EPILOGUE

Author's Note: And here is the Epilogue for you all!

Here's what's been happening to all the other folk; though I've not included Edmure, Roslin and Jeyne in this. I know the timing has been altered a bit and not all these things are strictly happening at the same time.

I also know that Sigorn is actually from House Thenn- who are NOT cannibals but the most civilised of free folk in the books, but I've changed this to House Lake just to avoid confusion. Some of the POVs are longer than others. Regarding Mira, I actually did not chose this option on my playthrough, but for the purpose of this fic it is the only one that gives her hope.

I hope you enjoy.

Winterfell

The man gasped as the frigid snow, along with its storm, fought to drown him and his companion. He struggled to stay afloat, his head and body throbbed with pain, blood trickled from his nose, as he spied a large old man with a beard and a patch on his eye.

"Who goes there?" the large man demanded, as he pulled the man to his feet, as the larger man's squires arrived to do the same for the brown haired girl.

"Re- no, Th-th…." the man began. "Theon, my name is Theon."

Braavos

A girl gazed into the sword in her hand- her Needle, she glanced at the House of Black and White and then towards the shipyard under the sunset.

Who am I? She asked herself bitterly. Just who am I? What am I? Do I even know?

"You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the North," a mysterious yet soothing voice echoed in her voice. "You told me you can be brave."

Arya let out tears that she had been holding in for weeks, if not months, and tightened the grip on Needle. "I can be brave, I must be brave." She stepped into the shallow water and began her wade to the shipyard. "I can be brave. I can be brave."

Another girl in the Vale of Arryn woke with a breathless gasp, as she found herself whispering that mantra that the girl in the dream had been reciting. After a few exhales, she cracked her first genuine smile of pride in a very long time.

Meereen

Tyrion gazed in awe as he mounted the first step towards the Great Pyramid of Meereen, the iconic harpy looking down upon him. Here he was, further East than any Lannister had gone, or was he? What if he ran into his uncle Gerion here? How he would love to see his favourite uncle again, someone who didn't betray him, look at him with distrustful contempt or was too young to do anything or understand anything. He quickly pushed that childish thought from his mind and began his long ascent.

Skagos

Davos grabbed hold of Rickon by the hand, leading him into a side street that was part of the labyrinth of this wretched island, with Osha and the direwolf following behind.

"Dead end!" Davos yelled in frustration, hearing his own heartbeat despite the cries of the mob that was on their tails. "Can you fight?" he asked the wildling woman, before drawing his own sword.

"Are you having a laugh, Grandfather?" Osha scoffed, readying her makeshift spear. "Go on lad, get in one of those crates, she motioned to the corner of the alleyway.

"Summer, give them hell!" Davos ordered the direwolf, which gave an assenting growl.

King's Landing

Mira Forrester shut her eyes, wanting to fall into the earth. She was a coward, because of her, an innocent boy lay headless on the block; it should have been her, but it wasn't and now her punishment had just begun.

"Come along, Mira," the rat, who was going to be her husband, raper and gaoler said. "I have a busy day ahead." His touch made her want to puke, every breath she took came with difficulty, as if it they were not her own, but stolen from someone else. I wish I had never come to King's Landing, I wish none of this had happened. I wish I had never been born!

Rickard Morgryn's hand grabbed on to her wrist and he pulled her along, like a beast with a chain around its neck. "Come now, you don't want to ruin that pretty face for you husband to be, do you?"

Mira shook her head.

"Splendid," the snake gave what the naive would call a charming smile. "To reward you, I will get you the finest necklace I can find!"

They had just about reached the Smithy Road, when the gallop of a horse could be heard, before a stallion came veering towards Mira, who momentarily flinched but then embraced what was about to happen. Except nothing hit her, but a ferocious neigh and a crashing sound preceded Morgryn falling flat on his back.

"Mira!" cried a voice. She opened her eyes to see a youth in a reddish brown surcoat and dark hair, carrying a quarterstaff and riding the horse that had just collided with the ironwood merchant.

Mira felt like weeping with relief and joy at this undeserved intervention.

"You have no idea who you're messing with!" Morgryn spat, pulling down Podrick's staff and the youth himself, before punching him and grappling his neck.

Mira's mind was cast back to Damien the soldier drowning Tom, the boy she had saved then but betrayed moments ago to save her own neck. She glanced down at her nails, the only weapon she had. Iron form Ice!

She launched at Morgryn's face, gouging at his eyes, piercing his cheek, where she had wounded him before he had come to her in the prison. She wished that she could have bitten him as well.

Morgryn screamed with fury, before turning his attention on her. However, Podrick's elbow thumped into his temple, incapacitating the snake for the time being.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" called some onlookers.

"My lady, we have to move now," Podrick said, holding out his hand. His eyes pleading with her. His trustworthy eyes, where one of them was flanked by a purple bruise that he had gained for her.

She took it.

Ironrath

Rodrik Forrester bellowed with rage as he drove his sword right into mouth of Harys Highfield- the lieutenant of Ludd Whitehill's army. The larger man lay dead and defeated at last, but none of that numbed the pain Rodrik was feeling in his gut where he had been stabbed, from where he was bleeding, or the pain in his heart as his own mother lay dead, all because she was saving his life. His heart ached as he watched his home burn, as he recalled how Asher, his younger brother, who had shown more courage and selflessness in his last moments than Rodrik had ever shown.

"Go on, I know what I'm doing," Asher had said, as they both held the helm of a portcullis, knowing that it would fall without one of the brothers holding it, trapping one of them to face certain death by the Whitehill onslaught.

Rodrik had hesitated, thinking of Elaena and his hopefulness at the idea that she was carrying his child, although an uncomfortable voice in the back of his head called it selfishness that led to his younger brother's sacrifice. Ryon was a prisoner, Mira was in constant danger, and Talia was inside possibly watching all this happen, watching her mother die and her brother struggling to stop their home from burning. And now his mother also lay dead saving him. He should have executed Harys the moment he and Arthur Glenmore regained control of Ironrath and took Gryff Whitehill prisoner.

A loud collision on the main gate tore it open, as several Whitehill soldiers poured on through like cockroaches over sugar. The next few moments were a blur as Rodrik was jumped by three soldiers, taking slashes from two and killing them and being kicked by a third and having a fourth loose and arrow into his leg, but the adrenaline in his blood began to feel a tidal wave that kept on coming, barely registering the pain until it struck him like a concrete wall. He may have heard a horn, but he did not care, as his whole body throbbed and found himself surrounded by a crossbow, longbow and swordsman. He let out a silent cry, as Gryff Whitehill strutted past him on his horse; Rodrik wished he had kept Ludd's head to throw at him, since depravity was the only language he understood.

"Lord Gryff, I think…. There appears…." a Whitehill sergeant wheezed.

Rodrik understood how he felt- his own arms refused to raise his greatsword. "The North remembers..." he rasped at the three soldiers who had surrounded him, his own throat failing him.

"Deal with it then!" Gryff snapped. "I want to watch Rodrik the Ruined choke on his own fucking blood!" He gave the signal for the crossbow to release the bolt. Rodrik braced himself to taste the punch and be done with it, it was over.

But nothing came, for the crossbow gasped as an arrow protruded through his neck.

"What the-!" Gryff yelled. Several men wearing wolf skin capes came charging and hacking at the Whitehill soldiers with their axes and impaling them with spears. Other men bearing surcoats with the silver fist of House Glover darted into view, notching and loosening arrows. Rodrik grinned with disbelief and gratitude, daring to question his fortune- weren't the Glovers supposed to have been prisoners in Deepwood Motte? How could they be here? Was this a trick?

"This is impossible! It's not fair!" Gryff screamed, before his horse fell with a missile in its head. "Damn you, archers, regroup you fools!"

By the time the remaining Whitehill archers had rallied to their failing general, six destriers carrying knights with spears were cutting through them like butter, forcing several archers to yield. Rodrik saw the black bear of House Mormont on the vests of the riders, as the leader nodded to him.

"My lord, we're surrounded!" a Whitehill soldier shouted to Gryff. "We have to surrender!"

"Never!" Gryff screamed. "I don't care if it kills you…..." he broke off as a retinue of heavily armoured knights, carrying a brightly coloured standard galloped into view. Even the Mormont cavalry stepped aside as if showing respect. The leader of this retinue was a large man, with a red fiery heart holding a black stag on his breastplate.

"Baratheon?" Rodrik croaked.

The man pushed himself off his horse and landed with a heavy thud. He pulled of his helm to reveal his hair was dark and eyes that were a deep blue in the torched night.

Gryff Whitehill made to lunge with his sword, as if to engage in one on one combat, but with fear in his eyes. The large man drew his sword in anticipation and shoved hard against the heir to Highpoint; it was at this moment Gryff jumped back, dropping his sword, as if he had been blazed by fire. His legs gave way, as he scrambled away into the clutches of a Mormont spear horseman.

"Remain seated, Lord Forrester," the general ordered, causing Rodrik to realise that his own legs must have failed him. "Lady Glover will get a maester for you." He motioned to a middle aged lady who had pulled up next to him. As she lowered her hood, Rodrik smiled with relief and gave short chuckle that pained his chest, remembering the face that had often scolded him yet made him laugh when he was younger and dining with his liege lord at Deepwood Motte. She pulled a vial of white milk of the poppy and urged Rodrik to drink before helping him to his feet.

"Help put the fires out," the Baratheon ordered to the rest of his men. "We request your hospitality for the night, my lord."

"Gladly, your Grace," Rodrik said hoarsely. "Thank you."

The king nodded, before turning to Gryff. "As for you, resistance is pointless, your army has been defeated."

"You can't do this!" Gryff cried. "We have the backing of House Bolton, and the Iron Throne…. Who are you?"

"I am Stannis of House Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men and Protector of the Realm. I order an end to your petty war. After I am done with you, you will either give me your allegiance and march on Winterfell with me, or give me your head."

"You…. Can't do that…." Gryff sobbed. "That's not fair!"

"He's being very fair, he's giving you a choice!" Rodrik retorted, and for a small second, he saw the corner of Stannis' mouth twitch.

The Wall

"Get away from him!" Shireen roared, but nobody paid any heed. "By order of the princess, I order you to leave him alone!"

Bowen Marsh stood back, along with Wick Wittlestick, and several other stewards.

"It had to be done, princess," Bowen said. "Stay out of this!"

"Or else what?" Shireen demanded. She gasped at the sight of Lord Commander Jon Snow clutching at the wounds on his stomach and chest. She moved closer help him up, but Bowen's sturdy arm barged into her shoulder.

"I told you to stay out of this!" He roughly shoved her back. "The Night's Watch has to remain neutral, he broke that and the punishment is death."

"He is your Lord Commander!" shouted Shireen. She turned her attention to Olly- Jon's squire. "He took you in, made you his squire, looked after you!"

Olly shook his head with tears in his eyes.

"You would not dare to harm the princess, would you?" Alys appeared behind Shireen, with Val and Sigor of House Lake. They were each armed with a sword or axe or dagger.

"Move out of the way, Lord Steward, we will be taking Jon Snow with us," Val ordered. "With me, Lord Commander."

Jon's blood was soaking the snow, as he struggled to get up, his body was convulsing, his breath wheezy and laboured.

"I don't think so," Wick Wittlestick spat. "The princess would do well to walk away now, as for the rest of you, you will die like traitors if you stop us from executing this traitor." He turned to Jon and was about to slash with his sword, when an arrow was suddenly lodged in his chest. Wick barely registered and let out a scream, as he fell to the snow.

One of the other mutineers, a tall dark haired man with a beard and missing fingers on his left hand, pulled out a crossbow and faced the direction that the arrow had come from. "Gared Tuttle!" he barked to a figure in a grey cloak that was now draped apart to reveal a brown haired man in a black brother's uniform. Next to him was a large dark haired man in a wildling fur coat, he carried a spear and looked like he knew how to use it against swordsmen. The mutineers were now caught between Shireen and these newcomers.

"You heard her," Gared said evenly. "Step away from the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Frostfinger."

"That's the second brother you have murdered!" Frostfinger snarled. "Not only that, you deserted the Watch after you were sentenced to death for your previous murder."

"That was in self defence, Frostfinger, and you know it!" Gared responded. "What I see, is that you lot just tried to murder your Lord Commander." He nocked an arrow to his bow again and prepared to draw back the bowstring, while Frostfinger loaded his crossbow. "I'm not going to ask you again."

"I wouldn't want you to!" Frostfinger smirked grimly, pulling up his own crossbow. "So, do you really think you can put that in me before I put a bolt in your head, Tuttle?"

Both men glared at one another, like animals about to fight, like heroes of an ancient age preparing for their final showdown under the sun, cloud and snow.

Frostfinger clicked, Gared's bowstring twanged, followed by a gasp.

Duskendale

Podrick rode over the hill overlooking the Port of Duskendale, the setting sun enticing Pod and his companion, seemingly a boy with short dark hair and oversized brown clothes- perhaps a page to the squire, or newly made knight. They had travelled for days, changing their clothes, their appearance, they had travelled under the threat of capture and torture, evading the same fate and sentence that had been imposed on their friend.

"We'll rest there for the night," Pod suggested. "If Lady Brienne is there, we can ask for her help and protection, I hear she's searching for Sansa Stark, we might have to help her in return, until we can find our own way to Ironrath…. Or wherever." He hoped he sounded more confident than he was, he didn't really have a Plan B, he knew what could happen to them both, what would happen to his companion should they be captured. His companion didn't say anything, just nodded absent mindedly. She hadn't spoken a word since their journey began.

"Are you worried about Tyrion?" he projected, he sure was, while Tyrion and Pod's companion were on cordial terms, he was unsure if her relationship was actually anything more than an alliance or whether they both just happened to have something the other wanted.

"I hear he escaped and the whole realm is looking for him, since we don't have a dwarf, fewer eyes would be on us," Pod assured himself, as much as her. "Wherever he is, he'll be fine, he's a smart man."

"Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?" the girl disguised as a boy whispered.

Podrick bit back offence; he should have expected better. The pair had met a few times, shared a few words and she had even asked him to accompany her on a walk once. He was a lowly squire, a kinsman of an illiterate knight who killed people for a job and hobby; she was a lady, who was handmaiden to Queen Margaery, she could not be expected to take notice of him.

"Because it's the right thing to do, because I too have to get out of that place, because it's what Tyrion would have wanted….." It's what I want. He held back what he wanted to say, and it seemed as if she sensed his hesitation. He looked away uncomfortably. "Let's make a move, shall we?" he coughed, and made to trot his horse forwards.

"Pod?"

He turned back around, as Lady Mira Forrester looked at him deeply and wistfully, her eyes carrying something pure and hopeful, something beautiful that made him feel joy inside like an echoing melody of a single drum. "I'm glad you're with me, Podrick."

Now his cheeks were surely turning red. He gave a small nod and motioned towards Duskendale, where they both gaited towards. A hidden smile of content spread across his face.

Author's Note: What did you think of that ending? Any feedback?

On that note, I'm actually in the swing to continue writing my other stuff, mainly Lone Cats. Thank you so much for your patience.