Bruda sat alone in the council room, lost in thought as he looked at the grey, stone walls. After his confession about Varys' discovery, Daenerys had been constantly pestering him to finally tell her what he was hiding. He had quickly escaped her questioning and taken refuge where he thought she wouldn't look for him. It was a difficult time for him, with his fate weighing down on him heavily. He needed this moment alone. He had his back to the door as he rested his head in one hand, using the other to slowly rub his face in exasperation and tiredness. He just had to keep going for a bit longer. But he knew that the next time he saw her, the truth had to be said. There was no going back. The White Walkers would soon be upon them and he just hoped he was right in his assumptions. Bruda let out another sigh as he watched a tendril of golden energy dance around his hand, wishing that he had more time. After so many years, it was ironic that he still felt he deserved more decades, especially after meeting Daenerys. She'd forgive him eventually. At least he hoped she would.

"You are the biggest conundrum I have ever known in a man." He jumped in his seat as he heard a voice behind him. Melisandre stood in front of the door. He had obviously been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't heard her open it. She was dressed in her usual flowing red dress that matched her crimson hair. Yet his attention, as always with her, was on the strange red jewel placed on her neck. They had barely ever spoken to each other so he was confused as to why she was here, even if their attitude towards one another had somewhat warmed recently.

"I think I'll take that as a compliment," he quipped, standing up from his sitting position.

"Even the Lord of Light cannot get a clear picture of you. No one ever has frustrated him as much as you have," she continued as she stepped closer to him. The warlock shrugged nonchalantly.

"I'm just that amazing," he replied cockily. Something about her demeanour was strange. At least, stranger than usual.

"Yet he can still tell you have an important role to play in the battle to come, even if he can't truly comprehend you." Bruda's expression sobered at that sentence.

"What does he say about the war?"

"He has always whispered to me about it. It is why I am here. Why I sought out Stannis in the first place." That confused him.

"What does he have to do with any of this?"

"There are a number of prophecies in action. One talks about a Prince that was Promised who would defeat the Night King in their second coming."

"And you think that Stannis is this foretold prince?" She didn't say anything, just looking at him. "Oh. Now that's interesting. You used to think that he would be the one. But the thing with prophecies is that their criteria can change and someone who used to fit the bill may no longer be the right person." He looked at her more closely and his eyes widened. "But it's more than that. Your Lord of Light still believes he will be the one. It's you who has the doubts now. You're actively defying him, which is a very dangerous position to be in for a Red Woman."

"I have seen things here that have no place in his predictions. He misses one crucial piece of the puzzle because he is blind to other magic." She stroked his face softly, their bodies inches apart. "And other fates." He eyed her carefully, smirking at the hidden message. Had she figured it out too?

"What do you know?"

"Everything. And yet, when it comes to you, nothing." She closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to his. Her hands went to the sides of his head as his instinctively went to her hips. It had taken him completely by surprise but that didn't mean it wasn't enjoyable. It had been a long time since he had done this so hoped that he wasn't rusty. Their kiss deepened as her hands began to roam. They stayed like that for a few moments, enjoying each other's taste and warmth. What she didn't expect were his hands reaching up to her neck, undoing the necklace there. She gasped as he pulled it off, stepping back. The beautiful woman from before was gone, replaced by a crippled, old hag. He eyed her warily, wishing he had been wrong about his prediction. Bruda felt sorry for her.

"Oh Melisandre," he sighed. "You are messing with things so much more powerful and complicated than you could ever envisage." He looked at the choker in his hand, waving another over it, golden energy reaching out to the ruby in its centre. "The problem is, if your belief is dwindling, the Lord of Light is likely to not look down on you favourably. Which means that the energy that powers this, which I presume is the one thing keeping you alive, and I must say incredibly sexy, will soon go." Even in the short time he had had it, he could tell the brightness of its light was fading and she was becoming weaker.

"I accepted my fate a long time ago, warlock. As did you. If I die because I finally realised the truth, then I can be comforted by that." He dropped the necklace to the floor suddenly, sending his foot crashing on it again. She gasped again, this time in pain, and began tumbling to the floor, only for him to catch her in his arms. He bent down, cradling her body close to the floor.

"The thing is, we can decide our fate at times. You're a new person now, free of this belief, at least partially. That doesn't mean you should perish." He gently placed his hand on her neck, golden energy seeping out from his fingers. It warmed her as it travelled down her skin. She was able to stand again before the energy took over her whole body, glowing brightly. It enveloped her, and a blinding impulse of light shot through the room. When he looked again, her previous body had returned. Her hand instinctively went to her neck, where she felt a new necklace there, the only difference being that the jewel this time was golden in colour. She looked at him in shock.

"Good. Back to being sexy," he said, appraising her.

"How? How did you do this?"

"As I said, I'm amazing. You've had that thing on for so long that it became a part of you. That's what magic does. Seemingly inanimate objects bind themselves to the person, intertwining themselves with the very fabric and essence of said person. You saw my magic reaching out to the jewel. It was basically...reading it. Finding its magical signature. It was fairly easy to replicate it in the end."

"But why?" she asked, as she looked down at her now permanently younger body, tears in her eyes.

"Because I didn't think it was fair that you were condemned to death just because you saw the...light." He hated himself for the pun but it made her smile slightly, which he enjoyed seeing. "And I needed you to see that fate doesn't always have the final say. It's up to the person to decide whether they will be directed by it. You, in the end, chose not to be."

"What about you? Are you going to be directed?"

"I have to be. Because it's the right thing to do. And my fate has been sealed for a longer time than yours." She nodded, although she now looked at him with real sadness. He lifted her chin gently so that they were eye to eye. "Enough of that now," he said as he wiped away a tear. "Just because I must be directed, it doesn't mean you have to be."

"I never expected us to get along like this. There was always a mutual distrust between us."

"I think that was because you were beginning to question your beliefs after you met me." He winked at her, causing another smile. "And you must realise how unnerving it was to know how you got your powers."

"My powers!" she exclaimed. "Will they have gone now?"

"I don't know for sure. We'll have to see at the last minute. But you'll have to believe in your own capabilities for once." She nodded her head, understanding his instruction. "And lucky for you, I guess you could say you now have a small part of me." He touched the necklace softly. The thought made her strangely warm inside.

"If only we had been this amiable to one another sooner…" He arched one of his eyebrows.

"Well, we still have plenty of time. Why don't we pick up where we left off?" It was her turn to raise her eyebrows but she immediately began to unfasten her robes slowly, enjoying how he watched her intently, whilst Bruda sent a charge to the door, locking it securely.

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Jon sat solemnly in a small room while he stared at Bran in his wheelchair. With the tension of knowing that the White Walkers were fast approaching a tangible element in the air, there wasn't much room for conversation. It seemed that this new version of Bran wasn't one for talking for talking's sake. He would only ever speak when it concerned the war, especially after Meera had fled on his orders. That one track mind unnerved Jon and made it difficult for him to see his brother in this strange person. In his chair, he sat nervously shaking one leg, unused energy filling his body in agitated anticipation. The Three-Eyed Raven picked up on this quickly.

"You can't do anything at the moment, Jon," he reasoned. Jon looked at him, surprised that he had said anything at all.

"That's the worst thing about this. Waiting. With any other potential enemy, you can make plans, go on a scouting mission even. Occupy your time usefully. But with these...I just feel helpless. I should be doing something."

"You are doing something."

"Watching you."

"Yes." Jon forgot how literal he could be now. Just another change in his character.

"I should be doing something more. Sorting out the soldiers."

"That'll only begin when we know the Night King is close. For now, we must wait for his arrival."

"How will we know when he's close though." Jon was becoming even more impatient and subsequently frustrated.

"I'll know." That was the only answer he had got when he brought up his worries. They'd been going through this cycle of conversation for a considerable time now. He was distracted from his angry thoughts when there came a short knock on the door. Jon sent a questioning look at Bran, who responded with his usual passive one, before he stood up and went to the door. Opening it, he came face to face with a person he had been trying his hardest to not see or interact with.

"What are you doing here, Theon?" he asked the visitor. Theon Greyjoy audibly gulped in nervousness, not having known that Jon would be here. It would make this a lot more difficult.

"Um…" he hesitated. "I volunteered to guard Bran during the battle. They said that he'd need protecting because he's their key target. And he mentioned that you wouldn't be able to do it since you're no doubt wanting to be at the centre of the front line." He smiled softly as he thought back to their time as children where they'd practise sword fighting. Jon did not return the smile.

"Who said this?"

"The old guy. Has a metal...stick." Bruda. Why was he getting involved again? He greatly appreciated having him around but he also sometimes wished that he'd stay out of his personal business.

"Well, he's right. We need someone with good fighting skills to stay here with Bran. He's staying in this room as its deep in the castle, meaning that it's more difficult to get to him. But why should I trust you with such an important role after you've betrayed his and my brother, as well as the Stark family as a whole? Rickon is dead because of you! For all I know, you're just using this as an opportunity to stay away from the main fighting. Coward." Theon gritted his teeth and controlled his facial expression, knowing that, if he were to let the anger inside him boil away, he wouldn't have a chance of redeeming himself to some extent.

"You said that Bran is their main target. So this will be the most dangerous place in Winterfell when the battle commences, meaning whoever chooses to protect Bran is the opposite of a coward." Jon hated how he was technically correct. He refused to talk for the time being - it was Theon's turn to do the explaining, which the other man picked up on. He sighed as he looked down at the floor. "I can't expect you to ever trust me again, I understand that. I can't make you see how deeply it hurts me when I look back on what I did. I was weak, manipulated by my father." Jon was about to argue again but Theon beat him to it. "And I know that that is no excuse but it's the only one I have. I will protect your brother with all the strength I have." Jon didn't want to give in but he knew that, in a time of war, it didn't make sense to hold grudges when you would benefit from being the bigger man. He placed his hand on Theon's shoulder as he began to turn his head towards Bran.

"What do you think, Bran? It affects you the most after all." But, as he finished his sentence, he noticed that Bran's eyes were glazed over, a creepy creamy white colour instead of the usual brown. He instantly ran over to his side, panic consuming him. He looked back at the Theon, who stood there with a helpless expression on his face, trying to find the words that would help in this situation. "Bran?" he shouted, worry clearly evident in his voice. "Bran!" His eyes returned back to their normal state and calmly turned his head to look at the panic-stricken young men.

"He's almost here." The words were like a punch to the face to Jon. The colour faded from his face. "Less than a day." He began to run.

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Jon knocked loudly on the door to Daenerys' room, a sheen of sweat shining on his forehead as the news swirled around in his head, drowning out any other thoughts. He continued to knock heavily and repeatedly until she answered. Her initial expression showed the anger she felt at being disturbed at a late time, and in such a rude manner, but it quickly changed when she saw the look on his face. She instantly moved out of his way to let him into the room. He barely noticed that Jorah was sat in there too, focusing more on how he would break the news. The two other people shared a glance at each other, worried at what could distress the young man so much, but allowed the silence to hang over the room.

"Less than a day," he finally let out, looking at the floor instead of them. It was as if he was letting out a long-held sigh but he didn't feel any gratification as he revealed what he had learnt. Daenerys clutched the chair closest to her tightly, her knuckles turning white from the hard grip. "I presume that means they'll be here by tomorrow night. They wouldn't want to attack during the day as they'll lose an advantage." Daenerys was trying to process his words. She hadn't expected them to arrive so early but at least they had a day. It was a time where you had to cherish the small graces. They had done as much as they could - she just hoped that they were as ready as they could be. She looked at Jorah.

"Send word to Stannis. He should know as soon as possible. But then focus on rallying the soldiers. Let them know what's happening. They should be allowed to enjoy their final night. To an extent." Jorah gave a grave nod before leaving promptly, closing the door behind him with a loud thud. She turned her attention to Jon.

"We're grateful that at least we have some form of warning," she said. She didn't think that she'd ever been alone with Jon, which explained the somewhat awkward atmosphere.

"If I may beg your pardon, your Grace," he replied cordially, "I'd like to go tell some of the men myself what is about to happen. It's only fair that they hear such dreaded news from someone they know. I'd want the same treatment." She bowed her head at his wishes.

"A noble wish that I am completely willing to allow. But, I might ask that you return afterwards with anyone you deem fit to spend an evening with me. No one should spend this night alone now." He nodded his head and turned his back on her, leaving the room just as Jorah had done moments before. Once outside, he leant back, his head on the door, as he collected his thoughts, thinking about the horrors that lay ahead. Daenerys was right. They needed to make the most of the time they had left.

Outside was pandemonium as he made his way onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard. It seemed that the majority of soldiers had quickly learnt about the recent developments and, thinking along the same lines as Jon, had deemed it fit for them to enjoy their last night of peace. The problem was that that entailed heavy drinking, judging by the loud and rowdy interactions that were happening below. He stood and watched as large men shouted at each other and briefly fought one another before swinging in each other's arms as they shared a deep laugh. This wasn't what an army should be acting like just before a war. If they carried on, they'd be defeated even before the White Walkers arrived.

He turned his head as he heard people approach from behind him. Bruda, a face full of fury and anger, stepped to his side, closely followed by Melisandre. Jon noted that the Red Woman's hair was peculiarly more unkempt than usual and, when Bruda noticed his questioning he gaze, he made time to send him a quick wink. Jon could have laughed if the situation wasn't so dire. The old guy still had it in him. For a moment, he thought of how he hadn't been with a woman in a long time, feeling his masculinity waver slightly, before he shook his head from such thoughts. He was more worried about what the warlock was about to do due to the look on his face. Bruda banged his staff on the wooden panels underfoot, sending red fireworks into the sky. That stopped the people below in their tracks as they tried to figure out where the explosion had originated from. Bruda's voice seemed to resonate across the open space, probably from some sort of magic, Jon presumed, as the soldiers looked at him, some still swaying from their recent intoxication.

"Look at you all!" he shouted, anger still evident in his voice. "You are the only defence this kingdom has right now against a formidable enemy. One that has haunted your dreams since you were children. The day comes where you must stand tall and face them. And yet...and yet!" he repeated to get his point across, "you act like this. Drinking away your problems as if you don't have a care in the world." Jon was surprised at how transfixed everyone was as he spoke. "The fact is that the people of Westeros are depending on you, even if they don't know that yet. Maybe one day, your story will reach them and the children will sing about your endeavours. But, for now, you will remain as unknown heroes who stood up against the odds. Not because it was expected of you, or because you were forced to. But because it is the right thing to do! For you to disrespect the people of Westeros, your friends, your family and yourselves in such a manner does not befit the men of legends you will become." He waved his hand and the glassy eyes of the soldiers seemed to return back to normal as the effect of alcohol disappeared. "Prepare yourselves, men. Because tomorrow will be filled with hardship and suffering. Be contempt in the knowledge that your stories will live on, even if you don't." With that, the soldiers began to disperse, most heading back to their tents, realising that they should better ready themselves for the battle. Bruda didn't care if that meant sleep or spending some quiet time with friends and comrades, sharing stories and only a couple of drinks. He wasn't going to lose this war just because of the stupidity of men. He led Melisandre away, leaving Jon to gawk in awe at him, as he walked towards Daenerys' room.

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Bruda gazed at the stars in the night sky as he looked out the window in Daenerys' room. He could tell she was looking at him, even though she was currently in conversation with Jorah, and he bit his lip to stop himself from rounding on her. There was an air of unease between the two of them because of what was still unsaid. He also ignored the worried glance coming from Melisandre, a person who Daenerys had been surprised to see follow the warlock into the room for what had become celebratory drinks. Davos stood near Jorah with a glass of golden liquid, swirling it solemnly as he looked down at it. Apart from the muted words between the Dragon Queen and her knight, it was a quiet room as they absorbed themselves in their thoughts. The peace was broken as Tormund slammed through the door, quickly followed by Jon who had an anxious look on his face as he glanced at Daenerys. He hadn't expected his friend to be so much louder than usual, which was a mean feat in itself. Mance Rayder was the last to enter, walking at his own pace and looking at the others warily. It wasn't a group he had been with a lot but had chosen this rather than a lonely drink in the dark. Giantsbane gasped as he noticed Daenerys there, his already lax inhibitions altogether disappearing due to the amount of alcohol he had consumed.

"It's the dragon queen!" he exclaimed, causing Jon to wince.

"I know, I know," Snow replied, trying to calm him down a bit. "Why don't you go sit by the fire in the corner?" He tried directing the larger man but Tormund wasn't having any of it.

"Don't you understand? She rides a fucking dragon! A dragon! Breathes fire! In comparison, what have we ever done? Have you ever ridden a dragon?" He poked Jon roughly in the chest. His eyes went wide as Jon looked away. "You've ridden a dragon? Truly? I never thought you'd have it in you, ya great big pansy!" He got Jon by the neck and rubbed his hair with his knuckles, again looking at Daenerys. "Can I ride one?"

"I'm sure that once this all over, we'll be able to find the time to make that happen," she answered with a smile. His entrance had been the thing they needed to lighten the mood. He smiled brightly, bearing his oddly coloured teeth, whilst raising his horn filled with drink.

"To the dragon queen!" he bellowed before taking another swig. The atmosphere had improved within the room and they were able to speak freely about their time together. Daenerys recalled the story of the first time she had met Jorah and how she still kept the books he had given her as a greeting gift. On the subject of books, Davos had swallowed his pride and had told them about how Shireen had stubbornly taught him how to read. That had prompted Bruda to squeeze his cheek fondly as if he were a child - Davos' response would have greatly upset the child he was so fond of. Despite that, the sailor raised his glass in the air.

"A toast! To all of us," he began. "For making it this far. For overcoming salty seas, desolate sand and frozen tundras. Only to be stuck here." A few laughs came at his comment. "But, to be truthful, if I am to go tomorrow, which is likely with my lack of any fighting skill, I am glad that I can share this moment with you. It's a pleasure to know that I have finally found my place in this world, even if it came too late for me to fully appreciate it." There was a chorus of agreement and similar sentiments as they all took a sip of their drinks, even Melisandre, who Bruda had coerced into trying some for the first time. Daenerys, now wearing a smile, glanced over at her warlock.

"Go on then, Bruda. We've been sharing stories. Surely you have an interesting tale from your past that will entertain us?" He paused and dramatically stroked his beard as he thought before eventually deciding on a story.

"I don't think I've ever told you of how I earnt the right to court Isabella all those years ago. I was, of course, a young man and barely had a penny to my name. Her father was a brutish old thug and was rightly protective of his only daughter. I went to ask him but, because I had no money, he feared I wouldn't be able to care for her. So I proposed to him that, if I could guess his grandmother's maiden name just from his first name, I'd be able to pursue Isabella. I rattled on about how names hold our past, even if we don't remember all the time. For some reason, he agreed, probably because people at the time were fascinated with the mystical elements of life. But, what he didn't realise was that I had already been speaking to Isabella quite frequently because I'm a scoundrel and she had told me what the name was. So, hey presto, I amaze him with my apparent magical skills and I get to freely see the love of my life. Without having to use actual magic." There were smiles all around and a few chuckles, apart from Daenerys, whose smile had fallen at his story. Bruda had told her to think back on their conversations and his tale had brought back one to the forefront of her mind.

"All I'll say for now is that names are interesting things. If we look deep enough, they can reveal the truth about a person. I hope you remember that because it will make it easier for you in the future to accept what is to come." She looked carefully at Bruda, who noted her unease.

"What is it Daenerys? The story isn't supposed to make you sad."

"Does your name mean anything?" she asked. The rest of them went quiet at the question. She expected him to frown in confusion but he just smirked sadly.

"Yes."

"What does it mean?" He stood up and she half expected him to leave the room instead of answering the question but he just slowly paced across the floor.

"It can have different interpretations. Depending on the place you ask. Some see it as the hope of new beginnings, the promise that things will eventually get better. Yet others view it only as darkness. The encroaching cold that eventually embraces us all. Death."

"Bruda, what does your name mean?" she repeated, more urgency in her voice. He turned to look at Jon.

"The message became confused. Spread from person to person, the meaning became forgotten. People just saw it as a general warning and not what it literally entailed. Your family, your father, always told you that I'd come one day. You all just forgot that the motto could mean a person. So many people foretold of my arrival without even knowing they were doing so."

"Bruda," she said, tears in her eyes, just wanting him to say it. "Your name. It means…"

"Winter." He turned towards the door, his staff glowing blue in his hand. "And those creatures that decide to walk amongst us should be very worried and afraid that Winter has arrived."