They walked around the barren campsite, dejected as they took in their surroundings. Their arduous journey north apparently seemed for nothing now. What was most unnerving was the lack of corpses; Jon knew that meant the Night King's army had been replenished. Their task of defeating him, already seemingly so improbable, was veering towards the realms of impossibility. The snow seemed calmer as they made their way into the heart of the wildling home, which just added to the eerie silence. Some of the men that had journeyed with them were taking to looking around the tents, hoping to find supplies that would give their mission some form of success. There wasn't a lot though - most of the shelters had been scorched, bearing the marks of previous futile attempts to start fires to stop the hoard of the dead. The smell of burnt bodies lingered around the area, a smell that Jon wished he would never have to experience again.

"I knew a lot of the men here," Tormund spoke, his voice quieter than Jon was used to. "They were good men, good fighters. And yet they were easily beaten by whatever fucking monstrosity is out there. We don't stand a chance."

"The day we lose hope is the day we lose," Jon argued

"Fuck hope. You say we have an army past the Wall. If they're not busy with their own puny battles, then they may help us. But they won't have seen anything like this. Our men have and were crushed like a bug. They won't be able to do any better."

Jon looked around, scanning the faces of their men. The defeated tone in Tormund's voice seemed to resonate with their own expressions. They had given up. "Look, men," Jon said, raising his voice, "I know that right now, everything seems bleak. Our chances of winning this war have been damaged here today, that's undeniable. But we owe it to everyone south of that Wall to keep trying, or else what we see right here will happen to every village, town, and city in Westeros. We owe it to them and ourselves to keep the fight going for as long as we can."

"We owe them fucking nothing!" shouted Sandor. He was becoming annoyed at the righteous attitude of the Stark bastard. He needed to set him straight or he'd get them all killed. "Those people won't believe a word we say. I certainly wouldn't if I hadn't seen it with me own eyes. Why should we sacrifice ourselves so the likes of the Lannisters stay alive like the fucking cockroaches they are?"

"Because it's our duty. It's mine because I swore an oath to the Night's Watch. It's the wildlings' because they are losing their own home and land. And it's yours because of what your Lord of Light speaks. If he thinks we stand any chance of winning, then surely that means we have to continue."

"He's right Clegane." Beric walked up to the larger man. "You looked into that fire and saw what they're like. Maybe this mission was a foolish one, but we have been given the opportunity to return back south and plan a proper defence. Instead of freezing here now."

He got a grunt in response, they didn't know whether it was positive or negative, but the Hound walked away, settling himself on a large rock. They presumed that meant he had given up the pointless argument.

"Thank you," Jon sincerely said to Beric. "We should head back as soon as we can. We don't want them to return with us still here. We get to Castle Black, and then we join Stannis further south. That was the deal we made."

"I didn't make no fucking deal," grumbled Clegane.

"I know. Which is why you'll be able to stay at the Castle if you want. The Night's Watch will be able to cater for you. But we need as many men as possible if we're to take back Winterfell. And if we succeed, then that gives us a better base to stand against the dead."

He didn't receive an answer just yet. At that point, he noticed Mance walking on his own. He seemed to be heading towards a specific point. Jon soon caught up with him.

"I'm sorry about your people." No answer. Mance was focused on something. He held a large key in his right hand.

"Don't be so sure about our defeat, Snow. You think I'd leave them to the mercy of the dead whilst I gallivanted off south?" They reached the middle of a small path. Unremarkable in its nature but obviously fascinating to Rayder. He crouched down, wincing slightly as the pain from his shoulder made an appearance, and began feeling the floor, searching for the spot. A few moments passed before his eyes slightly widened and he moved the key to where his hand had been. Jon didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't a disguised hatch lifting from the ground, the mud covering it slowly falling off as it was raised. They both looked down and were met with the sharp end of a sword. As the sunlight slowly made its way into the hole, Jon could see what Mance had done. Underneath the ground was a cavern, holding at least 100 wildlings, who were relieved to see other people finding them.

xxxxxxxxxx

It had been an incredibly long journey since they had left Kings Landing. Bronn had managed to barter two stallions for them both, one white, the other a light brown. Over the days, Jaime had become quite fond of his, enjoying the company slightly more than that of his human companion. Bronn had taken to sporadically break into song to pass the time, stories of gallant knights and lecherous deeds. Jaime didn't know if any of the stories were true but we was becoming increasingly frustrated as each melody melted into another soon after. When he had envisioned leaving his home, he had been worried about the quiet and loneliness that would have followed him; he'd gladly take an hour of it right now to save his mental wellbeing.

They eventually reached a good place to rest, the Inn at the Crossroads. It would afford them the opportunity to eat and drink and give Jaime's ears a bit of a rest. Although Bronn was in no mood to stop talking as they entered the establishment. Inside, there was an array of people: surly looking men, skimpily dressed women hoping to make some money and a lot of scruffy and dirty people that the Lannister rather hoped he wouldn't have to interact with. They got a small table in the corner and waited for a server to notice them. As one approached, it was Bronn who spoke first, not to the surprise of Jaime.

"What would you recommend for two dashing men on an adventure?" This seemed to confuse the server for a moment, judging by the silence. Bronn looked up to see what was the problem and was met with the image of a fat young lad, with curly brown hair.

"Ummm...let me think," he said, as he took a seat at the table, much to the chagrin of Jaime, which wasn't helped by the smirk sent his way by Bronn. "If you're going on an adventure, you need a lot of meat to keep you going longer. I've been working on this new pastry recipe for a steak and ale pie. That'd be perfect for you two. Or maybe some lamb, slow-cooked. It's a speciality of mine. Get the meat fresh from a local farmer who likes it here. People tend to like my food, I'm much better at it than fighting."

"And when would you need to fight? Or have done so in the past."

"Oh that doesn't matter much. In the past now, I guess," he spoke nervously. Bronn didn't seem too convinced but he was more hungry than bothered about the life this boy had lived.

"We'll take two of the pies and a flagon of ale to go with it." He didn't bother asking if that's what Jaime wanted. Because he just didn't care. Before the lad could get up though, Bronn caught hold of his arm. "Say, I was wondering, do you see many strange people around here lately? I bet you get a lot of visitors here."

Hot Pie was confused at the sudden change in topic but wasn't too concerned. "Well of course. You see all types of people here. Coming for my food, I reckon. It's like today, there's that woman who says she's a knight. Seemed a bit rude and blunt if you ask me but they paid for their food so I'm happy. I think they got the lamb actually. Like I said it's a favourite round…"

Jaime interrupted him. "Wait….a female knight?"

"Yeah, I was shocked too. Not something you see everyday, is it? But she had all the armour on, and I noticed this giant sword by her side. Must have been telling the truth, I reckon."

"Did she say anything?"

"Not much. I only just served her. She just wanted some food for her and her companion."

"Only just served her? You mean she's still here?" Bronn was confused as to why Jaime had such a fascination with this woman. Unless it was the one that had caught his fancy.

"Yeah. She's just round the corner. I don't think you want to go bothering her though, she seemed quite tense." His advice fell on deaf ears as Jaime abruptly sat up, followed closely by Bronn who wanted to see if his reasoning was right.

It didn't take him long to see her; she didn't really fit in. Most of the women were servers or prostitutes so to see one actually sat down was rare, making his job a lot easier. She sat with her back to him so didn't see him approach - it was her companion who noticed him, his eyes widening in recognition, especially at the sight of Bronn. As he put his hand on her shoulder, he bent down slightly and spoke.

"Lady Brienne of Tarth. What a pleasant surprise to see you again." She tensed at the voice, instantly recognisable in her mind. She turned around swiftly but didn't reach for her sword, not thinking that she was in any foreseeable danger.

"Jaime. I could say the same." An awkward silence fell on the group, as the two looked at each other quite intently. It was Bronn who broke it.

"I never thought I'd see your fucking face again." He directed this at Podrick, who stood up to greet his old friend. "And I can't believe you're still working for her."

"It's an interesting job. Keeps me on my toes." They shook each other's hands, before Bronn pulled the younger man into a strong hug. Brienne had an amused look on her face as they embraced. As they released, Podrick continued. "I see you're not with Tyrion anymore," casting a quick glance to the Lannister.

"Aye. He's gone. Done some naughty stuff, your old employer. Never thought he had it in him. Quite proud of him actually. Brings a tear to the eye just thinking about it. Haven't seen him since he escaped his cell in the Red Keep. No one knows how he got out." At that, he looked at Jaime, who tried to look innocent in the face of scrutiny. "Maybe he just slipped through the bars, he was fucking small enough."

"The door was wooden," Jaime argued.

"Interesting how you know that." Bronn was pleased that he had so easily tricked the other man. "So the lion still has a heart."

"That's not the point right now. What are you two doing here?" he asked Brienne. She got up from her seat, seeing as everyone else was standing up.

"Lady Catelyn instructed me to protect and serve Arya and Sansa Stark. I'm attempting to do that."

"Not fucking well it seems. Last we heard, the older one was under Bolton control."

"I know." She had a distasteful look on her face at Bronn's language. "Which is why we're heading north to Winterfell to get her."

"Now ain't that funny. We're heading there ourselves." She didn't seem convinced by Bronn's statement so she looked at Jaime for confirmation.

"It's true. I had to leave Kings Landing otherwise my head would be on a spike. I thought the Boltons would be my best chance at sanctuary."

"How would that work? The Boltons are in allegiance with the Lannister family, and if you've left them, surely they won't welcome you with open arms. Your head would definitely be on a spike if it grew their reputation with your family."

That gave him pause. "I...hadn't thought of that."

"Well...you still need somewhere to go. You could come with us, help us rescue Sansa, and then we can plan what to do with you."

"I think that's a splendid idea!" Bronn answered for him. "But I want ma food before we leave."

xxxxxxxxxx

Old Town was a magnificent place to behold. Especially after spending months at Castle Black, which you'd describe as dreary and dull if you were trying to be positive. It had been a long journey for the three of them, with little Sam constantly growing restless, which had often caused tension and grumpiness between Sam and Gilly. He was more thankful for her company than she realised, although only a bigger man would admit that. But, at the present time, he had to focus on the challenge at hand, which was to find any information about the White Walkers and how they could be defeated, if that was possible. After he had rented out a room in the middle of town, where Gilly and the baby currently were, he had made his way to the Citadel. This was the centrepiece of the town, the main attraction. Sam had heard a number of stories of how many books were held within, often sending his brain into overdrive over the thought of reading them. He knew it held many secrets, some that even most maesters wouldn't know, and his task was to unearth them to take back to Jon. If Jon was still alive by the time he returned. And that was if he ever had the chance to return. All the ifs and buts didn't bear thinking about right now. He had to keep telling himself that, his mind whirring constantly as he stepped inside.

He made his way over to a desk that was currently occupied by a fairly young maester. His arrival didn't prompt the other man to look up from his work, a dusty old book open, with a piece of parchment by its side that he was currently writing on. Most people would find it boring - Sam thought it was incredibly exciting.

"Yes?" came the blunt welcome.

"He...hello," Sam stammered, not expecting such a frosty greeting. "I'm Sa..Samwell Tarly. I've come here to train to be a maester, like you."

"If people came in off the streets all the time and we just let them become maesters, then there would be no room left in here to move about."

"No...no. You've got it wrong. I'm not just coming from the city. I've travelled from Castle Black, by the Wall"

"I know where Castle Black is, thank you. Do you expect the length of your journey to change my mind in letting you in?"

"Maester Aemon Targaryen sent me here before he passed on. I'm to train to be the new maester there." He handed over a handwritten note from the deceased man that he had grown close to.

"Interesting. I didn't know he had died."

"So you don't know everything. That's a shock." He got a glare after that but he didn't really care. He had every right to be there and he wouldn't let some snobby arse tell him otherwise.

"I guess you should go see Archmaester Marwyn. I'll send a note ahead of you to...warn him."

"Thank you," he replied, before rushing off to find this Marwyn. He found the old man in a secluded office, deep inside the Citadel. After knocking on the door and being called in, he stepped inside to find the room was larger than he expected. Towards the right-hand side of the room was a sturdy table overflowing with old books, most of which had a thin layer of dust coating them. Marwyn was stood up by a bookcase, examining the spine of one of the many books. He was a plump man, his rotund belly protruding out. His grey hair was thinning on the top of his head. He turned around slowly to take in his guest.

"You must be the new boy."

"Yes...Samwell Tarly."

"Tarly? You sure your father will want you here? I'd expect he'd prefer a brave knight over a bookworm."

"I'm already a disappointment to him. This won't change anything. But I've got to do this."

"And why's that, young man? You do realise how difficult this process is?"

"I've got an idea, yes. But, by doing this, it'll give us the best chance of defeating them."

"And who do you mean by them?"

Sam hesitated, not wanting to be ridiculed on his first day here. "Whi...white...walkers. The dead"

Marwyn didn't seem perturbed. "You know, if you go around mentioning stuff like that, then you're going to get a lot of weird looks. Respect is everything here and, if people begin to not believe a word you say, which will definitely happen with stories like that, then you will never earn it."

"They're not stories though! I haven't made this up."

"I never said stories had to be fictional."

"You...believe me?" he asked, bewildered by this apparent good fortune.

"It isn't down to belief, boy. I know about the white walkers. Why do you think I'm so far deep in this place? People don't want to know about my work. Sure, it's not the focus of my studies, but there's a reason you were sent to me."

"So you'll help me?

"Don't get ahead of yourself. You've got plenty of work to do first."

xxxxxxxxxx

"I feel like I need to thank you again."

"You've already said it plenty of times. It's actually quite tiresome. I didn't do much really." Bruda was slowly becoming irritated by Jorah's thankful attitude. He was beginning to wish some of the grumpiness would make a return, but he knew why the knight was so happy. A major barrier had been moved between him and Daenerys. Now they just had to get out of here.

After Bruda had performed the magic that had cured Jorah, he had taken a few hours to sleep off the effects. It had been a tiresome effort to remove the greyscale and Jorah was understanding when he had to take some time out. After thanking him profusely.

"You saved my life. I'm in your debt."

"Oh please don't start. If everyone I had saved said that, then I'd be in a very good position. But I don't do it for that."

"So you've saved a lot of people?"

"I've tried. As many as I can. Most people have that same attitude, but I have the rare ability to sometimes be able to do something about it. That doesn't mean though that I'm always successful."

"It's a lot of pressure."

"Why do you think I've got a crooked back? All that weighing down on me." He smirked at that.

"Well, you're doing a good job since I met you. Thankfully."

"Don't flatter yourself. I just did it to keep some company. I'd go mad if left alone with my thoughts all the time." Despite the words he said, Jorah could tell that he didn't really mean it. He believed that the warlock wasn't used to being close to people; it would be a long transition period if he was to stay with them.

"You're not used to a lot of close company, are you?"

"Not at all. Being who I am, normally when people get close to me, they eventually want me to do something for them. And I'm incredibly old. Older than I look, I have a good face wash regime." Jorah smiled at the attempt at levity. "But that means, if I grow attached to someone, they'll eventually leave me, one way or another. And they break my heart. So many times in my life. So I left, hid away from the world."

"Yet you came back."

"Yet I came back. Because I heard stories of an unbelievable young woman, righting the wrongs of the world. And I thought to myself, you can't go wasting your days alone. It's not fair when I can accomplish so much. So here I am. Back from the dead."

"Daenerys will come to your side eventually."

"I bloody well hope so. I had a comfy chair where I was holed up."

Jorah was going to respond before he was shushed by Bruda. The warlock stood up, marching towards the door before pressing his ear on the wood. He remained like that for a few seconds, before giving Jorah a grim look.

"What's wrong?"

"I think today is the day your queen is at the big fighting pit."

"How do you know that?"

"Because it wouldn't have been so easy for the Harpies to get in here if she was currently inside the temple. They just killed a couple of soldiers, judging by the number of thuds I heard. And if they're here, then they must be planning something at the pit. And she won't know about this because the people protecting her are slowly being slaughtered. Making her a lovely, pretty target."

"We have to do something."

"Of course we do. I've got it sorted. Because you see, the Harpies haven't considered one crucial thing. A very important factor that will determine whether or not they succeed today. They've killed the guards. The guards that were monitoring us. A brave, old knight and a brilliant warlock. We're getting out of here."