The people of King's Landing were becoming increasingly impatient with their young king. And his council members were fully aware of the growing problem. The issue was that Tommen, over the recent weeks and months, had grown very paranoid over the threat of the two people who had the potential of toppling his reign seemingly joining together in the North. What had made his mood worsen was the lack of any movement on their behalf. From all accounts, they were still holed up in Winterfell. Doing...nothing. That couldn't be the case. That couldn't possibly be the case. It wouldn't make sense. He had expected them to be at the city walls weeks ago. Yet nothing had come into the city for quite a while. In fact, many of the citizens were opting to move out of their homes and travel away from the capital due to the degrading quality of life. His councillors had attempted to bring this up in meetings but he wouldn't listen. He didn't care about the commoners. Not when his safety was on the line. This was his moment, after living in the shadow of his family members. He wasn't going to lose it, especially to his treacherous uncle and a young girl.
Tommen had even stopped allowing the peasants that remained a chance to voice their grievances in the main hall of the Red Keep. That troubled Margaery the most. She'd previously used her political standing to acknowledge the needs of the lower class and so, therefore, knew how quickly grumblings could turn into dangerous revolts. If he carried on down this route, it wouldn't matter if Daenerys Targaryen flew over on one of her dragons within the day. He'd have long been dragged through the streets because of his behaviour. Margaery had constantly tried to nonchalantly slip it into conversation when they were going to bed. He wasn't appreciating the power and force the people had. He was just like his mother in that sense. But he'd quickly go to sleep, not even giving her a chaste kiss to keep the facade of their love going. Any affection he had had for her was now gone. So much so that, over the past couple of days, he had suggested that she should bed in another room. He said it was so that, if an attack happened, their forces would have to find two targets instead of one. She knew that was born out of no consideration for her safety.
The only acknowledgement of their concerns he had shown was instructing the High Sparrow to order the more militant members of the Faith to wander the streets and monitor any people who whispered ill of him. The easiest way of quelling an uprising was rooting it out from its source, he had argued, with a mad glint in his eyes. The only issue there was that it added to the overall miserable attitude across the city, prompting more people to become frustrated at his actions, leading to more chance of a revolt. When Olenna had sagely pointed this out, he had quickly rebutted her worries, claiming that, if that were the case, he would simply have the Kingsguard join the Faith in their patrols. The public wouldn't dare challenge a knight in armour. She had pretended to contemplate his proposal, making him think that he had won her over. But then she had stood up from her seat, bowed her head at Margaery and not Tommen, and left the council room. She had subsequently left King's Landing, presumably travelling back to Highgarden. She hadn't even bid farewell to her granddaughter, her departure was so haste. It left Margaery feeling the weakest she had ever felt whilst married to Tommen. She'd always been able to have a sway over him, especially with Olenna's helpful advice, but that power had vanished along with any sane thoughts he used to have.
It left her not only lacking in a mentor figure to help her through the difficult political landscape, but she was also now without any close allies in the capital. Tommen certainly showed her no interest. Kevan Lannister didn't remotely have a strong enough backbone to vocally question the king. Mace Tyrell, her father, barely showed his face in the capital and wouldn't dream of challenging the boy who controlled him. And the High Sparrow was only concerned with his Faith. As long as Tommen didn't question their presence, the Sparrow wouldn't question his policies and overall mindset.
It was in one of these council meetings that Margaery currently found herself in. It was noticeably low on numbers, as it usually was nowadays. Tommen occupied his usual seat at the head of the table. She sat by his side, opposite Kevan. The High Sparrow was absent, which was a frequent occurrence. He spent most of his time in the Great Sept of Baelor.
"What do you think they're doing?" Tommen asked in a low mutter. Margaery wished she could roll her eyes or sigh loudly but she kept a straight face as she'd learnt to do. "They must be planning something large in an attempt to topple me." As ever, Kevan was quick to assuage his worries.
"From my experience, Targaryens are notoriously hot-tempered and quick to lose their temper. Your uncle is exactly the same, or even worse, although he is better at hiding it. It is a toxic relationship and one that won't stay firm long enough to trouble you. You have no reason to worry about them."
"And if they do launch an attack?"
"Then we have enough men to crush them, your Grace."
"What do you think, my love?" His use of the term of endearment caught her off guard. Maybe he was in a good enough mood for her to propose some new ideas.
"You are the king. That sets the precedent that you are protected enough to be able to stop any attack."
"I don't want to be the king that fights, not the one who hides behind his army." He'd die if he fought in a war, she thought.
"Maybe you would be stronger if people were happier in the streets." Tommen's fairly positive demeanour vanishes.
"Those peasants should be happy enough that I let them live here."
"But…"
"No!" he shouted. "I have told you before that I will not waste my time or resources in helping those...scum. They don't deserve it. And if you continue to fail to see that, maybe you shouldn't be in this room." She wanted to scream at him. Shout at him. Instead, she just stood up and walked out of the room.
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"You...you can bring him back?" Daenerys' voice was shaky due to the emotional implications that arose with what Melsiandre had said. When she had seen the Red Woman in her room, her sadness had boiled into rage, distraught at the injustice of Bruda's death. That anger had fueled her subsequent actions, so much so that she now barely remembered picking up Jorah's sword. She'd acted in a haze, her body moving impulsively. Her hands shook slightly, her grip on the sword becoming looser as she took in Melisandre's words. Surely she wouldn't say such a thing without good reason. If she was doing this just to save herself...Daenerys didn't know if she would be able to control herself if that was the case.
"I presume you have already figured out he knew what his fate was. That he had to die for the Night King to have the same fate." She and Jorah nodded. "He practically confirmed it to me in a...conversation we shared." Daenerys frowned, not too happy that the warlock had seemingly grown close to this woman. She wanted to be his closest female friend. It was incredibly petty of her but she didn't care.
"So he knew it was going to happen," Jorah said. "Will that help with bringing him back?"
"You were his closest allies. You know better than anyone else in the kingdom how intelligent he was. How he always had a trick up his sleeve." She wandered back over to the table, picking up the metal brooch again. Daenerys became defensive again, not wanting anyone else to have access to it. Jorah, seeing her shift towards the other woman, put a hand on one of her shoulders to stop her. "Tell me, if Bruda knew he had to die and couldn't figure out any way of preventing that event, what would be his next step?"
"He'd find a way to bring himself back."
"Exactly. But he couldn't tell us about this because then we'd stop his sacrifice in the first place." Daenerys knew that was true, trying not to feel the blush creeping up her neck. "Yet he needed us to know about his plan. A conundrum if there ever was one. That would never stop him though. He left clues behind. I can't possibly imagine how much planning went into each sentence he uttered to us all."
"Are you saying that you're unable to bring him back using the normal methods?" Daenerys asked, unsure whether any of this was normal. "The Lord of Light has brought back people before on the behest of his followers. Why can't you just do that?"
"It's more complicated when the person in question has magical abilities. Even with a low-level user, such as myself, bringing them back would likely leave them without any of their original powers. Bruda had more power than anyone I've ever seen. Basic magic would not be able to replicate such a strong magical imprint."
"You said he left clues," Jorah prompted.
"He told me that objects, when close to a person with magical abilities, can bind themselves to the wearer after a certain amount of time." She looked back down at the badge. "This fits that description."
"So perform the ceremony with it now then," Daenerys said urgently, not wanting to waste any time.
"There is still not enough magic in it. He only had it a short time. We require something that held his energy for a long time." Daenerys' eyes widened.
"His staff!" she exclaimed with exuberance.
"We couldn't find it, remember," Jorah interrupted sadly. She deflated immediately.
"I think he expected that. Which is why he took a precaution." Melisandre eyed the sword that was in Daenerys' hands.
"It's forged from Valyrian steel from his staff," she realised. The Red Woman unclasped the necklace from around her neck.
"Clues for us all. The badge for you, Daenerys. The sword for you, Ser Mormont. And this...a gem containing the pure essence of his magic. So much in fact that it protected me from Stannis just before." That took them by surprise but thought it wasn't the time to discuss what had happened.
"We can actually do this," Daenerys whispered, the first smile in days lighting up her face.
"There's one last thing. Necromancy, in any form, is a very particular form of magic. It requires certain criteria. This sort of resurrection, if it can even be termed as such, is dependent on something called a Vita Quaternity. To bring him back, we need four objects connected to him. Bruda will have known that. So far, we have three. I can't think of who else he'd trust enough to hide one of these with." Jorah and Daenerys looked at each other for a moment.
"Davos," they said in unison.
"I'm on it," Jorah followed up, walking out of the room as he searched for the final piece of the puzzle. That left Daenerys alone with Melisandre. She was still wary of her, not willing to trust her fully until she came through with this promise.
"I know how much you cared for him," Melisandre said to break the silence. "Just know that I cared for him too...eventually. Maybe when it was too late. Maybe just in time. Not as much as you. I don't think anyone felt as strongly as you towards him."
"You're right. I was closer to him than you," Daenerys replied icily, even though her heart wasn't in it. "Sorry. I shouldn't be treating you like that. It's just been...difficult."
"You have no reason to trust me yet. I understand."
"Maybe I should. Bruda apparently trusted you before he died."
"For all I know, he thought I was the only one who had the ability to do all this. I doubt it was done out of trust or anything like that. More out of necessity." Daenerys walked up to her and awkwardly placed a hand on the other woman's cheek.
"Bruda wasn't...isn't that sort of person." Melisandre smiled softly.
"Which is why we have to try and bring him back."
"Which is why we will bring him back." The two shared a smile, the first time Daenerys had been comfortable with her. It felt nice to be able to do so.
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Jon found Tormund drinking by the large fire in the main hall of Winterfell. He was perched on one of the long tables, one foot on the bench, the other planted on the floor as he looked out the window forlornly. Ghost was curled up into a furry, white ball, enjoying the pleasant heat of the roaring fire. It was one of the few places in the castle that managed to create a semblance of warmth. Yet Jon didn't think the wildling was bothered about that; the amount of beer he had obviously consumed was probably warming him up from the outside. He didn't like seeing Tormund in the state he was, so far from his usual exuberant self. Mance's death was eating away at him. It was doing the same to Jon but the effect was dampened, especially compared to the other man who had known him for a much longer time. The atmosphere across Winterfell was a strange one. There was an air of happiness because they'd won but an overwhelming tinge of sadness with the thought of all those people who had died. The mass funeral ceremony had been difficult for many people, especially Tormund. Jon had expected him to be hiding somewhere. It had taken a few tries before stumbling across him.
"You can't possibly drink all your sorrows away," Jon said, bringing down his hood as he came in from the cold, rubbing his hands together to make them start feeling again.
"I can do what the fuck I like," Tormund replied briskly without even turning his head to face the new arrival. Ghost had partially lifted his head in curiosity but had quickly gone back to his previous position.
"I couldn't try and stop you even if I truly wanted to," he admitted, taking a seat on the bench opposite the table Tormund was sitting on. Jon took his gloves off and held his hands out to the fire.
"At least you understand something for once." Jon was willing to forgive him for the insult for a change.
"I may as well join you if that's okay?"
"You can do what you want. You're a grown man, even if you're a lot smaller than the ones I know." Maybe he'd let that insult slide too. He was feeling generous. Yet, despite his tone, he produced another cup and poured a quick splash of amber liquid into it before passing it over to Jon. They both held their cups up in the air, sharing a silent moment in memory of the fallen wildling king. Tormund downed his drink quickly before moving onto another one soon after. Jon made sure to take his time. He wasn't as accustomed to the burn of alcohol as his friend.
"It feels strange that the war is actually over," he admitted. Tormund grunted.
"All my life, I've been told the truth about the Others. We were always heading to this, no matter what the sceptics said. I knew my place. Bred to fight two enemies. The likes of them. And the likes of you." He stared for a moment at Jon, unnerving him. He was worried that he actually would attack him since he was under the influence and already a fairly crazed man. He then started laughing, a loud roar that surprised Jon, causing him to nearly drop his drink to the floor. "I've seen you with a sword. I may be bigger, and stronger, and mightier...but I'm also smart enough to not challenge you in a fight."
Jon allowed a slow breath to be let out as he chuckled slightly. "Well, I'm glad about that."
"And you're basically a brother to me now." He said it quietly, as if he was ashamed. Tormund looked away, staring once again out of the window. Jon knew he wouldn't want a big deal to be made out of it so didn't say anything. He just allowed a small smile to grow on his face.
"What are your plans now?" he asked instead. Tormund looked at him again, taking another swig.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's like you said. All your life led up to this battle and it's now over. Do you know what the wildlings are planning on doing?" Tormund just huffed.
"Mance would have sorted that all out in the past." He shook his head. "You have no idea how difficult it is to get those people to do anything together. It was the main skill Rayder had."
"I don't think you'll be able to stay here. Stannis is the sort to use you for his own end and then get rid of you. In his eyes, you've finished your job."
"Yet he'll be leaving Winterfell. Trying to win that Throne you people are always talking about. This place is your home once he goes."
"Not necessarily. Bran has the better claim to it. I'm not a proper Stark. I never have been."
"Then what are your plans then?" Tormund eyed him curiously.
"I...don't know." The question flummoxed Jon, which surprised him. He hadn't given it any thought so far. "I might go with Daenerys to King's Landing. She helped us so it's only fair that I help her."
"What if she loses out to Stannis? Are you willing to serve him as much as her?" Jon stayed quiet, internally knowing the answer to that question. Tormund knew too what the silence meant. "Exactly. So why not avoid the risk?"
"Is that at all possible?"
"With Mance gone, there's a hole gaping for our people. I'm no leader. But, from what I've seen, you are." He stood up, stroking Ghost as he got up, and headed for the door. Jon sat thinking. "You've got some decisions to make, Snow."
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Melisandre and Daenerys stood just outside the gates of Winterfell, trying unsuccessfully to fight the cold wind. Daenerys was clad in a thick white coat with a metal chain draped over her chest whilst the Red Woman was wearing her usual long and wavy crimson dress, which was blowing wildly around her. She'd chosen to do this away from the main courtyard where most people would be just in case something went wrong. That possibility had unnerved Daenerys, not only because she had quietly grown to be more confident about their prospects of success but also because it brought home the fact that what they were doing could be extremely dangerous. They had just gotten through a war - it would be ironic for them to subsequently perish in a magical accident. Melisandre had spoken to her about how, because Bruda's magic was so strong and potent, the chances of something going wrong were more numerous. Again, it had done nothing to quell her fears.
They turned around as they heard footsteps approaching them from behind. Jorah was leading a confused Davos away from the castle grounds and they could hear the latter's constant complaints from where they were. The knight had found Davos in his small room, about to drink from a glass of whiskey in memory of the warlock. He had simply asked him whether he had anything in his possession that Bruda could have possibly left as a key to his return. Davos had immediately wanted to ask a number of questions but Jorah had told him there was little time for his queries. They had proceeded to look around his room, not finding anything that fit the criteria until Davos stumbled across the dragon that Shireen had left behind for him. When he had told Jorah that Bruda had spoken to the young girl before her departure, the old bear had figured that it must be the small sculpture that had a role to play. They hadn't been totally sure but it was the best idea they had.
"Can someone please explain to me what is going on?" Davos shouted as they neared the two women. He grew anxious when he saw Melisandre, remembering what awful things she was capable of. What had she promised these two? They ignored his question, focusing instead on Jorah.
"Did you find it?" Melisandre said with a neutral tone. Jorah produced the small wooden dragon figurine from one of his pockets, handing it over to the Red Woman. Daenerys observed it carefully as the other woman turned it over in her hands.
"We think this is the only possibility," he responded. The inclusion of the word 'think' concerned Daenerys. She could tell he wasn't totally sure.
"But if Bruda interacted with it...surely it has to be," Daenerys said, looking over at Davos for confirmation.
"I made it for Shireen. He had no role to play in its creation. All I know is that he talked to her and she gave me this as a result of that conversation."
"Bruda didn't need the objects to be made by himself," Melisandre pointed out. She ran her hand over the wooden toy. A small golden tendril of energy appeared, as if it was fire coming out from the dragon's mouth. Daenerys leaned closer to look at it, reaching her hand to allow the energy to pass over it. "Look. Just a touch of magic. Nothing more than a hint. Barely a whisper. It was done just to complete the quaternity. The major force behind it will be the sword."
"Sword?" Davos asked, perplexed. "I will ask again - what are you lot planning?" Daenerys turned to him with pleading eyes.
"We think it's possible to bring him back."
"Who? Bruda?" Davos sounded extremely sceptical.
Daenerys nodded. "He left hints of his magic behind before he...died. It might be possible to use them to anchor him back to reality." Davis squinted his eyes at Melisandre who observed him with a cool expression.
"And I'm sure it was her who told you all this." He snatched back the figurine, causing Daenerys to look at him in alarm. "You have not seen what she can do. I've witnessed the horrors she's been apart of. What if she's just using you? Using this supposed magic to make herself stronger. Bruda may have just left this magic behind by accident."
"Davos," she whimpered.
"No. Let's give her the benefit of the doubt. I'll be that generous. Maybe she's telling the truth and maybe she's able to bring him back. But what if he comes back as a changed man? A darker person. You know how powerful he was. If he turned against us, we would stand no chance. Is it worth the risk?"
"I...I couldn't live with myself if there was a chance and I didn't take it."
"Okay. More importantly, do you trust her?" They both looked at Melisandre, who was facing the ground. Jorah was standing there, watching this all play out. Daenerys tentatively nodded her head.
"Bruda did. That's good enough for me." She continued to look at him as he stared at her. He eventually relented, handing her the dragon. "Thank you, Ser Davos." He said nothing, taking a step back. Daenerys passed the figurine to Melisandre who gave her a small smile. She turned to the ground in front of them, where the other objects were already arranged in the snow. She knelt down and placed the dragon to complete the pattern, each object making up one point of a diamond shape. Melisandre took a nervous step back, looking at the others.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"How does this process work?" Jorah asked, speaking for the first time in a while.
"I've got to do what he said. Believe in my own powers and capabilities." She stepped closer to the diamond but didn't go into it. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, holding her hands up so her palms were facing in the direction of the objects. The others stood and watched. For the first few moments, nothing happened. But then, suddenly, Melisandre's hands began to glow the familiar golden colour that signified Bruda's magic. They grew brighter until wisps of energy were flowing around her fingers. They darted to the objects, connecting her to them. The golden energy began to surround them on the ground. The wind around them picked up, blowing their hair about even more. The snow that was covering the wet grass became wild, an excited energy building up. Melisandre continued to focus. Her hands trembled under the pressure. The air was electrified, sparks coming out of nowhere. Then golden lines grew from each object and connected to each one, forming an intricate design within the diamond. The energy became focused there, the wind and snow seemingly being drawn into. It all coalesced into a crazed swirl of golden and white energy, spinning around viciously right in front of the red priestess. It built and built, growing in size. The others had to shield their eyes from the brightness but it didn't last long as it soon broke apart, sending an impulse of energy shooting out in all directions. It passed through all of them, giving them a warm feeling inside. The wind stopped, the snow fell to the ground, and Melisandre brought her hands down. The golden light slowly faded and they looked eagerly to where the objects had been. They were no longer there. The diamond had vanished, leaving burn marks on the ground. A figure was standing there, motionless.
Bruda. Daenerys covered her mouth in shock. Melisandre wore a surprised expression even though she had been the one to do it. Davos and Jorah shared a worried look. Bruda's eyes were closed as he stood there. Daenerys noted that he looked almost...younger. It was definitely him. Still the same wrinkles and crazy hair and beard. But he seemed healthier, a contentedness washed over his face. His old cloak, patched up in so many places, was now gone, replaced by a newer, brown version. His staff was somehow in his right hand, a blew glow gently coalescing around the tip. They all stared at him, waiting for something to happen.
He opened his eyes.