Thank you to everyone who has read, favourited and alerted this story. Especially a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed.

Xbolt51 – I don't know about riders, but Viserion is definitely needed for the war.

Angie B – Hopefully, there's a little more Catelyn closure in this chapter. Thanks again!

By the way, Sansa's PoV happens in a non-linear time line. It's about three weeks before the events of the last chapter and two weeks after Cat's death. There just wasn't room for it in part one of this chapter.

Chapter Fifty-Six: A War of Ice and Fire (Part Two).

Even at the best of times, the crypts filled Sansa with apprehension. When she was a child, the dark frightened her. Then the silence and the cold unnerved her. As she grew older, she thought of them only as a place of the dead, a place of antiquity, and she lost what little interest she had left in them. Since those days, the crypts had become home to so many she had known. Now they were home to both her parents.

Maester Luwin, their cook and Old Nan accompanied Arya and her as they made their way down the turnpike stair, into the cold below. She cradled the urn containing Catelyn's ashes in are arms, hugging the ceramic pot close until they reached the spot where Eddard Stark's so recently sculpted statue now stood. Some of the other effigies were still damaged by the earthquakes, but luckily for them the upper levels of the crypts had got off lightly. Still, she found herself looking into the stony faces of the lords of Winterfell she had never known. Her grandfather and great grandfather….

"They won't be happy," she said, to Luwin. "Mother wasn't a Stark."

Luwin understood her. "She needs to be with your father and your father needs to be with her. That's what matters now."

It was something else entirely that troubled Arya. Something that had been troubling Sansa as well.

"Do you think it will be safe?" she asked, looking to the Maester. "To open the tombs, I mean. They won't come out, will they?"

"We aren't opening the tombs, just the sarcophagus," Luwin assured her. "And we'll seal them again right away."

Mollified, they placed the urn beside their father's casket. Sansa had tied an old silk ribbon around the urn's edge. A ribbon her mother always plaited her hair with. Arya had brought a bracelet that had been a gift, given to her on her last name day before the war began. Small trinkets for their mother to remember them by as she made her final great journey. Once it was done, they wept their final tears and said their final goodbyes. All too soon it was brought to an end as a horn blast rent the air above.

Braced for the worst, they froze and strained to hear if the blast was accompanied by another. Three mean Others had been spotted. Two meant wights were approaching. One simply meant that unknown visitors were on the road. Waiting with their breath held, they breathed a sigh of relief when the silence remained unbroken.

"Men from the Reach, little bird," Sandor Clegane informed her as she emerged back into the open air.

Luwin flinched as Sandor insisted on using his pet name for her, rather than the correct title. But she had never cared and let it wash over her. She was far more curious as to why the men of the Reach were headed straight for them, instead of going directly to the wall. Or rather, where the wall once stood.

Out in the main yard, the gates were already open and the portcullis raised to admit a fine gold wheelhouse. Sansa shook her head in disbelief as it drew level with them. Even Viserion the dragon came out to investigate, breathing a quick stream of fire as if welcoming the guests with a makeshift hearth to warm their weary feet by. Sansa still couldn't quite believe what she was seeing as the back door opened and a delicate, wisp of an old lady was helped down the steps.

Olenna Tyrell soon stood straight again and regarded her surroundings with a look of distinct approval. Seeing only a tiny little bit of a woman, Luwin was about to rush to her aid before Sansa grabbed his arm.

"Don't be deceived, Maester, she'll hit you with her stick."

Arya grinned as she skipped over to greet the Lady, with Sansa following at a more sedate pace. When they were close enough for Olenna's old eyes to see clearly, she beamed brightly.

"Ah, the princesses," she said, patting their arms with her free hand. Then the smile faded and a sadness closed over her. "Please accept my condolences on the death of your mother. She was a brave and clever woman, the likes of which the world doesn't have nearly enough. And I speak for all of Houses Tyrell and Redwyne. Now, where are my grandsons?"

Before Sansa could even thank her for her condolences, a mounted knight in the form Ser Garlan reined up behind her and Lord Wyllas hobbled out from the other side of the wheelhouse, leaning on his walking stick. He greeted Sansa with a smile that made her heart skip a beat.

"Your grace, despite the dire circumstances it's a pleasure to meet you again," he said, dipping in his head by way of deference. "We would have been here sooner, but for the poor roads."

"Now we're all acquainted again, let's get in out of this cursed cold," Olenna wheezed as she headed for the door. She paused briefly, taking in the sight of Viserion who had curled around the doorway of the crypts. "That's an interesting house pet you have there."

"Grandmother!" Wyllas groaned. "You don't want to be offending the dragon."

They fell into easy chatter as they made their way into the common hall. Lord Mace was holding the fort at Highgarden, while Queen Margaery remained at King's Landing. Both sent their apologies at not being able to make the journey north. For all her immaculately gleaned manners, Sansa could not find a polite way to ask why one as elderly as Olenna had made the journey. But, she did her best.

"We're honoured and surprised to see you here, my lady. Especially at this dangerous time."

Olenna caught her meaning well enough and sniffed haughtily. "My dear, being the age I am I'm fully aware the dead and I are soon to become intimately acquainted. So why not begin the friendship now?"

Wyllas snorted laughter. "Grandmother, you haven't exactly been endearing yourself to them, have you? The last wight we saw you bashed between the eyes with your new walking stick."

"As well I might, young man!" Olenna retorted. "Decrepit as I am, there's a good fight left in me yet. And this is my Lightbringer!"

She stopped and brandished her new walking stick for Sansa to see. The dragon glass handle glinted in the brazier's light, dark and lethal to the forces of the Others. Arya looked mightily impressed.

"It's brilliant!"

"I'm glad someone appreciates my efforts at improvisation in these difficult times," Olenna replied, approvingly. Then her eye fell on Old Nan, almost a glint of jealousy there. "And I thought I was the oldest person in Westeros. I always knew the North bred them tough!"

Over dinner that night, Sansa sat in on Lord Wyllas' battle plans alongside Lady Olenna. He may not have been able to fight himself, but his mind was sharp and strategic, she noted. While Olenna remained at Winterfell, he and his men would set up siege engines at key points and fire boulders coated with wildfire into the heart of winter itself. The only problem was getting them there.

"We have ships loaded with equipment sailing for the Bay of Seals," Garlan said, pointing the place out on a map. "I say we go farther, beyond the Shivering Sea, into the lands of always winter. That's where the King is focusing his campaign, so that's where we need to be."

Wyllas agreed. "Yes, and we set up the siege weapons as close to the Lands of Always Winter as possible. We have wildfire and boulders already on board. We must head back to White Harbour as soon as possible. What we miss, the dragons can finish off."

"And the Redwyne fleet is setting sail along the west coast, so we will be closing in on the Others from both sides," Garlan added. "My only concern is that the royal forces already there will be in the middle of us."

Wyllas shook his head. "There will be time for the royal forces to move south as we close in. Send ravens to King Robb, Jon and Daenerys – they have the most men there."

"I can turn Viserion loose," Sansa added. "I can't fly him and don't know anyone who can. But he's better used north of the wall, than sitting around Winterfell."

"Excellent," Garlan replied. "As long as you have enough fire to ward off the wights, we will need him."

Sansa nodded. "We have men at arms constantly feeding the fires. They won't be allowed to go out."

"Then we'll take Viserion, too," Wyllas stated. "He will know what to do, to get back to the other two. Now that's concluded and Grandmother is safe, we must go."

With that, everyone else moved fast. They were out of the door and returning to their mounts after stocking up on food and clean water with a sense of urgency that was contagious. Meanwhile, Wyllas lagged behind with Sansa, snatching a few moments alone together before war separated them.

"When this is all over," he said. "I'll come back for you and we can go to Highgarden together."

Sansa felt the colour rise in her face, her heartbeat racing as she nodded. "Stay safe, please."

With his free hand, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and caressed her cheek. "You too," he replied, kissing her softly.

Just for a precious moment, she let a little hope into her heart.

Of all the things to worry about, Jon was worried about Ghost. How would his wolf react to him flying around on a dragon? Stupid, considering he no longer knew where Ghost was and could only hope he had gone back to Robb's camp. Meanwhile, he clung to Rhaegal and curled up between the ridges on his back. He was wide enough for Jon to sleep on, but he didn't dare so high in the sky. But as soon as they landed, and the heat of the dragon's body had melted the ice on which they landed, he managed to doze off. For how long for, he could not say and he awoke quickly, wondering where he was.

Leaving the safety and warmth of his dragon, he ventured a few feet away and looked all around him. It was the same in every direction. Snow and mountains. More snow and more mountains. Then some frozen wilderness to the north and not a soul in sight. He sighed heavily and shot Rhaegal a disapproving look.

"You don't know where we are, either," he said, accusingly. "Well, come on. We need to get moving."

Rhaegal whined, letting his head droop as though his sinuous neck no longer had the strength to hold it up. He was exhausted, Jon realised and cursed. He had been dropped in the back arse of nowhere by a dragon now too sleepy to hold his own head up. Worse, there was no food in sight anywhere, for him or the dragon.

"Great!" he sighed again.

Rhaegal's head hit the snow with a thump and he was soon snoring. Smoke billowed from his nostrils and the noise was as loud as an earthquake. Enough to wake the dead, or so Jon feared. Rather than give up on making much progress, he managed to ignite a tree branch from Rhaegal's breath and a flint he had in his pocket. With that, he was able to explore his surroundings.

From what he could see, he overlooked a mountain pass that wended between the hills. He could see down, right into it. If he put his mind to it, he could reach it on foot but he was far from certain about being able to get back up again. Apart from that, there was little to see. Hours passed, during which time he thought he saw shooting stars flying overhead, and all he was able to find were dead trees and frozen rivers. Then Rhaegal awoke suddenly, sniffed at the air and stood up, alert and piercing. Jon dared hope he was strong enough to fly again, but he soon heard the noise from the mountain pass below. Creeping to the edge, with the dragon at his side, he saw the Others slowly processing along the path.

They were beyond counting, even when he lay at the lip of the drop and stared intently. This close to them, he could see they were almost beautiful. If they noticed him there, they showed no sign of it. They walked with a purpose all their own and it didn't seem to include him. Silently, he belly crawled back to Rhaegal and scrambled onto his back, giving the order to fly. Having done it once, he felt more confident now and even directed the dragon down the hillside. When they were close enough, he gave the command that would stop the Others in their path.

"Dracaris!"

Almost instantly, a river of fire engulfed the strange beings, evaporating them within moments. They didn't even see what hit them as Jon rode down the lines, sweating in the heat of dragon fires.

Despondent and demoralised, Robb led what was left of his men back to the Wildling camp. The freefolk parted at their approach, clearing a path to Mance Rayder's pavilion, where the king beyond the wall awaited them. To his credit, he refrained from saying "I told you so" as Robb sat before the fire and accepted a horn of ale from Princess Val. Mercifully, it was Tormund Giantsbane and Karsi who did all the talking, too. Leaving him to gaze into the flames and try to make sense of what he had seen.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, too. Because the next thing he knew, he was waking up beneath a pile of animal hides that Val had covered him with. But he wasn't alone. The red haired girl who had brought Jaime and Theon in as captives was sat beside Mance, talking in hushed tones. She glanced over at him, noting his awakening with a small gasp. To prove her point, Robb swung his legs out of the hammock he was in and found his limbs leaden and clumsy.

"Was that ale laced?" he asked. Even his tongue felt thick.

"A little something to help you sleep, that's all," Mance replied. "Karsi tells me you had it rough at Hardhomme."

Despite not being asked, he supposed he ought to be grateful. "Rough enough. There's no way we can kill every wight out there. It's hopeless."

The red haired girl sighed. "You know-"

"Thank you, Ygritte," Mance cut over the girl. "I'll be seeing you soon, hopefully."

Understanding herself to be dismissed, she got up and left. Now it was just Robb and Mance Rayder, alone in the pavilion with a chicken carcass roasting on a spit. The smell of it made his stomach clench with hunger.

"Excuse Ygritte, Lord Stark, she's a rather … er … forthright girl. More forthright than those southern damsels you're used to."

Robb laughed drily. "If you knew my little sister, Mance Rayder, you wouldn't be saying that,"

Heedless of the fact that he had been stripped to his small clothes, Robb managed to stand himself up again and pull on his shirt.

"If ever a girl was born to be a princess it was your Sansa," Mance replied, taking Robb by surprise. "Or is it the other one, the brown haired girl?"

"Arya," Robb filled him in, stunned that he knew. "Forgive me, but how do you…."

Mance chuckled, his eyes still trained on the chicken roasting in the fire. He pulled it out himself and split the carcass in two, handing Robb a goodly share.

"Twice I've visited Winterfell," he answered, relishing Robb's confusion. "The last time was when King Robert come up from the south. I was with the musicians. I saw your sisters there, and your brothers. Yes, I remember Arya now. She splattered the other girl's dress with pudding and you had to take her away."

Only someone who was really there would know that, Robb thought to himself. His shock must have shown on his face, because Mance laughed again. Not unkindly though.

"If my father had recognised you, he'd have had your head," Robb pointed out.

"Aye, he would indeed. Which brings me on to the first time I was at Winterfell," he continued, unconcerned by past threats. "I was a brother of the Night's Watch then. I forget why we were there now, but two little boys had piled snow up on the gate bridge and were waiting to dump it on the next person to pass beneath."

"Me and Jon," Robb recalled. "You saw us and knew what we were doing, but kept our secret anyway."

"And that fellow chased you all round the yard with a big wooden spoon, threatening to blister both your arses for it," Mance took up events. "Did he catch you?"

Robb laughed, shaking his head. "We were too fast for old Tom."

"So there you go, we're not such strangers to one another after all," Mance's expression was distant as he recalled this ancient history. "Now here you both are. Both kings and both fighting alongside your ancient enemy."

"If we don't, we'll all be wiped out," Robb answered between mouthfuls of chicken. "Let us be honest, as old friends are, and admit that neither of us want that for our people."

"Of course not," Mance ceded. "But now you know what you're up against, what do you suggest? You've already admitted we can't get all the wights."

"In theory, it's simple,"answered Robb. "We go straight for the Others. Once their power is broken, they lose their hold on the dead. Is that what Ygritte was going to say before you dismissed her?"

Mance gave a slow nod of the head. "I wanted to see if you would work it out."

"And now that I have?"

"Now I know that you know what the real problem is," Mance replied. "I had many reasons for abandoning the Night's Watch. One of them was their utter insistence that these people here, that you see all around you, were their enemy. They were blind to the real problems and achieving nothing. They killed free folk indiscriminately, when they should have been working together. And it's taken this to make you southern lords realise that."

Robb noted the rebuke in his voice, but let it pass. It was only the truth of it that stung now. "Even if it's too little, too late; we're trying our best now."

"And we'll try our best along with you," Mance assured him. "Is the dragon queen your lover?"

"Aye," Robb confirmed. "She's my betrothed and I thought she would be back by now."

"They say she's lit up the northern haunted forest with that dragon of hers," he replied. "Fires that not even the Others can put out."

"So she's flushing them out?"

"Seems like it," he answered. "Now, when the Others are flushed out of that forest, we need to be waiting with fires lit to catch them."

"Then lets do that," said Robb, wondering why they were waiting. "We should do it now."

"We will, now that you're rested. Well rested too, seeing as you were asleep for a full day," Mance pointed out.

Robb hadn't realised it had been so long. Now the food had restored his strength, he was pulling on his breeches and reaching for his mail shirt. He had dreamed a wolf dream, with Grey Wind prowling close to the woods with Ghost and felt he ought to be there. Instead, he followed Mance outside, to where the free folk had lit the brightest, hottest fire the north had ever seen.

Drogon soared through the air, letting the wind carry him as Dany hunkered low on his back. Visibility was poor, but she noticed the Others often made their own light as they shimmered under the light of moon and stars. Whenever she saw them, she guiding Drogon down, fixing them in sight before burning every Other in her path. She had lost count of how many, and no one knew how many there were in total, so she kept on going and going, for as long as Drogon could carry her before turning back south.

Not until she saw the fires of the free folk did she dare to land properly. As she did, she heard the cry of Viserion rent the night sky as she descended. Although he had been left to guard Winterfell, there would be no turning him back now. An hour after landing, during which time she had located Robb, Rhaegal made three. She tried to call to the green and bronze dragon, but he would not answer her. But the closer she looked, she realised why as the speck of her nephew slid down from his back.

A smile spread broadly across her face. "Robb, he's ridden the dragon."

Beside her, Robb turned to look as well. "Er, is that a good thing?"

"Of course it is," she replied. "It means we're winning now."

By the time Jon awoke the next day, more troops had joined them. Reinforcements sent by Margaery of food, clothes and weapons. And Aegon Sand wielding Dawn, the infamous ancestral sword of House Dayne. A sword almost as famous as Blackfyre. Even Robb couldn't pretend he wasn't impressed by the fine, milk glass blade.

"The Redwyne fleet is in far north," Aegon informed them. "And the Tyrells have sailed past the Shivering Sea. They have siege engines and boulders coated in wildfire, ready to batter the Others as they leave the Land of Always Winter."

The news brought a cheer from the free folk and renewed their vigour as they advanced north.

"And, your grace, Lord Tyrion and Maester Marwyn send you this sword," said Aegon, handing over the steel and dragon glass blade.

Jon took it and balanced it in his hands, testing its forging. It was an odd thing to behold, with its obsidian gilding catching the light. It would never replace Blackfyre, or any other conventional sword he had owned. But it was its unique properties he needed, as soon as his dragon returned. But for now, the exhausted dragons had been left to rest, but Jon knew they would find their own way when the time came. Which it did, a week after they began their trek over the mountains and into the lands of always winter, burning out the Others as they went.

They circled the night sky above them, swooping down to where Jon and Dany had set up camp north of the Frostfangs. All three of them were there now, stronger and bigger from their recent exertions. Jon trapped a hare to blood the sword of obsidian then held it to Rhaegal to breathe on. When he pulled the sword away, the blade was engulfed in flame, giving off heat strong enough for those around him to feel.

"It works," he said, narrowing his eyes against the light. "It actually works."

Thanks again for reading. Reviews would be welcome if you have a minute.

The third and final part of this chapter will be uploaded tomorrow night (UK time). Then there's only two more chapters to go until it's completely finished. As such, I'm delaying A Stitch in Time's next chapter, just to focus on getting this story finished. It's been a work in progress for eighteen months, gone on far longer than I expected and it seems interest in it is dwindling. So yeah, definitely time to get it properly wrapped up. Thanks again.