A/N: Sorry that it's been almost three weeks since my last update. Good news is I have Chapter 7 completely written and it just needs to be edited, so that will be up within the next two weeks.

If you're enjoying this story, please consider leaving a review. Your feedback really inspires me to keep writing and even if you only comment a few words, it means a lot.

Arya

It began to blizzard on their way to Karhold.

Snow was blowing into Arya's eyes and she had to bury her face into the fabric of her cloak, unable to see anything. Through the wind a hand reached out to gently touch her shoulder.

"Stick by me," Gendry whispered to her, and Arya was about to snap at him that she wasn't a child in need of his protection, when he continued. "You watch my back and I'll watch yours. That's the way it's always been, right?"

Her insides warmed at that. You'll be needing me more than I need you. She wanted to tease, but Arya could only nod stiffly, hoping he was able to see it, because snow was flying into her face and she couldn't speak.

When they landed on the ground at Karhold, the blizzard was continuing and Arya stumbled off of Rhaegal's back blindly – she couldn't see five feet in front of her. She hadn't thought the winter would be that difficult for her, since she was of the North and had seen snow many times before, but it had never been like this.

Jon led them through the storm and Arya could just make out a splash of red hair, coming to meet them. "Jon Snow!" bellowed a red-bearded man who had to be at least six feet tall. That had to be the Giantsbane.

"Tormund," Jon replied. "You have no idea how relieved I am to see you." Jon went to shake his hand but Tormund Giantsbane pulled him in for a bone-crushing hug, which literally swept Jon off his feet.

Arya couldn't hold back her laugh at the sight, but then the silhouette of another man became visible through the snow. "Nice to see you again, girl." She looked up just as Beric Dondarrion appeared before her, smiling as if they were old friends and he hadn't kidnapped her and sold Gendry for a profit.

Instinctively, Arya grabbed Gendry by the arm and pulled him closer to her. "Can't say the same to you." She told Beric.

He laughed. "Still holding a grudge, I see?" His eyes flitted to her hand on Gendry's arm. "The boy's forgiven me, and he's the one I sold."

"I never said I forgive you." Gendry snapped. "And I definitely don't trust you. But we're on the same side now, so we won't kill you either." He looked at Arya. "Right?"

"But – " Arya started to say. Beric was on her list and she couldn't deny that it would feel satisfying to glide her sword across his throat. He took Gendry from me. He deserves to die for that. But Gendry had told her about how Lord Beric had pledged to serve Jon, how Thoros of Myr had lost his life beyond the Wall, and she knew that her brother couldn't afford for her to start killing his allies. She still wanted to kill Beric, but for now she would refrain. "Fine." She couldn't promise what she would do after the war though…

Now Jon was back on his feet, and he turned to introduce Tormund and Lord Beric to everyone who had just arrived with him. "You remember Ser Davos, Gendry, and Lady Brienne, I'm sure." Tormund grinned at Brienne and Arya spotted her duck behind Davos and Gendry, which made Arya want to laugh. "Let me also introduce my sister, Arya Stark."

Arya forced a nod. "Pleasure." She said through gritted teeth, staring murderously at Lord Beric.

Jon hesitated when he came to the last two. "And these are Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and Ser Jaime Lannister."

"Lannister, eh?" Beric chuckled. "Never thought I'd see the day a Lannister fights for a Snow."

"Probably never thought you'd see the day at all," Jaime Lannister shot back. "Considering you've died what…five times now?"

"Six," Beric corrected. "And this is my last life, I'm afraid. Better make it count."

Tormund Giantsbane's eyes scanned the group and he looked at the hammer strapped to Gendry's back. "Made yourself a new one?"

"Had to," Gendry grumbled. "Because someone left my old one beyond the Wall."

"The Dog was right, you are a whinger." Tormund laughed, and then he smiled cheekily at Arya. "Seems you've got yourself a lady love too."

It was only then that Arya realized she was still holding onto Gendry's arm, and she dropped it quickly. If anyone called her out for blushing, she would deny it and say it was frostbite. "I'm no one's lady love."

"Well that's too bad." Tormund said. He elbowed Gendry in the ribs in a way that looked like it was supposed to be playful, but it made Gendry wince. "Warrior women make the best lovers. You want a girl who will keep you on your toes. Speaking of, where did the big lady go?" He wandered off without another word, searching for Brienne. Arya had a feeling Lady Brienne was going to be outrunning him today as much as the White Walkers.

They started to walk through the snow, which was now deep enough that it came up to Arya's mid-calf. She could barely walk and she knew this would give her a disadvantage in the fight. How could she be fast if she couldn't move?

Through the blizzard she could make out the form of Karhold in the distance. It was an old castle, small and mean-looking, with two towers perched on adjacent rocks rising out of the snowy forest below. "Your Grace!" Someone yelled, and Jorah Mormont was running towards them through the snow. "Karstark men have spotted the Army of the Dead in the distance!"

Immediately, Arya could see Jon's face drain of color. "Do they know where the Night King is?"

"Haven't seen him, but I suspect he's not far off."

Jon cursed. "I have to get on Rhaegal and see if I can find him. Davos, Gendry, go back with Ser Jorah and Lord Beric. You'll guard the North Tower, it's the first place the Army of the Dead will hit. Lady Brienne, Ser Jaime, Ser Bronn, you can go to the South Tower with Tormund to fend off possible attacks from the rear. Arya, I want you to go inside the castle and help evacuate – "

Arya frowned. "Why do I have to go inside the castle? I can go on the front lines with Davos and Gendry."

"That's dangerous. I won't be there to look out for you – "

"Your Grace," Gendry cut in. "She'll be safe with me. I'd defend Arya with my life, I promise." He smiled tentatively at her. "Not that she needs much of my protection…"

Jon hesitated, looking from one of them to the other. Arya raised an eyebrow at him. "You promised to let me fight. Treat me like I'm any other one of your soldiers, not like your sister."

Jon sighed. "All right. Arya, go to the North Tower."

Ser Jorah led them through the forest and then towards the rocky slope which led up to the great tower. As they walked Arya made sure to keep herself between Gendry and Beric at all times, as if Beric might somehow try something again. "They've been trying to evacuate the Karstark household out of the South Tower." Jorah explained as they stepped out of the brush and towards the castle. "We have lookouts watching the Army of the Dead's approach. No dragons in sight, except for Drogon and Rhaegal…"

Arya looked up and cupped a gloved hand around her eyes. Lyanna Mormont was perched up on the rocks, staring out into the distance, and she was waving her hands in their direction frantically. Arya bumped Gendry with her elbow. "Can you make out what she's saying?"

The others all looked, having to squint against the oncoming snow, poor visibility making it nearly impossible to see the words on Lyanna Mormont's lips. They walked closer. " – you!" Arya heard her scream. " – behind – "

Arya spun around.

And then she screamed.

The man behind them didn't look like a man at all, just a skeleton held together by some invisible force, waving a spear made of ice. Ser Jorah reacted first, unsheathing Heartsbane and racing towards the wight. They came to blows, Valyrian steel sword crashing against ice spear, before Jorah was able to knock the spear out of the wight's hand and stick him between his ribs. The creature disintegrated and floated off into the breeze, looking like it had never been there at all…

"Defend the castle!" Mormont screamed at them. "Now!"

They all took off running, slowed down by the snow up to their calves (or in Arya's case, now almost to her knees), and there were several times where she nearly fell on her face. She looked over her shoulder to see a fresh wave of wights charging at them, ice weapons of all kinds drawn, seeming uninhibited by the heavy snowfall. "Behind me!" Gendry had to yell at her so she could hear him through the wind. "I promised Jon I'd keep you safe!"

Arya jumped back, drawing Needle and her dagger, twirling them between her gloved fingers. Ser Jorah was fighting another wight and Ser Davos charged at another, driving his sword into the creature's skull. When it faltered, Ser Davos stuck a dragonglass dagger in its neck. Beric Dondarrion pulled out his sword and lit it aflame, before charging at the breach.

She looked to Gendry who pulled out his new warhammer, decorated with a pair of black antlers for the Baratheon stag. Whatever the antlers were made of didn't look like steel. "Dragonglass." Gendry explained. Arya had to admit that was one of his better ideas.

A pair of wights came at them and Gendry stepped in front of her, his hammer colliding with one of the ice swords. The second lunged at Arya, aiming for her throat, and she swung her sword at him, then kicked him with her boot. The wight fell backwards into a snowdrift and she drove her dagger into its chest. She looked over at Gendry and saw him swing the hammer at the wight's throat, knocking its head clean off its shoulder in one swoop, both of their wights floating off into the breeze like snowflakes.

He's strong. Arya thought to herself, but she had no time to marvel. They looked at each other and – as if wordlessly agreeing – charged towards the army. Ser Davos had two wights on him, one in front and one in back, and Gendry crushed the skull of the wight behind him before it could stab Ser Davos in the back.

"How you doing, girl?" Beric yelled at her as he twirled his sword, taking out three wights all at once as he sliced through their spines.

"Fine!" She yelled back, bracing herself as two more wights came at her. She had lost Gendry at some point but Lyanna Mormont was now running down the mountainside, bow drawn. She pulled a dragonglass arrowhead from her quiver and fired it at the wights, sticking one of them in the empty eye socket.

Arya sliced through one wight's shoulder and another was on her immediately. Their swords collided and the wight seemed strong, the pressure of his blow nearly sending her doubling over backward, but with her other hand she stuck him with the dagger, right where its bellybutton should've been. The wight dispersed but Arya tripped over a root hidden under the snow and lost her footing, falling onto her stomach.

She panted heavily, the wind knocked out of her, and then she heard Lyanna screaming. "Arya! Behind you!"

Her neck was throbbing and it hurt to turn her head. Another member of the Army of the Dead was walking towards her, but this one looked different from all the rest. It had long white hair and eyes like frost, skin the color of snow pulled taut across it bones. When its unnaturally blue eyes met Arya's grey ones, she swore it looked at her with a degree of recognition. And then it lifted the spear.

She was caught off guard when the White Walker pulled back its arm and threw the spear, sending it hurtling towards her. She rolled over in the snow, frantic, and the spear landed a few inches away from her head. The White Walker reached for a second spear. Come on. Arya silently commanded herself. Get up, get up. She'd ripped her left sleeve and there was blood oozing from a painful gash at her elbow, but she kicked off the ground and pushed herself up onto her feet, staggering away from the reach of the second flying spear. She lifted up her sword even though it hurt to do so. Fear cuts deeper than swords. She chanted in her head, thinking of Syrio and Jaqen and the Hound and the Waif, every lesson they'd ever taught her. Fear cuts deeper than swords, fear cuts deeper than swords…

She stumbled through the accumulating snow towards the White Walker, sword and dagger raised, and ducked low to the ground as another spear flew in her direction. With a cry of pain she slashed at him, nearly cutting one of the White Walker's ankles clean off, but then the White Walker raised the spear and it clashed against Needle, the force sending Arya down onto her knees…

Before the White Walker could deliver the killing blow, someone hit the Walker forcefully on the back of the head. Arya looked up and saw that Gendry and Ser Davos had come to her rescue, Gendry lifting his hammer to strike again while Ser Davos came at the Walker from the other side, shaking off the wight grabbing at his arm at the same time. The White Walker seemed confused and looked back and forth, not sure which of the three of them it wanted to go for. He swung his ice spear towards Gendry and Ser Davos, who dodged it just in time. Gendry lifted the hammer and it clashed against the ice spear, splitting it in two, while Ser Davos sliced at the back of the Walker's neck, white skin sloughing off bones.

Arya pushed herself onto her feet, blood continuing to drip down her arm, just as the White Walker changed his strategy. He dropped the rest of his ice spear onto the ground and shoved Ser Davos, the Onion Knight landing flat on his belly. Then he used one cold, white hand to grab Gendry by the throat, lifting him several inches off the ground, as if he weighed nothing. She could see Gendry's face start to change colors as he sputtered and fought, struggling to breathe.

In that moment Arya forgot how much her arm hurt, forgot how her lung constricted when she breathed, forgot that she could barely move through the snow. She raced forward and drove her dagger between the White Walker's shoulder blades with a guttural scream.

The White Walker shattered and Gendry fell to the ground, landing on his back. Arya raced forward to take his hand and pull him to his feet. "Are you all right?"

Gendry forced a nod, but she could see a mark on his throat in the shape of fingers. "Fine. Are you?"

Arya nodded and looked around. A wight was trying to drag Ser Davos by the foot and Ser Jorah and Lord Beric were both cornered, but all the wights disintegrated at the same moment. Arya and Gendry helped Ser Davos to his feet and the older man wheezed, brushing snow off his front.

Lyanna Mormont came down the mountainside. "We have to go!"

There would be no argument from any of them. Gendry let Ser Davos lean on his shoulder and in an uncharacteristic display of affection, Lyanna hugged Ser Jorah, who seemed surprised at first but then hugged her back. Lord Beric stuck his sword in the snow to put out the fire.

But as soon as Arya turned around, she froze.

She was staring into the cold, reanimated eyes of little Ned Umber…

Jaime

It felt good to have Widow's Wail back. He didn't know exactly how long it had been since the sword was taken from him – in the cell below Winterfell, hours felt like days and the darkness made it difficult to tell whether it was morning or evening. After Brienne visited on the first day, no one had come but the gaoler to bring food, and Jaime counted his meals to keep track of time. It was Tyrion who'd appeared outside his cell that morning, and for a moment Jaime had thought that this was it, that his brother's queen was going to kill him now. "Keys." Tyrion had said, only when he unlocked the cell, Jaime saw Brienne, standing there with Widow's Wail in her hand.

The wench always kept her promises.

He was going to be a little rusty – he hadn't had a good practice in weeks. They trudged through the snow up towards Karhold's South Tower, the Wildling Tormund leading the way. "We're gonna drive that Night King back into the ground." He was saying to Brienne, who looked like she didn't want to be a part of this conversation. "A member of the Free Folk is worth ten of these southron fighters, and twenty of the Night King's dead men."

Jaime piped up before he even realized he was doing it. "So then why did you flee Eastwatch and Last Hearth with your tail between your legs?"

The other man's face faltered. "It was just me and old Dondarrion." Tormund said. "We needed to tell Jon Snow. And I had something at Winterfell I needed to see again…" He smiled crookedly at Brienne.

Her eyes met Jaime's, practically pleading, and Jaime moved to stand between the two of them. He clamped Tormund on the back. "Tell me, how do children of the Free Folk learn to fight?"

He wasn't really interested, but he saw Brienne exhale now that Tormund's attention was off of her for a while. Bronn was smirking and he began to hum a song to himself.

When they reached the South Tower, Clegane and Podrick were waiting for them, having gone on the dragon ahead of them leaving Winterfell. "Can't this fucking army get here already?" The Hound shouted. "I'm ready for a fight." And ready to get away from Payne, Jaime suspected. The squire was bouncing from one foot to the other, rambling nervously.

Brienne walked up and clamped her squire on the shoulder. "Pod, can you go inside the tower and bring all the survivors back to Drogon and Rhaegal? We need to evacuate them."

"But my lady," Podrick started to protest. "Won't you need me to – ?"

Brienne cut him off gently. "This is a specific order from His Grace. And it's very important to follow the king's orders, isn't it?"

Podrick nodded. "Yes my lady. Of course my lady."

The Hound looked relieved once Pod was out of their hair. "They're going to kill that one first."

Brienne scowled at him. "Don't say that. He's braver than he looks."

"I've seen him fight. 'Brave' isn't the first word I'd use to describe him."

"I have to agree." Tormund added. "If he were Free Folk, he would've had a sword in hand since he learned how to walk. Builds strength. Instead the boy looks afraid of his own shadow. Weak ones like that…they never last."

"Weakness can be overcome with practice." Jaime said a little snappily, absentmindedly rubbing his golden hand under the glove.

Tormund noticed the action. "I didn't mean that."

"Of course you didn't." Jaime silently decided that he didn't like Tormund Giantsbane very much.

Before any more words could be exchanged, there was a great roar that made the ground tremble. They all turned their eyes to the sky and saw the dragon flying overhead, circling the castle and the surrounding forest. Only this wasn't one of Daenerys Targaryen's living dragons – this dragon was blue as frost, wing ripped from the injury that had killed it.

"Oh fuck." Bronn muttered.

The dead were upon them in an instant. They weren't particularly fast creatures, but the sheer number of them was astounding as the dead men began to appear from all sides. 'Oh fuck' was right. Jaime had thought one of these things was scary, and several dozen were worse. He wielded Widow's Wail, slashing one of them in the head. To his credit, Tormund Giantsbane had bravely charged into the fray. Bronn was hacking his way through the pack of dead men closing in on him, and The Hound was guarding the tower, striking the dead in their skeletal chests. That left only Brienne beside him, their matching swords in hand as they fought for their lives.

"You better not die." Brienne said to him, her voice barely audible through the snow and sounds of battle. "Or Lord Tyrion will hate me."

"Is that the only reason?" Jaime quipped back. A wight charged at him and he kicked it to the ground before stabbing its neck, separating its skull from its shoulders before the wight disintegrated and blew off with the breeze. "You wouldn't miss me if I died?"

"This is not the time for jokes!"

"It's a serious question. I'd miss you if you died." He slashed at another wight. "Tyrion would miss me, maybe. Cersei would celebrate. Bronn is only still here because I pay him. But you? They'd write songs about your brave and noble demise. Oh, the Starks would cry, I'm sure. Maybe Tormund would even weep for you…"

There was a lull in the onslaught and Brienne looked at him, blue eyes looking pensive. "I would. Miss you, I mean."

The words were enough to pry a reluctant smile out of him, but there was no time to dwell on it as a second group of wights descended. One came at Brienne from behind but Jaime struck it before it could get to her, and she gave him a look of thanks. There was a dragon roar's again but when Jaime looked up this time, he saw Rhaegal flying across the sky. Jon Snow, he mused. Becoming a dragonrider. When he'd first met the boy at Winterfell, he never would have predicted that their paths would cross again, let alone that the boy was secretly the Targaryen heir.

Rhaegal flew at Viserion and red flame met blue. The sight was terrifying and awe-inspiring. Rhaegal beat his great wings and knocked into his dead brother, sending the Night King's dragon flying downwards before he regained control and went up again, crashing into Rhaegal's stomach. Rhaegal tore into Viserion's already damaged wing with his teeth, but it seemed to have little effect on the undead dragon. Viserion knocked into Rhaegal's stomach again and sent him careening across the sky. For a moment Jaime thought they were going to crash, but the king seemed to regain control – he moved to charge at Viserion again but the dragon flew forward, blue flame pouring out of its mouth.

"Fire!" Jaime screamed, and everyone else turned their eyes to the sky and ducked. Wights were continuing to surround them and Jaime swung Widow's Wail, one of the wights clamping its jaws on his arm before Jaime was able to strike it down. He cursed at the pain.

The undead dragon flew dangerously low and for a moment Jaime thought that they were all surely dead, but its flames were not directed at them. Sweeping over the North and South Tower, Viserion let out his fiery breath and the tower caught flame.

The buildings sagged, the roofs beginning to cave in, and Brienne screamed Podrick's name. Jaime silently prayed that the boy was unharmed – it was Brienne who had sent him inside, and if he were to die he knew she'd blame herself. He let out a breath of relief when the boy ran out of the smoking building moments later, coughing from the ash and snow in his lungs, children and elderly from the Karstark household struggling along beside him. There was a wailing baby he was carrying in his arms. "My lady…I…"

He practically collapsed into Brienne's arms and she helped him stand, picking up one of the terrified children. "We have to get them to safety." She said. "We have to flee. Now."

"I agree with the big lady!" Tormund Giantsbane yelled. "Let's go!"

Podrick sputtered and coughed. "There's…there's someone…"

Jaime's eyes went wide. "There's someone still inside?" Podrick could only nod as he hacked desperately.

Without a moment's hesitation, he began to run – in the wrong direction.

Bronn and Clegane were shouting at him, an assortment of insults along the lines of "you fucking idiot!" and "what are you doing, ya dumb blonde cunt?", but he ignored them all.

"Jaime!" This was Brienne's voice. "Jaime!"

The sound of her desperate scream made Jaime hesitate for a moment, but he knew this was something he had to do. I'm sorry, wench. He thought to himself. Then he went inside.

The smoke was accumulating quickly and he had to cover his mouth with the fabric of his tunic. "Hello?" He yelled, voice muffled by the fabric.

From upstairs, there was the sound of a faraway cry. "He – hello? I'm…I'm up here! Someone help!"

Jaime coughed as he took the stairs two at a time on the way up, the smoke making it harder to breathe and burning his eyes. There was no doubt in his mind that the roof was going to cave in sooner or later.

Through the haze he could see a flash of color. A red-haired girl who looked to about in her mid-teens was sitting on the floor, a broken beam having fallen on top of one of her legs. "I can't lift it." She choked out. "It's too heavy for me."

Jaime crouched on his knees beside her. "Wrap your arm around me." He said, and the girl did as she was told, leaning onto Jaime for support. The wooden beam was heavy and he grunted from the weight as he tried to push it off her leg. The smoke inhalation was only making him weaker, and it took Jaime two or three tries before the beam finally began to budge. The girl's skirt was ripped and the top layer of skin had peeled off her leg, making her bleed, but it didn't look broken.

The girl's eyes went wide when she saw a flash of gold peeking out from his glove. "You're Jaime Lannister."

There was no point in denying it. "I am." He said. "You know my name – what's yours?"

The girl coughed again. "Alys. Alys Karstark."

I'm saving the bloody Lady of Karhold. Jaime would've laughed if the thick smoke in the room had allowed it. He gave the beam once last shove and it fell to the side. "Can you walk?" He asked Alys.

She nodded, looking less afraid than she had a moment ago. "Yes. I think so." Jaime helped her stand and her grip on him tightened, Alys Karstark leaning on his shoulder as he stumbled back down the stairs.

Jaime could barely see an inch in front of him and his chest burned. Outside people were shouting and he couldn't hear the dragons' roars anymore, just the frantic screams and cries of a post-battle scene.

He staggered out of the South Tower just as the roof collapsed in on itself with a great crack of flames. A pair of arms reached out to grab Lady Alys and Jaime wheezed, trying to take fresh air into his lungs and only hacking up smoke.

"He's alive!" Someone screamed, and in his daze Jaime could not place the voice. He looked up and through his bleary eyes he could make out the form of Jon Snow. Jaime did not know when he'd landed – the Night King must have fled on Viserion, his goal of raising more members for his army having been accomplished.

"Let's go." The king said to someone. "Help me take him to Rhaegal."

There was a large, warm hand on his arm, the touch gentle, and he heard Brienne's voice. "Jaime." He swore she sounded relieved. "Jaime, you'll be all right. Come on, we have to go…"

He coughed. "Wench." He managed to say before he collapsed into her awaiting arms, allowing her to lead him away from the smoldering ruins of Karhold…

Melisandre

The crowd surged forward, crying out and begging to be let into the gates.

"Please, Your Grace!"

"King in the North!"

"Help us!"

Your king isn't here. Melisandre wanted to tell them, but she couldn't exactly say she had seen Jon Snow in her flames, on dragonback flying to Karhold. Instead she tightened the hood of the ratty black cloak around her face, feeling naked without her traditional red.

A hand touched her throat and it was so strange to not feel her ruby there, just skin puckered with age. This was her true form and yet it didn't feel like her. How wrong it felt to be living in this skin…

She turned her face up towards the sky, colored a foreboding grey, snow falling down and accumulating on her cheeks and lashes. What was it these Starks always said? Winter is coming. Yes, winter was coming and the enemy of her Lord with it. The fire warmed and cleansed, the ice was cold and unforgiving.

Around her, the crowd rushed forward, men screaming and raising their arms, women crying with children on their shoulders, all of them peasants from Winter's Town with nowhere else to go. Melisandre realized that the gates to Winterfell were being opened.

"Help us, please!"

"We're hungry!"

"Stark, Stark, Stark!"

A hush fell over them and Melisandre shoved through the throng so she could see. Some people shot her annoyed looks, but no one would tell off an old woman.

She reached the front and saw the beautiful red-haired girl, accompanied by a portly old man with a sigil of black studs decorating his cloak. Sansa Stark. The crowd cheered.

"Lady Stark!"

"Sansa, Sansa Stark!"

"Winterfell, Winterfell!"

The young woman turned to the Winterfell guards. "We'll let them in."

The man with her objected. "My lady, you cannot mean to take them all?"

Sansa Stark turned to look at the lord beside her. She was winter's daughter, but in that moment her gaze was fire. "My father once said that when you were a lord, every one of your people is like your child – it's your duty to care for them, to love them and make sure they are safe. These are my people, Lord Royce. So yes, I intend to help them all." The lord – Lord Royce – still looked unsure, but he knew better than to object again. Sansa Stark turned to the guard. "They can all sleep in the great hall. I want someone to start a fire for them, and bring them bread and mulled wine. I'll see each and every one of these people fed."

The guard nodded. "Right away, Lady Stark."

The people were cheering as they were granted access to Winterfell, and Melisandre even saw several women crying for joy.

"May the old gods bless you, Lady Stark!" Someone cried out.

"Ned Stark's daughter, in truth!"

"Long live the Lady of Winterfell!"

Lady Stark stood in the open gates, a disgruntled Lord Royce by her side, and Melisandre watched as she greeted each and every peasant who came through. Some of them knelt before her, weeping, others kissed her hands or extended their babies for her to bless. The whole time Lady Stark smiled and welcomed them, not caring how long it took.

Finally, it was Melisandre's turn. She hobbled towards Lady Stark, who smiled kindly at her, taking her wrinkled hands in her own. "Welcome to Winterfell." The young woman said. "You'll be safe here."

Melisandre bowed her head. "You have a gentle heart, Lady Stark."

She almost felt bad for exploiting it.

Jon

It was dark by the time they returned to Winterfell, and every part of his body felt sore. The leather armor he'd worn into battle was soaking wet from snow, his curls falling into his face in a tangled mess. Jon felt defeated, and all he wanted was to get some sleep and try to forget his problems for a few hours…

They'd taken down many wights and one White Walker at Karhold, but there were still thousands more, including the reanimated Umber and Karstark men the Night King had added to his ranks. His heart broke at the thought of little Ned Umber, whom Arya had slew for the second time. Whenever they thought they were winning the battle, more and more of the dead would fall upon them in a seemingly unending charge. How could they ever defeat the Night King when he outnumbered them, when he could turn every one of their fallen soldiers into members of his army?

As they disembarked Rhaegal, he noticed that Arya was clutching her bloody arm to her body and that she was having a hard time walking on her left leg, a rip in her pants exposing a nasty gash from a fall she'd taken. "You're hurt." Jon said to her. "You should see Wolkan."

"I'm fine." Arya insisted stubbornly, not missing a beat. "I've had a lot worse…" She tried to brush past him but Jon placed his hands on both her shoulders, stopping her.

"You fought bravely today, little sister." He said honestly, and Arya gave him a weak smile at the compliment. "But you're not invincible, and it's okay to need help sometimes. Let me take you to Wolkan, you need to bandage that leg."

"I don't – " Before Arya could finish her sentence, Gendry grabbed her from behind and picked her up, easily tossing her over his shoulder as if she were weightless. "Hey! Put me down, you stupid bull!"

"His Grace is right, and you shouldn't be walking on that leg." Gendry persisted, equally as stubborn. "I'm carrying you to the maester's, m'lady." Arya kicked and pummeled his back with her much smaller fists, but Gendry still refused to put her down, and finally she relented with an audible sigh.

"Fine. You two win this one. But if you think I'm standing on the sidelines for days or weeks, don't hold your breath. A little flesh wound can't keep me out of this battle."

Jon chuckled. "I figured you'd say that."

As soon as they were through Winterfell's gates, Sansa came running out to meet them, Sam following along behind, pushing Bran in his wheelchair. Sansa practically launched herself at him, and Jon felt the tension leave his body as he hugged her back. "You were gone for hours. I was worried." She paused and pulled back, noticing Arya slung over Gendry's shoulder.

"Oh, this?" Arya said, trying to turn around so she could look at Sansa and almost elbowing Gendry in the nose in the process. "These two are just being overprotective." Sansa raised an eyebrow.

All went quiet as Jaime Lannister walked through the gates and Jon could see surprise on Sansa's face when she saw Lady Alys Karstark, leaning on the sellsword Bronn and Lady Brienne for support. "My lady," Jon asked her. "Are you injured?"

Alys shook her head. "I'll be all right, Your Grace. A piece of rubble just fell on my leg, is all. It'll heal soon."

"Let me escort you to the maester's, my lady." Sam said, nodding for Bronn and Brienne to follow him. The two started to lead the Lady of Karhold forward but Alys paused, looking back over her shoulder at Ser Jaime.

"Thank you for saving my life, ser."

All eyes were on him now, and Jaime nodded stiffly. "It was nothing, my lady." Bronn and Brienne then followed Sam to take her to the maester's, Gendry following along with Arya still in his arms.

Sansa looked at Jaime. "You saved Lady Karstark? Why?"

Jaime Lannister looked thrown by the question. "Because she needed help."

Silence hung thick and heavy in the air and Jon stared at the Kingslayer with a critical gaze, which was enough to make the other man avert his eyes. Jon still did not fully trust him, but he could not deny that the man had fought bravely today, and he'd saved Alys's life. "I'll tell someone to have a bed made for you."

Jaime Lannister looked confused. "You're not putting me back in a cell?"

Jon shook his head. "Not tonight."

They all walked back inside the castle, Sansa announcing that she was retiring to her chambers, and Jon was about to ask Ser Davos and Ser Jorah to meet with him in private for a strategy session when Bran grabbed his arm. "She's waiting for you in your chambers." He said. It took Jon only a second to realize he meant Daenerys – she'd hadn't come out to meet them upon their return. "I think there's something she wants to tell you."

So Jon excused himself from the group and headed up the stairs. He was worried about the Night King, no doubt, but in the back of his mind there was a secondary problem plaguing him: Daenerys. Since their conversation in the crypts a few days before, she had made it clear that their romantic relationship could not continue – yet he could see in her eyes that she still loved him, as he loved her, and before the battle today she had even gone and kissed him. Jon didn't know where they stood, but if there was one thing he knew for certain in the confusing mess that was his life these days, it was that he loved Daenerys and he would marry her if he could. It truly did not matter to him that she couldn't have children – he'd never expected to have any anyway, being a believed bastard and then a member of the Night's Watch. It was a tempting fantasy, sure, but whenever he imagined what it would be like to have children, he found himself imagining his children with Daenerys. There was no one else he would want as his wife and the mother of his children. I could still very well fall in battle, Jon thought. And before that, I want her to know how I feel. She is the only one for me.

He opened the doors to his chambers and immediately stopped in his tracks.

Daenerys sat up on his bed, smiling softly. "You're back." Her long silver hair hung loose down around her face and she wore nothing but a chemise of violet silk, the color a shade lighter than her eyes. One of the fur blankets from his bed was wrapped around her shoulders and Ghost was draped across her, his head in her lap.

The sight of her sitting there felt so natural, it was enough to make him realize this was what he wanted to come home to every day for the rest of his life – however long or short that may be.

When he didn't say anything right away, Daenerys scratched Ghost behind the ears and stood up, crossing the room to stand before him. "Jon, are you all right?"

He smiled tiredly at her. "I was just thinking about how beautiful you are. Can we talk?"

She pressed a feather light kiss to his cheek. "I have something I want to talk about too. But first – I had a bath drawn for you. And some food will be up here shortly." Daenerys laughed quietly and ran a hand through his tangled hair. "You look like a mess, Jon Snow."

The bath was heavenly, and then he changed into a clean undershirt and breeches before one of Dany's handmaids came up with some supper. He tried to get Daenerys to eat too but she told him her stomach was upset. After continued poking and prodding from him, she finally agreed to meet him in the middle and had some water and bread.

After their plates had been cleared and Ghost had fallen asleep on the bed, they sat next to each other on the floor in front of the roaring fire. "How was it today?" Daenerys asked him, still nursing the cup of water he'd forced on her.

Jon hesitated before answering, rubbing his calloused hands in front of the flames. "We saved most of the Karstarks' household, including Lady Alys. The Kingslayer saved her, actually…"

"The Kingslayer?" Daenerys repeated, incredulous.

"Aye. I'm still not the biggest fan of his, but no one can deny he fought bravely today…" He paused, turning to look at Daenerys. "I don't know if we can win this war, Dany. I saw the Night King's army and it is even greater than it was last time. We had an advantage, with your three dragons, but now that he has Viserion…" He trailed off, worried that the talk of her lost son would upset her.

If it did, Daenerys did not show it. "I do not regret it, you know. As much as I mourn for Viserion, if I hadn't gone beyond the Wall that day I would've lost you, and without you…Without you, I'd be lost. I wouldn't know how to go on."

"You would." Jon insisted. "You're one of the strongest people I've ever met. You would go on."

"Maybe so, but I wouldn't want to." Daenerys scooted closer to him and he took her hands in his own. "I've had a lot of time to think today…about us."

"Oh?" He could practically feel his chest swell with hope. "What about us?"

Daenerys was silent for a long moment, so long he thought she was going to end the conversation there, but then she looked up at him. "I used to feel so alone in this world. I had no family. I lost my husband and my unborn son. I had nothing but my small khalasar and my baby dragons, as we trudged along hopelessly in the desert. Those days there was one thing that kept me going: the thought of the Iron Throne. The promise of my birthright. But today I realized…" She paused, staring into the fire as if she was thinking back to something far away. "Today I realized that I didn't want the Iron Throne because it was my birthright. I wanted it because if I were queen, I could make sure no one ever felt as hopeless as I did in that time. And the thought of the Iron Throne, the chair my father sat on, the chair that should've gone to my brother…it made me feel connected to them. My family I lost. I wanted to be a queen like my mother. I wanted to be strong like Rhaegar, to stand where he stood." Her eyes met his, and he saw her violet eyes were full of unshed tears. "But now because of you, Jon Snow, I don't feel so alone. I finally feel what it's like to have a family, and to know love. I love you, Jon Snow."

As soon as she had finished, he grabbed her face so he could kiss her on the lips. "I love you, Daenerys Targaryen. From this day, until the end of my days." He pulled back to look at her, their noses brushing. "I want you to marry me."

The first tear slipped from Daenerys's eyes. "Jon…"

"No, listen to me." He said, taking one of her hands in both of his and squeezing it gently. "I don't care if you can't have children. You are the only woman I want, that I could ever want. Our future is so uncertain, but I am certain that I love you. So marry me, Daenerys Stormborn. Marry me and be my wife, for whatever days we have left."

Daenerys stared at him for a long second, unspeaking, and then she surprised him by laughing. "Well, you don't have to worry about that first part."

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Dany smiled at him and touched his face. "Jon…my love…my king…" She said. "You were right."

Now Jon was even more confused. "About what?"

"About the witch."

"About the – " Their conversation in the Dragonpit flooded back to him and his eyes widened. "You found out you can still have children?"

"Not exactly." Daenerys said, and Jon was about to ask her what it was then, but she continued. "I found out that I'm pregnant."

He stared at her, dumbfounded, and the meaning of the words didn't register at first. Surely I heard her wrong…I must have… "Did you just say…you're pregnant?"

She nodded, looking like she was going to cry again, but she was smiling too. "Sam thinks I'm about two moonturns gone."

Still, even hearing her reaffirm the words, he could scarcely believe it.

Pregnant. Daenerys was pregnant.

The woman he loved was carrying their child, there was still hope for silver haired little girls or violet eyed little boys, and the joy he felt in that instant was greater than any he had ever experienced before in his life. "Oh, Dany…" She was both laughing and crying as he pulled her into his arms, so he could kiss her over and over again. "I love you…both of you…"

Dany buried her face into the crook of his neck. "I love you. More than anything. You're my home, Jon Snow."

Then the fear came crashing down.

The Long Night was still upon them, and then there was Cersei Lannister to deal with after that. Jon knew there was a chance that he could die in the forthcoming battle or that – gods forbid – Daenerys could. There was a chance that this child, this promise for the future that she carried, would not live to be born.

Jon wrapped his arms tighter around Daenerys and a resoluteness washed over him. That won't happen. He thought to himself. I will not let it. He didn't care if he had to die, but Daenerys and his siblings and now this baby…they had to survive. He would do everything in his power to make sure that they lived.

He pulled back to look at Daenerys, his hand falling to rest gently on her belly. "Promise me something," He said to her. "Promise me that if I die – "

"You won't die." Daenerys interjected stubbornly.

" – if I die, you'll get on Drogon and go. Take Bran and my sisters, fly to Essos, and raise the baby somewhere safe."

She started to protest again. "Jon – "

"Promise me, Daenerys."

She must've seen that he was serious, because she relented. "I promise." She said. "But promise me you'll try to live too. I want us to have a life together, all three of us."

Jon kissed her on the top of her head. "I want that too."

They held each other in silence for what felt like a long time, her face buried into his chest, his thumb rubbing circles on her belly, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Then, abruptly, Daenerys sat up and looked at Jon, smirking. "Yes."

He frowned. "Yes what?"

"You asked me to marry you, and my answer is yes."

Again joy surged through him. Daenerys Targaryen, the woman he loved, the mother of his child, had just agreed to be his wife. Jon laughed and kissed her again, soft and slow. "How about tomorrow then?"

Her violet eyes widened. "Tomorrow?"

"In the godswood after sunset. We both love each other and time is precious, so why wait? I want to be your husband, Daenerys Stormborn."

Slowly, Daenerys smiled and then she laughed, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek. "I love you, Jon Snow. And I can't wait to be your wife."