Chapter 7 – Fire and Blood
"All hands on deck!"
The bright sunrays hit my face as I climbed onto the deck of the ship. Our captain has been screaming out orders ever since we've spotted the supply ship. We've been chasing after it with a fleet of twenty Greyjoy longships as soon as the queen gave the order. Without food, the Dragon Queen and her army will not survive the winter and perhaps this war will end with less bloodshed than needed.
Many of my fellow countrymen seek glory in this war as a way to honor the Drowned God. They want to reestablish the Iron Islands as an independent country and go back to practicing the Old Ways. I'm more pragmatic; I say fuck the Old Ways. Over the past couple hundred years, the Ironborn have been put down by the Targaryens for our practices, and by the Baratheons and Starks for trying to go back to it.
There seems to be a misguided sense of honor in raiding and pillaging with the Ironborn. In my opinion, all it does is piss people off. Piss enough people off and you have six kingdoms united against you, fighting a war where you are outnumbered ten to one. On top of that, what's so great about an independent country? Our home is a pile of rocks covered in bird shit and filled with hideously unattractive people. I reckon our bloodlines would improve a bit if we ate more than just fish every day. Eat enough fish and you start looking like them.
During the War of the Five Kings, I heard a rumor that Robb Stark offered Balon Greyjoy Casterly Rock for siding with him. I guess if you eat enough fish you start thinking like one as well. 'We do not sow,' the Greyjoys said. No shit you don't sow, there's no fertile lands on the Iron Islands! Instead of getting Casterly Rock, we went to 'conquer' acres of cold, useless tundra and when the war ended, we gave it all back. Now, we have Euron Greyjoy, the lunatic that cuts out the tongues of his crew members, leading us in a war against dragons. How can anyone follow the Drowned God if he deems this person as a fitting king?
"Come with me and take these ships!" said the captain to the rest of us as he raised his ax. "What is dead may never die!"
"What is dead may never die!"
My heart rate sped up as we slowly closed the distance between our longships and the supply ships. I was too young to fight during the War of the Five Kings but now there was no avoiding it at ten and six. I don't want to die, not when I haven't even truly lived my life yet. My hands felt clammy around my sword as adrenaline pumped through my veins. The fighting hadn't even started yet and I'm sweating like a damned pig under this sun.
Beyond the sound of the waves we rode and the war cries around me, the sound of my own breathing felt the loudest in my ears. But then I heard it. The bone-chilling cry of a creature I have never heard before coming from above. I wasn't the only one; the men around me all fell silent and turned to look up at the sky. The sunlight was so bright that I had to put my hands up to shield my eyes. There was nothing there except for the bright sun, clouds and birds. But my heart dropped as the shadow of the birds grew larger and larger.
"Drowned God save us," whispered one of the men beside me.
"L-Load up the Scorpions! Quickly!" said the captain as he snapped out of his trance.
The rest of crew moved into action as they loaded up the giant bolts onto the ballista, but I was rooted to where I stood. As the dragons approached and their cries rang louder, I felt only despair. "Fire!"
A dozen bolts were fired, and I prayed to all the gods I knew for them to hit. But the dragons folded their wings and took a nosedive, avoiding all of them. The speed they approached at was terrifying, leaving no time for a second round of Scorpion bolts. Now that they were right in front of us, I could see the sheer size of these creatures. Their maws large enough to devour a mammoth whole and wings so wide they could cover the sky. The next thing I knew, they had flown past us whilst unleashing an inferno upon the ship beside us, instantly turning it to cinders. The force of the blast shook the sea beneath us as I felt the heat wave from the dragonfire on my face. A ship that had taken months to build had been reduced to a pyre in the blink of an eye. That was when I knew, there was no use in praying, we never stood a chance.
"Turn around!" yelled the captain.
"They're too fast!"
I watched as the dragons ascended back into the sky, out of the reach of the Scorpions, and began to circle back. Strafe after strafe, the dragons decimated our ships without challenge. When we tried to focus the black one, the green one would swoop down and rain fire on us. When we tried to focus the green one, a firestorm would come from another direction. This wasn't a battle, this was a massacre.
The inhuman cries of burning men filled the air along with the salt of the burning sea and the thick smoke of our burning ships. Everywhere I looked there were men on fire, desperately trying to put it out as their skin melted off of their bodies. What was beneath our skin did not look human and there was nothing glorious about the way their bodies writhed in agony. It felt like I was in hell as the two dragons descended and hovered over our ship who was the last standing. I looked at the two people riding these fearsome beasts and wondered what the Drowned God could possibly do to them. No, these were true gods; unstoppable and all-powerful.
"Mercy," I said as I fell to my knees.
"Hear me and obey!" said the silver-haired dragonrider. "Sail back to King's Landing and tell the Oathbreaker, Cersei Lannister, what happened here. Tell her what happens to Oathbreakers." With that said, the two dragons flew back the way they came from and I was finally able to let go of the breath I didn't know I was holding. It seemed like these gods were different from the other ones I knew, they weren't deaf to the pleas of mere mortals.
"How do they feel about their new queen?" asked Jaime as he walked with Tyrion in Winterfell's courtyard.
"She's your new queen too," said Tyrion. "They remember what happened the last time Targaryens brought dragons North. They'll come around when they see Daenerys is different."
"And she is different," said Jaime, his voice making it sound more like a question than a statement.
"She is."
"You're sure about her?"
"She didn't kill you despite your…history with her family." Tyrion then stopped in his tracks. "Last I spoke with our sister, she told me she was pregnant. Was she lying about the baby too?"
"No, that part is real," said Jaime with a hint of sadness. "She has always been good at using the truth to tell lies. She's had me fooled all the way till now."
Tyrion smiled at his brother. "You always knew exactly what she was, and you loved her anyway. Us two seem to share this trait; you with Cersei and I with whores."
"Tyrion…" Jaime considered if he should tell Tyrion the truth about Tysha. It was his last and biggest sin that weighed on his soul. He had wanted to do so when he freed him back in King's Landing, but he had lacked the courage. He wanted to tell his brother that there was someone that had loved him, but at the same time, he was afraid of losing his brother. He could live with being hated by Brandon Stark and Daenerys Targaryen, but he could not live with being hated by Tyrion.
Before he could continue, Sansa Stark accompanied by Brienne of Tarth approached them. "My Lord, Ser Jaime," she greeted them with a brief and polite curtesy. "May I have a word?" she asked as she looked to Tyrion.
The two brothers exchanged a look to which Tyrion responded with a shrug, signaling he had no idea what this was about. "Well, if you are going to borrow my brother, then you wouldn't mind if I borrowed your bodyguard, would you Lady Stark?"
It was the ladies' turn this time to exchange a look before Sansa gave a nod of approval. Jaime and Brienne remained in the courtyard while Sansa and Tyrion climbed up the rampart for their conversation. There was a brief moment of silence as the two of them were left alone, until Jaime finally broke the silence. "I wanted to thank you for speaking for me at the trial. I would be a pile of charred bones right now if you hadn't."
"A knight should have his full character be judged, not only his flaws," said Brienne as she looked away. "Last I saw you at the Dragonpit, you seemed adamant about following your sister's commands."
"You were right," said Jaime which caused Brienne to turn and face him. "This goes beyond houses, honor and oaths. But Cersei couldn't see that."
"I see. Well, I'm glad we are not facing each other across a battlefield."
"Aye, and if you are feeling generous…" Brienne looked at him skeptically as if trying to see what sort of trickery this was. "I'm not the warrior that I was before, but you're the one that helped me see a side of myself that I couldn't and show me the conduct of a knight I didn't believe was possible. I would be honored to serve under your command in the upcoming battle."
"The honor would be mine, Ser Jaime."
"How may I help you, My Lady?" asked Tyrion as the two of them got onto the rampart.
"There's something I wanted to get your opinion on," said Sansa hesitantly.
"I am at your service."
"I'm thinking of sending some of the smallfolk south. When the dead attacks, there will be nowhere to hide here in Winterfell, and it would also help alleviate some of the food needs."
"I suppose the crypt won't be very safe with our enemy being able to raise the dead…" After thinking it over for some time, Tyrion nodded to himself. "Yes, housing an unending number of refugees here will become unsustainable fast. We can keep the able-bodied men and women here to continue working on the fortifications and if the fighting comes within these walls, which, by the gods, I hope will not come to that, then they can contribute somewhat as well."
Despite his approval, Sansa looked even more distressed than when she approached him. "What's wrong? These are wise decisions that you are proposing."
"It just feels…wrong. My father used to say that a lord's job was to protect its people. Instead of protecting them, I'm shutting the gate on them. I feel like I'm-"
"Cersei," said Tyrion as he finished her sentence.
"Yeah," said Sansa as she looked to the people outside of Winterfell's walls.
"Sansa," said Tyrion as she caught her gaze, "taking care of your people is important, but you know that the world is not so black and white. Sometimes, being a leader and a ruler means making hard decisions. Take your brother, Jon, for example, he opened the gates to the Wildlings but in return, he was stabbed in the heart by his brothers at the Night's Watch. Sometimes the right decisions are not liked by everyone."
"And how would I know if I'm making the right decision?"
"By seeking the council of people you trust, as you are doing now. A wise man once said, 'No man is so wise that he can afford to wholly ignore the advice of others.'"
A small smile graced her lips as she narrowed her eyes on Tyrion. "Which wise man said this?"
"Me, just now," said Tyrion as he smiled back.
Bran sat alone by the fireplace as he was submerged in his visions. Bits and pieces of the future, present and past mixing together to tell the stories of different books. He still wasn't as powerful as the last Three-Eyed Raven, there was still so much he hasn't seen yet. He needed to be selective and pick the knowledge that would help them in the wars to come. Perhaps the answer to a question he's had may be what they need. Why was the Night King staying at the Nightfort?
The Nightfort is one of the oldest and largest among the 19 castles that line the Wall. It was likely the first major stronghold of the Night's Watch after its founding, which according to myth was almost eight thousand years ago.
Many dark and horrific tales took place inside its keep, counting the infamous Rat Cook and the 79 Sentinels among them. Most of these stories were told as bedtime stories to scare the children but one of these stories, despite being the most ancient, has been passed on generations after generations. The legend of the Night's King, the 13th Lord Commander in the early years of the Watch who declared himself king of the Wall after falling in love with a White Walker.
It was said that the Night's King and his queen performed dark sacrifices to the White Walkers until they were defeated by the King of the North, Brandon the Breaker, and the King-Beyond-the-Wall, Joramun. Following his defeat, the Night's King's name was cursed and erased from all records of history.
Bran's eyes rolled back as he channeled the powers of the Old Gods that was within him. When he reopened his eyes, he was seeing from the eyes of a raven flying above the castle in question. Suddenly, he felt a dark power begin to pull his consciousness into the fort. He tried to go back to his body, but the force was too strong as he felt himself falling into the sinkhole. This time when he reopened his eyes, he was sitting at the lord's table of a great hall. A hall that was far grander than the one in Winterfell with hundreds of men cloaked all in black standing in line with their hands on their weapons. They all faced the entrance of the hall as if expecting an attack at any moment.
This vision was different from the ones he usually had. He wasn't simply observing but he felt like he was participating. Not that he had any control of his action, however. His hand moved on its own accord as it went to clutch the sigil that was sown on his cloak, the Stark sigil of Winterfell.
Suddenly, the candles of the chandeliers that hung the ceilings of the great hall went out and a cold wind blew through the room causing even those wrapped in furs to shiver. Frost began to creep through underneath the entrance of the hall. The double-door made out of steel and wood froze over and threatened to shatter. Finally, the doors swung open as two White Walkers emerged. Brandon's heart began to beat wildly yet his body refused to move according to his will. The other humans in the room also did not draw their weapons, although he could see that most of them were shaken by the sight of the Others.
The two White Walkers scanned the room for a long moment before opening their mouth and making a sound that mirrored the cracking of ice on a winter lake. Then he appeared. The Night King in all his glory as he led a female White Walker by the hand. When she looked up, her starlight blue eyes met his and Brandon thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her skin was milky white, and her hair was pale as snow, yet he couldn't help but think of her as beautiful and elegant, yet strange and dangerous at the same time. Her dress shifted in color with every step she took and reflected the image of the room around her like a clear, still pond.
When he blinked, it was all gone, and the scene changed once more. He was back to being a spectator and regained control over his movement. He saw a man wearing a cloak with a Stark sigil bleeding out on the ground, a crown by his head and his hand outstretched, reaching for something that was out of grasp. He followed the man's gaze and saw a grizzly man impale the White Walker woman with his two-handed sword. Pale blue blood flowed out of her abdomen and the blue starlight in her eyes slowly faded to nothing. Stark and Wildling men around cheered as the grizzly man cut her head off and held it up for all to see.
While everyone was focused on the gruesome scene in front, Bran felt a cold gaze behind him within the forest. When he turned around, he once again saw him. The Night King's anger burned cold and the trees around him froze into popsicles that shattered into a million pieces. He opened his mouth and the sound of the raging winds of winter came out but behind all the anger, Bran could hear the agony within his 'voice'.
The snowstorm engulfed them all and Bran was once again in the great hall that he sat in before but this time he stood at the center of it. White Walkers lined the hall as the men in black did before and the Night King sat at the lord's table on a throne made of ice. He made no move to attack Bran as he had done last time, he simply sat on his throne with his head resting on his left hand and examined him.
"What do you want?" asked Bran as he met his cold gaze. The Night King remained silent as he gave no answer to his question. "Who are you?" At that, the Night King smiled and with a simple wave of a hand, a white mist obscured Bran's vision and he was back in his wheelchair at Winterfell.
"Bran?" asked Arya as she walked into the room. She quickly ran to her brother and covered him with her cloak. Not only was the fire she started for him put out, but her brother was covered in frost. Beneath his wheelchair, a spiral symbol etched into the floor in ice.
Within the Nightfort, at the head of the great hall atop a frozen throne, the Night King's eyes open.
"No man is so wise that he can afford to wholly ignore the advice of others." -James Lendall Basford (1845-1915), Sparks from the Philosopher's Stone, 1882