of wine on the desk, accompanied by a few glasses. He poured some of the fruity alcohol into one of them, handing it over to his guest, who had licked his lips at the sight. It had been an age since had had a proper drink.

"Keep talking like that and you'll get on fine with our new queen. Now, what do you think of her other appointees?" Varys asked.

"I remember Ser Barristan from when he was on the King's Guard. A very noble man, was brave enough to stand up to my family. Not many would at the time. I respect him a great deal. He'll be incredibly useful to her. It already seems that he has put his body on the line for her."

"Yes. And wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the warlock currently occupying a cell with your new friend."

"So she wasn't lying about that then."

"He's a conundrum, even for me. Which doesn't happen too often. A magic user would be useful though…"

"I suspect that he'll come out at the same as Mormont."

"Don't downplay the Targaryen's mistrust of warlocks though."

"She'll have to get over it. One mage on your side can tip the balance in your favour. Especially if they're powerful ones."

"Indeed. So, what about the others? I'd like to know your first impressions, seeing as we'll be working with them now."

"That Naharis seems to me to be a wildcard. I doubt he has a huge amount of political acumen. But he represents another sword, who for now is loyal to our cause. The girl, Missandei is it? Seems very quiet, but close to Daenerys. But she won't have any experience of what's to come."

"I believe she has recently suffered a great loss. It's thought she had fond feelings for the leader of the Unsullied, but he passed on recently. Obviously has shaken her but I'm sure she's already begun the process of moving on."

"If that's the case, I'll work hard to get her out of her shell."

"Good luck with that. So, in summary, you believe that, barring us and Selmy, her council has no experience of ruling, which will make the next phase of our journey very tiresome indeed."

"But it's going to be exciting." Tyrion raised his glass at the start of their new venture.

xxxxxxxxxx

They cautiously walked over to the fire. They were wary of who they'd find but at least they'd be touched by the comfort of fire for a brief moment. It was worth the risk alone. It was a short walk to the makeshift campsite. Tormund was now leading, axe in hand, looking ominous as the snow swirled around him. There was no shelter around the fire, which persuaded Mance that the inhabitants wouldn't be wildlings; they'd no better if they wanted to survive.

Their arrival was noted by the three men, who stood up as they approached. As Jon got closer to them, their appearances became discernible. One had a beard and top-knot in his hair, another also had a beard but also a black eyepatch covering his right eye. The third man was instantly recognisable to Jon from the scarring across the right hand side of his face.

"Hello there," shouted Beric Dondarrion, snow covering his beard. Thoros of Myr stood behind him, the red priest less confident than his counterpart. Jon was only looking at the other man; the Hound sneered in his direction but it had less bite than he remembered.

"What are you lot doing out here? Are you fucking mad?" answered Mance, not impressed with their lack of preparedness.

"Maybe a little. Although I could ask you the same."

"I'm king beyond the wall. This is ma land. Ma home. But it won't be for much longer. We're on our way to take ma people south of the Wall."

"Fleeing the dead." Beric didn't pose it as a question, he already knew.

"And how would you know that? If you do, then surely you'd be leaving to."

"Our goal here is what the Lord of Light wishes upon us."

"So you're a fuckin nutcase," Tormund added.

"You wouldn't think that if you had seen what we've seen," said Thoros, speaking for the first time.

"The Lord of Light wants us to take on the Night King. We presumed that meant us alone, but it seems you share our mission," ventured Beric.

"It appears so," responded Jon, taking control of the situation before too many insults were said. "Back at Castle Black, we have a Red Priestess. I'm sure she'd be glad to meet you."

"That's if we actually go with you," growled Clegane.

"You'd be in the right mind if you do. If your goal is to defeat the Night King, then we should combine our efforts. If you join us to the wildling camp, then you can come with us back to the castle. We have an army there. We can't beat him on our own, neither can you."

The impassioned speech seemed to work, as Beric, after looking between his compatriots, nodded an affirmative. After the men huddled around the small fire for a few moments, they put it out and continued their journey to the camp. As they did so, Jon fell in step with Sandor.

"You're the Hound."

"Well spotted."

"What are you doing up here? You were Joffrey's lapdog the last time I saw you."

"Aye, and that was the biggest fucking mistake I ever made. I got captured by these lot, then left with your sister actually."

"Sister? Sansa?"

"No, the little boyish one. Left me for dead eventually. But I was saved. Brother Ray helped me, I saved him from the Brotherhood without Banners. But I joined them, and here I am.

"How is Arya?"

"How should I fuckin' know? Pretty fine after she took my gold." Jon nodded at that, but their conversation stopped as they reached the camp. Jon looked over to Mance, who wore a concerned expression on his face. They expected noise, life, signs that a form of civilization still existed there. But it was quiet. No fires were lit. Nothing. They slowed their pace as they walked into the camp and it soon became apparent what had happened.

The dead had already been.