A/N: Thanks a ton for the support and reviews! The more comments the better, feedback helps a ton.
Gilded Lion
He stalked through the crowd of jabbering noble petitioners that filled the vast space of the Red Keep's throne room. Any sop too slow to move caught a swift armored elbow to the side.
Dragons to the east. Undead creatures to the north. Monsters closing in on all sides. The world was going mad. Just like your sister, a traitorous part of his mind whispered. He shut it up firmly.
It was a rare event indeed to see Queen Cersei holding court, as she hadn't allowed the peerage into the throne room since her coronation. The two of them had decided that she needed to bring the nobility firmly back into their camp, the first step of which was to restablish the crown's grand duty of listening to the complaints of it's richest subjects.
The timing was atrocious. Cersei had to hear the most recent news from the Neck, and the well-dressed vultures in the room could not know it- if they haven't heard already. The rumors had already spread well south of the capitol. The kingdoms were strife with dark whispers of the things come south of the Wall.
He reached the dais atop which rested the Iron Throne, and knelt. The surrounding noise died down as the Queen greeted him and bade him rise with all the same theatrics he had grown accustomed to with his lifetime in the royal court. He looked up at her face and she read the message in his eyes, leaning over to whisper into Qyburn's ear. The maester-turned-Hand signaled Ser Gregor Clegane, or Ser Robert Strong, whatever they were calling the beast these days, who began to herd the nobles out of the room.
He and his sweet sister had always been good at unspoken communication. First to trade little smiles and jokes at their father's table in Casterly Rock, or to sneak off and play in the gardens- though thier activities grew more insidious with age.
Two bodies, one heart. Less and less true each day, eh Jamie?
"What words do you bring that are so sensitive you needed me to clear the room?" His sister's voice snapped Jamie out of his reminiscing. He answered her. "Imperative news. The men we sent north to survey Moat Cailin and set up an encampment in the Neck. Do you still remember?"
"Two hundred men, I had one of our cousins lead them. They marched up from the city nearly a fortnite ago. What news of them." she replied.
"They're dead."
Cersei grimaced. "Who killed them? Those dirty little swamp-men come scuttling out of the muck? Or a force from Winterfell- does this bastard in the North want to engage in open rebellion?"
"Not who, sister, but what. A force of reanimated dead men that ripped them to bits." Jamie uttered the line with complete sincerity, but the Queen's response was laughter. Her ridicule spilled out of her mouth in peals of richly-pitched amusement, like so many ringing chimes.
Jamie felt his mood grow even darker.
Cersei's enjoyment stopped as suddenly as it had started, and she fixed him with a glare. "You waste my time with a jape? Your so-called 'imperative news' was this drivel about walking corpses? I've been hearing about these northern fairy tails for weeks!" her anger came just as sudden as her laughter had.
"No drivel Cersei!" Jamie forced out, "I instructed the Lannister commander to send me a raven once they arrived at the Twins, and sent a rider after them as soon as he didn't. My rider who found what was left of their camp, who saw what now occupies the Twins and the Neck. These rumors are true!" he was surprised to find himself shouting at the end. Cersei looked furious.
"Excuse me, master Jamie, but what you speak of… it's simply not possible." Qyburn cut in, sensing his Queen's mounting rage.
"How can you, of all people, disbelieve this. Have you not been dabbling in something similar down in the Black Cells?" Jamie retorted. He gestured towards the massive man in kingsguard armor standing at attention to their side.
"Ser Gregor and my other work in the castle dungeons are not dead men, commander. They are very much still living and breathing creatures, albeit greatly… altered, shall we say. I work in the realm of chemicals and flesh and their myriad interactions, and if what you say is true-"
"It is." Qyburn frowned slightly at Jamie's interruption.
"-if what you say is true, then it means that corpses whose hearts no longer beat and whose bodies are no longer functioning- not in any way ours do- are up and moving. Again, if this is true, then it is completely outside the realm of study that I work in. I simply cannot conceive how it could be done, and I am a very imaginative man."
Those last words sent a shiver of discomfort down Jamie's spine, despite the soft tone they were spoken in. One glance at the mangled purple skin and inky sclera revealed by the Mountain's helm reminded him just what the innocuous-looking slim old man was capable of.
Debating with Qyburn was accomplishing nothing. Jamie refocused his attentions on Cersei.
"Regardless of whether you believe in what the threat is, the threat is there. Those Lannister men are dead. Allow me to personally command a force up north and investigate. We can also finish setting up that encampment.." he was losing her- Jamie could see her interest waning. "My instincts, and my duty as Commander of your armies tell me we need to address this issue in the Neck." he pleaded.
"You want to abandon our plans in the Reach and go north to chase grumpkins and snarks in the swamps?" Cersei sneered. "You've inherited all the looks and none of the brains, brother."
"Cersei-" he had to try. She wasn't giving the news the weight it deserved.
"You will address me by my title! I am your Queen! I won't hear anymore of these stories Commander." she put extra venom in the last word. "I've been informed that the Targaryen whore has marshaled her forces in the Reach and Dorne, and they will strike at either the Westerlands or the Stormlands. Either way, Highgarden is wide open."
"The operation should take-" Cersei cut him off again.
"I sent Euron Greyjoy to handle the threats to us. He promised the deed done and more, while you sit here arguing with your liege." She worked her next words around her mouth like a pair of sweets. "Perhaps I should give more attention to his proposal of marriage."
Jamie grit his teeth felt his hand clench around the handle of his sword involuntarily. He jerked a swift nod. "I will see your will done, My Queen."
He turned and stalked out of the throne room.
Dragon Queen
She would never grow tired of flight. Since that first eventful trip through the skies back in Meereen, each time she rode Drogon through the clouds it was an unforgettable experience. The land rolled underneath them, towns like little brown buttons on a green canvas and rivers like shining ribbons of blue silk. Even as high up as they were, Daenerys felt no cold. She wore her thick woolen riding coat, dyed a pure white. Missandei had spent a whole day weaving intricate patterns into the material, and had presented it to her as a gift when she prepared to travel north.
Drogon's scaly hide also gave of a veritable aura of heat. The dragon seemed to provide a bubble of warm air around them as defense against the chill.
They flew north-west for a while, skirting the Isle of Faces and Harrenhal, who's towers reached like spiny black fingers, so high they almost brushed the clouds, despite their melted and ruined state. The sight of what her predecessor Aegon the First had wreaked upon the castle was both awe-inspiring and humbling. Drogon was still far from large enough to generate the amount heat that must of poured from the maw of Balerion the Black Dread, enough to melt stone like wax. Her dragon, somehow sensing Daenerys' thoughts, gently shook his neck and snorted a cloud of smoke.
She laughed and leaned down slightly to rub at the soft leathery skin under one of the horns behind his great head. "One day, Drogon, you too will command such fire. Patience, my child."
She felt her mount rumble beneath her, and some near-intangible feeling thrummed through her chest. There were moments like these where she could almost swear she knew exactly what the black dragon was telling her, but the feeling escaped her. And yet, such moments have been more and more frequent.
As she followed the Kingsroad beneath her due north, the cold suddenly intensified. She felt it set in, bursting the bubble of draconic heat that had insulated her, and digging its icy claws through the layers of her coat.
Winter is Coming indeed, Daenerys mused. The words of House Stark, a warning instead of the more classical threats and boasts of the other Houses. And despite that, the words still rang ominous. Certainly not as intimidating as her own Fire and Blood, but there was something about the indomitable fact of the statement. It didn't matter how powerful the man or how hard the struggle, there was no defeating the elements.
She rode on, lost in thought as Drogon soared ever northward and the chill continually grew worse. Eventually the coastlines closed in enough that she could smell the sea, and she spotted the Twins coming up ahead of her. Daenerys' attention, however, was not on the castle but what ran through it from the east and continued onward to the west.
A solid line of black, from her birds-eye-view looking like so many little toy soldiers similar to those Viserys had owned as a child. But these were no toys.
Daenerys bade her mount to go closer, and Drogon responded by swooping towards the ground. She could make out the features of men, some clad in rags and furs, some in filthy Lannister armor, and some that were barely held together with bone.
It was true. Dead men in the North. The wights were real. A noise of shock escaped her. The line of creatures ran three deep, and to a one they stood stock still facing the south. She commanded Drogon rise up again into the sky with no small amount of trepidation, and flew east until they saw ocean.
Then they wheeled around and flew west until the waters of the Bite and the Narrow Sea came over the horizon. Her shock transformed into horror.
King Snow had done the impossible with sheer numbers. He established a living- or should she say nonliving- wall of men from one side of the continent to the other. Even if it was along the thinnest stretch of land in Westeros, the amount of bodies must number in the hundreds of thousands. No land-bound force would be able to enter the North without the knowledge of the King in the North, assuming they could even bypass the wights.
Daenerys flew back towards the Twins, and her worry grew like a vine. The dead men were supposed to be susceptible to fire, and nothing burned hotter than dragonfire. But it wasn't a question of what her dragons could do or could not do anymore. This King of Winter had enough of his creatures here standing border patrol to overrun her entire army thrice over.
This changes everything. If the North was hostile, and this massing of undead was for a soon-to-happen incursion south, then Daenerys might have to hold the southernmost kingdoms while the Army of the Dead simply swallowed everything north of King's Landing.
No, even that might not work. If the rumors were true- and nothing was disproving them yet- than King Snow could raise more soldiers for his endless army from the dead bodies of the slain. Daenerys felt her heart clench at the sudden thought. Every man, woman, and child turned into these… these things. An entire Realm's worth of bodies forged into a machine of war, and every fallen ally rising up again to join the enemy, just like those wights staring out of Lannister helms with blue eyes.
She needed to drastically shift her strategy. If she spent too much strength on the Lion, her back could be savaged by the Wolf, and her people wouldn't stand a chance. It was wholly possible that only the might of the Six Kingdoms could throw back this northern scourge.
But Cersei would never accept truce, Tyrion had told her as much. The Mad Queen would rather burn the city to the ground that hand it over to her enemies, and she'd already partially done it. Surely the crown knew of the gathering threat in the Neck, but Daenerys hadn't seen any answer to it on her flight here. Was Cersei trying to ally with the King in the North? Was it even possible to ally with someone who commanded dead men?
Oh Gods, were there even any living souls left north of the Twins?
Daenerys had to do something. She was here, now, and every less wight was one less her men may one day face on the field of battle. She gripped Drogon's back with steely determination and together they banked in the sky and dived downwards.
"Dracarys!"
Dragonfire lanced out from between Drogon's roaring jaws, white hot flame turning into a raging inferno of orange and red along the conveniently straight line of bodies drawn for her and her dragon. Hundreds of the corpses turned to ash in an instant, and hundreds more burst into fire like dry kindling.
Oh yes, they burned quite well.
Daenerys and Drogon finished their attack run and rose up into the sky, turning once again to begin another dive downwards. The wights' heads were all cocked upwards at her now, blue eyes staring at the winged figure above them.
"Dra-" Before she could finish, Drogon suddenly swerved midair with a massive gust of his wings, the latter half of Daenerys' command cut off into a yell of surprise. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something blue flash past them, and then a sudden wave of cold along her right side, like she had been dipped into the freezing waters around Dragonstone.
She looked down, and out of the thick woodlands near the castle-bridge, figures moved forwards into the flat grasslands, a hundred feet or so out from the line of wights. Three humanoids of Giant proportions, a group of archers in northern livery, and flanked by two creatures of an unsettling pale shade, a man clad in black.
Drogon roared a challenge to those below, and the Giants roared right back. The little platoon of archers loosed a volley at her, but the mighty dragon's wings beat back the arrows with great burst of wind. Daenerys focused on the figure in the black cloak, and she felt it with certainty.
It was him. King of Winter, King Snow. He was here in the flesh.
One of the white creatures next to him raised it's arm and out of thin air, coalesced a massive blue-hued spear of pure ice. It was the same projectile that had so narrowly missed them just moments ago, thanks to Drogon's evasive acrobatics.
"Dive!" She screamed. Drogon responded, and a whoosh of displaced air was heard overhead, followed by the same deep numbing chill from before, this time down her back instead of her side. Daenerys did not want to find out what would happen if one of those spears hit.
The archers loosed another ineffectual volley, and the Giants were hurling nothing at them but noise. She saw King Snow walk out from between his creatures and stand in front of his little force. He faced her and raised his arms before him.
He was taunting her. Daenerys felt her blood stir as her anger swelled. She could end him right now. She could end the threat from the North, and defend her people.
"Dracarys!"
Once again, Dragonfire laced forwards and bathed the world before her eyes in flame. She had come in at an angle where she could not see anything except the furnace fires that was Drogon's breath, incinerating all before her into ash. She exulted in the same power as the dragonlords of Old Valyria, gliding forth across the ground on her mighty mount.
Suddenly, a sound she had never head before, a thunderous crunch followed by a great cracking noise. A jolt, and Daenerys realized she was still flying- except now not on the back of a dragon.
The crash into the ground and forced all her breath to leave her body on impact, black spots suddenly swimming in hazy vision. Her ears rang. She hacked and coughed and managed to wrench her head up to see-
She was inside a great blue dome. The same freezing blue ice from the spears, on a massive scale all around her. There was a jagged, melting hole on one side, and cracks spread out in all directions from it. She looked around, and there were no smoking remains of the northerners.
Daenerys' ears recovered enough to hear the roaring of her dragon, and despite the pain wracking her body she pulled herself up towards the sound. Drogon was grounded, thrashing around in the dirt as the three massive Giants restricted him with equally enormous ropes of unknown make, binding him tighter and tighter onto the surface.
Her body seemed to move through molasses, impossibly slow as the bowmen from before moved towards her. Daenerys watched as man who she presumed was their leader shouted orders at them in a thick Fleabottom accent, demanding that they take her away and slap her in manacles.
As the men-at-arms dragged her up she turned to see the bearded old leader stride towards the figure keeled over in the grass, and noticed it was him, the man in the black cloak, the King.
And suddenly she realized what had happened, what he had just done, he'd thrown up the massive barrier of ice and stopped her dragonfire dead in its tracks, blinded both Drogon and his fool rider long enough that they slammed into it and then onto the ground.
Daenerys saw the bearded commander reach his collapsed King, face lined with concern, and then her head dropped as exhaustion took over and lulled her into the dark embrace of unconsciousness.