TYRION

The fleet docked in the harbour in the late morning. Dozens of ships, straggling into the shelter of the grey city filling it to capacity. Passing beneath the Seal Rock, the looms above him sparkled in green and grey, crowned in ancient weathered stones that dated back to the first men.

To the left, the towering fortress of the Wolf's Den reached out across the blue white waters, the edges cluttered with houses and shacks clinging to the walls like barnacles.

Tyrion Lannister stood on the rear deck of the command ship bundled up in brown and black furs, the golden pin of the hand of the queen nestled against his breast. The wind whistled through his hair, biting at his ears.

He could hear Ser Davos nearby shouting orders to the crew, hauling crates of cargo, moving shipments of dragonglass, those crates are worth more than gold, Tyrion thought. A resource as valuable as food, a resource that could save us all. As the ships anchored in the inner harbour, the dock edges began to crowd with northerners eagerly eying those from across the narrow sea.

Tyrion knew the northerners a fickle folk in most things, trusting only their own, wary of outsiders. What will it take to convince them, they chose Jon Snow as their King, a bastard, a boy with no claim, no title, no right, yet they chose him, perhaps minds can be changed, or perhaps desperate times breed drastic decisions.

Shaking his furs tighter around his shoulders, he made his way down the stairs across the deck, weaving throughout the crates and containments being hauled onto the docks. Making his way towards the main cabin, guarded by two unsullied, stoic statues in leather, shields at their sides, swords at their hips.

Entering the room, Tyrion saw Jon and Daenerys deep in conversation at the furthest end of the table, to the right, Missandei, the queen's most trusted advisor and closest friend, certainly more trusted than I. She bowed when she saw him, he smiled in return. He didn't quite hear the words exchanged between the two before they both turned to the table. "Your grace, my lord"

"Lord Tyrion, good to see you." Daenerys said, smiling. Nodding towards him, Tyrion watched as Jon placed his hands on the table in front of him. "We'll start unloading the dragonglass as soon as all the ships have fully docked."

"How long do you think it will take?" asked Daenerys.

"We have forty-eight ships each holding fifty-five crates of dragonglass...a few days at least...and we'll have to move it all, we can't afford to leave any of it behind. It's worth more to us now than gold" replied Jon.

"And unloading it won't even be the difficult part", he continued, "Transporting it to Winterfell will be no easy task, we won't be travelling on summer roads, the snow and ice will slow us down significantly. We had a tough time on our way down from Castle Black, the thaws were our saving grace but I don't think there'll be many of them this time."

"What about the Dothraki, do we know where they are?" enquired Daenerys.

"If they've rode hard on the kingsroad, they should be just north of the twins, we'll likely meet up with them somewhere around Castle Cerwyn."

There was a knock at the door suddenly, the commander of the unsullied, Grey Worm, addressed only Daenerys, "Forgive me, my queen. A Lord Wyman Manderly is waiting ashore for Lord Snow."

"Thank you, Grey Worm, we'll be with him presently." she responded.

"Your job of changing the minds of northerners appears to be starting now, your grace." said Tyrion.

"The first of many, I'm sure." To what degree of success, I wonder.

Making their way back onto the deck, Tyrion crossed the gangplank, glancing down briefly to the white waves crashing against the harbour.

Jon and Daenerys followed suit behind, Dany flanked by four unsullied soldiers, full leather armour and helmets, they certainly won't get cold in a hurry, swords and shields at their side.

To his right, he noticed a group of soldiers led by an elder man approaching them. The man must have been nearly sixty years old, garbed in silver amour, the sigil of the merman was carved into his breastplate and his cloak was as white as his hair.

Tyrion wondered how his armour could fit around him, his belly looked compressed beneath the steel, his fingers the size of sausages, he completely covered the hilt of his sword with just three fingers. His eyes a startling blue squashed between the layers of skin that coated his round face, his beard amplified the size of his mouth completely engulfing his chin in white, the same as his hair, yellow patches dotted his moustache like islands almost keeping his mouth hidden.

Jon stepped forward to greet him, Tyrion saw the guards around him discreetly move their hands to their sword hilts. We're not going to make a move, therefore they shouldn't...hopefully…

"Lord Manderly, thank you for coming to greet us"

"Good to see you back in one piece, your grace. The north sorely missed its King."

"Lord Manderly, this is Daenerys Targaryen" He gestured towards the silver-haired queen who took a few steps forward.

"It's a pleasure to meet you my lord, thank you for allowing us to use your ports, I hope we won't take up too much room." Tyrion saw the older man's jaw tighten and his face tense.

"No…not much at all. We should get inside, the nights come around far quicker now."

Lord Manderly swiftly turned about, his men began to part as he made his way through, they all started to follow suit.

White harbour earned its name as the grey city, making his way across the cobblestones, Tyrion saw the white-washed ashen buildings that lined the Castle Stair, houses and shacks stacked the harbour's edge leading all the way down to the outer city walls. Dotted between the buildings, marble mermaids cradled bowls of burning whale oil, lighting the streets in brown and gold, majestically gazing to the sky.

The path began to lead upwards slightly as they ventured further towards New Castle, the seat of House Manderly, reaching the centre of the city, the Fishfoot Yard began to come into view, a cobbled square with a fountain its centre-piece, located outside the Seal Gate. At the peak, a merman clutching a trident; towering several feet into the air, the statue stood like a god of the waters, ready to dive beneath the waves at any moment, the three steel prongs a hard silver, the tips black as the night sky. The tail of the statue shone an ethereal emerald green, with streaks of orange and gold as it twisted atop the fountain, the waters gently washing up and over the scales of the stone. The Old Mint resided to the right just past the fountain, a huge structure with large oak doors reinforced with iron bars lining the wood.

The primary place for refugees, women and children displaced from war, fleeing their homes from bandits or mercenaries, or simply seeking food and shelter. I'm sure the activities of the Boltons helped increase the capacity, Tyrion thought. Rounding the fountain, they congregated in front of the Seal Gate, Tyrion heard Lord Manderly exchange words with the guard above, before the creak of the wood rung in his ears as it shifted to the side.

The proud pale fortress of New Castle stood before them, sitting at the summit of the hill, the castle elevated itself above the rest of the city above the inner walls, at such a height both harbours could be seen clearly from the top. The merman banners flew aloft the grand towers, bolts of blue cloth with edges of white blowing briskly in the wind.

The chambers were lavish, handsomely furnished and exquisitely upkept. The halls were decorated with faded banners, broken shields and rusted swords all from ancient victories. Wooden figures from the prows of ships dotted in-between, some stood on pedestals, others plastered to the walls.

As night fell Tyrion Lannister resided in his room, the lantern shone in the archway of the window, illuminating the stone against the backdrop of the grey city now covered in white sheets as snow rained down from the sky.

Moving to his desk, Tyrion poured himself a cup of wine, glancing at the myriad of parchment scrolls scattered across the table. The managing of paperwork fell to him, he wasn't unaccustomed to it but it wasn't his favourite pastime.

A knock at the door broke him from his own mind, grabbing a stool, staring through the peephole he saw the bald head of the spider.

"May I come in, my lord?"

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Do not fret my lord, merely whispers best spoken in a hush."

Standing down from the stool, Tyrion unbolted the door, "Please, come in"

"A most modest chamber my lord."

"Well, I suppose I don't need much room." He said smiling.

"May I?" Varys requested gesturing to the chair. Tyrion nodded in reply.

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm visiting you at this late hour."

"You say that like I should be surprised?" Very little surprises me anymore, let alone more whispers not meant for my ears,

"You recall the conversation you had at Kings Landing, when you pleaded with your sister to come to an agreement about halting hostilities and forming a truce"

"Of course, you know I treasure my conversations with my beloved sister, even more so when she threatens to have me killed."

"Yes well, I think we both know that whatever promises she made, whatever truce she formed, she's not going to lift a finger to help the northern forces in the coming war." So, he's not the only one to doubt Cersei, though it's not without reason, with his network of spies he most likely knows Cersei as much as if he were her own brother.

"Jaime is at her side; I trust that he will do the right thing. She may not believe in what's coming, she may not care to stand up and play her part but she will care if Jaime cares, he's the only one she ever listened to and if he speaks truth, she will listen." He said incessantly.

"I'm sure that would be the case, my lord, if he were still at her side."

Tyrion raised his head to look into the eyes of the spymaster, "What do you mean, 'were'?"

"It appears Ser Jaime does intend to do the right thing, at least as much as he can. He has left Kings Landing and your sister and now rides north, presumably to join up with our forces before heading to Winterfell. So, it wouldn't appear we'll be receiving any additional reinforcements unless your brother can muster some on his way north."

"Do you know where he is?" asked Tyrion after a short pause.

"I'm afraid not, my little birds report no sight of him since he left the capital, only that he heads north," Tyrion turned to the wooden desk, placing a hand on the chair that stood before it. I never should have trusted Cersei, how could I be so foolish, to believe her, to believe the poison she spouts from that hellhole she calls a mouth.

"Did you really believe her, my lord?"

"I wanted to, for the sake of her child I wanted to." He said, exhaling a sigh.

"A child you're sure she's carrying?"

"It's irrelevant now, when Daenerys discovers I've failed her yet again, I fear I might meet my demise before the dead even reach Winterfell."

"Your brother could still gather a small force, the Lannister army is spread far and wide across the Westerlands, even in the Riverlands. It would be better than him turning up a single man."

"Do you think anyone else knows?"

"My little birds are most discreet, my lord, they whisper songs meant only for my ears."

"Well, it won't be long before those whispers become words, it's only a matter of time."

"There is something else, my lord." Ah wonderful, more whispers to sing of my mistakes.

"A song from across the narrow sea, apparently Euron Greyjoy ventured to Volantis not long after departing from the meeting at the dragonpit. He has treated with the officers of the golden company of the free cities and enlisted their services in a contract to fight presumably…for your sister. It seems that dead man didn't terrify him after all"

"Huh of course it wouldn't, a man of his nature would never walk away so easily. So, he wasn't retreating to the iron islands at all, he was organising the replenishment of Cersei's forces." could that be why Jaime abandoned her, could she have conspired with the greyjoy pirate behind his back?

"So regardless of the outcome in the north, Cersei will have a reinforced army to finish off whichever side wins, they won't have dragonglass of course but her odds will certainly be more favourable." Continued Tyrion.

"Quite considerably so, my lord. They say the golden company command war elephants into battle, fierce beasts trained and disciplined in the art of warfare."

"How good do elephants fare against dead men?" Because that is all who will be left, Tyrion remarked, "Can't imagine they'll do very handsomely."

"Perhaps not, but the golden company are renowned as some of the best soldiers across the narrow sea and they never break a contract, my lord, if Cersei is paying them well, they won't stop until all her enemies are defeated. And what's more, now that Queen Daenerys has temporarily abandoned her conquest of the seven kingdoms, there's nothing to stop Cersei taking control of the south. She's already obtained a large portion of the harvest from the Reach after the sacking of High Garden, rest assured the larders of Kings Landing will be fully stocked to the brim."

"She'll have control of three kingdoms, at best. the southern lords won't rally behind her, they despise her." Retorted Tyrion.

"Oh no doubt my friend, there aren't many that find your sister to be very amicable but winter is here now and the prospect of a powerful army and the possibility of a rich harvest could sway the minds of those doubtful of their own survival against the oncoming storm. If we manage to emerge victorious, we could end up facing the entire south, and with a broken, fragile army most like. The southern lords will side with the queen they believe can win."

"So even if by some miracle we win and still retain a force to attack Kings Landing, are you saying it's hopeless? Cersei has an armada en route to the capital and the remaining lords will rally to her side to defend their country against the foreign queen?" Varys rose at that, taking a few steps, rounding to the far side of the bed opposite the door.

"Quite possibly my friend, unless fate were to change fortunes to a certain outcome." He said slyly.

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Whilst serving as the master of whisperers in the capital, I maintained a network of contacts back in Essos, many of whom had connections with the golden company, including the commanding officers and their captain, a man by the name, Harry Strickland."

"I assume there's going to be a point at the end of this." Tyrion quipped.

Smiling, Varys continued, "The golden company have never broken a contract, but sometimes blood is a price thicker than gold. The golden company aren't just a band of mercenaries my lord, they stand for something more, they stand for what they were built on."

"They were built on the actions of a decrepit king, legitimising children not born from his own wife, fuelling multiple rebellions that lasted years and claimed thousands of lives. They also founded House Blackfyre did they not, who fought against the Targaryens, am I missing something obvious here?"

"Not at all my lord, you know your history well. It is true, House Blackfyre fought against the Targaryens for the promise of becoming monarchs themselves. Nevertheless, they fought for their bloodline, for their own people and many amongst the ranks of the golden company never gave up on the dream of taking the Iron Throne for themselves. Since the end of the Targaryen dynasty, whispers spread far and wide throughout the free cities that should someone with the blood of the dragon ever lay claim to the Iron Throne, that Captain Strickland himself would support him…or her...with all the forces at his command, even if in breach of a contract." Tyrion studied the bald man with intrigue,

"You're sure these weren't just rumours disguised as whispers?"

"As I've said my friend, my sources across the Narrow Sea are most credible."

"So what does this mean for us?"

"The seeds, for a scenario such as this were planted many years ago, we were simply waiting for the pieces to fall into place on the board. Now all to do is wait to see if their fruits will bear sweet...or sour…"

"And let me guess, you've been the one facilitating the growth of these seeds."

"My hand and many others my lord, it has been a long enduring investment, but it may fully come to fruition at a time when we need it most."

"So will we see this fruition soon, preferably before the dead massacre us all?"

"Difficult to say my lord, there are a few moves more to be made yet. Unfortunately, some of them may depend on our survival in the north, at which point-"

"At which point it won't even matter."

"Do you trust me, my lord?"

"Surprisingly yes, I do."

"Nothing is promised as of yet my friend, there are very few guarantees in this life…but we are working on it."

"And I'm sure our queen appreciates it."

"On the contrary my friend, in this case I think it best the queen doesn't know...for now at least." Tyrion turned to fully face Varys,

"You may be right, very well then."

"I'll take my leave, my lord, many more whispers will be flying from far and wide to me very soon, they mustn't find the wrong ears."

The weather turned chilly over the next few days; snow fell deep coating the city in white. The harbour rife with activity as the ships were unloaded and crates of dragonglass carted through the castle courtyards. Meetings had taken place in the early mornings discussing the details of the journey to Winterfell.

The Unsullied worked tirelessly hauling the dragonglass through the city, their work ethic marvelled the northerners, working well into the night despite the freezing temperatures and bitter wind. By the end of the fifth day all the ships had been unloaded and the cargo readied for transportation.

At nightfall they feasted in the hall of Merman's Court. Tyrion chose to enter through a side door rather than the main entrance, bypassing the tables of rowdy, audacious northerners.

The hall acted as a shrine to House Manderly, every surface carved and painted in exquisite detail. The wooden walls and ceiling were decorated with all the creatures of the sea. The floor had painted crabs and clams and starfish, half hidden amongst twisted black fronds of seaweed and the bones of drowned sailors.

Pale sharks prowled the walls through blue-green depths, whilst eels and octopods slithered around rocks and sunken ships. The windows were arched and tall with shoals of herring and great codfish swimming between them.

Tyrion noticed the ceiling depicted the surface of the sea, a war galley docked to the right against a rising sun, a battered old cog with ragged sails raced before a storm to the left. The high table was situated beneath a dais that stood at the forefront of the hall; a small yellow cushioned throne sat beneath gold curtains, behind it a grey leviathan and a kraken were locked in duel beneath waves of blue and green.

The Onion Knight, Ser Davos and Ser Jorah Mormont were seated either side of Tyrion. Jon was at the head of the table, Lord Manderly to his right, Daenerys at his left. The tables were crowded with northerners, Stark and Manderly alike. The absence of Unsullied had not been lost on Tyrion, the atmosphere turned sour any time they occupied the same space as the northerners. As a result, they had made separate camps outside the walls far from their suspicious glares.

The aroma of smells quickly filled the room, plates of boar with mushrooms and apples in a meat sauce, pies with chunks of beef mixed with peas and onions, streaks of deep brown gravy oozing from holes in the fluffy pastry. Tyrion ensured he took his fill before the evening was done. Washing his meal down with a Dornish red made it ever sweeter.

The court began to empty as dusk settled, the night sky consumed the arched windows. Tyrion had made his way down from the high table revelling in the spoils of the feast. As the tables were cleared, Tyrion saw a guard in Manderly armour make his way hastily along the edge of the hall clutching a scroll, his body twisting and turning to avoid the remaining northerners still taking their fill. What now? What news could this bring? Nothing good most like

He watched as the soldier rounded the table bestowing the scroll to Lord Manderly, "A raven from Winterfell my Lord." Sharing a look with Jon, he broke the seal and began to read, "What is it?" Jon asked. Lord Manderly merely looked at him before handing over the piece of parchment.

Jon began to scan the scroll as Daenerys edged over to obtain a better view. Tyrion saw them quickly descend from the high table and approach him, "We need to meet in the council room...now."

The council chamber was a modest room, a table similar to the one in King's Landing, four blue pillars stood around the centre table, green and golden scales hung between them among lanterns hanging from the ceiling.

The main advisors gathered around the table, Jon and Daenerys approached the head of the table, Lord Manderly took his place to the right of him, the table became full with Tyrion, the spymaster Varys, the onion knight Ser Davos, the old bear Ser Jorah, the towering maid of Tarth, Lady Brienne, the commander of the Unsullied Grey Worm and the queen's advisor Missandei. Placing the raven scroll on the table, Jon enquired to Lord Manderly. "When did we receive this?"

"Just now your grace."

"You're sure?"

"The seal was unbroken, I assure you, my king."

"Very well." Jon turned back to the rest of the table.

"We've just received a report that the dead have broken through the wall, there's no mention of any survivors, nor that they've reached any of the other northern castles. We have to think they'll be moving south now, to Winterfell."

"How did they get past the wall?" entreated Davos

"According to this, the Night King has a dragon, the one lost beyond the wall, he brought it back."

"Brought it back?" questioned Daenerys sadly."

"Aye, the Night King possesses the ability to resurrect living beings; men, livestock, if it breathes and it moves, once it falls, he enrols them into his army."

"So…he's resurrected Viserion?"

"I'm afraid so...I'm sorry your grace...but there's nothing we can do for him now."

"I know…I understand."

Tyrion could see the hurt in her eyes, her face betrayed the words she spoke, she may know and understand now but what when she sees him, her dragon, her child,

"We have to focus now on the road north." Jon continued. "The majority of the dragonglass shipments have been unloaded, they should be ready for the road in two days' time. We can't afford to wait a moment longer than is necessary, not now we have this news. On the way north we should meet up with the Dothraki around here," he positioned a finger on the map, "not far from Castle Cerwyn, about a day's ride from Winterfell. Ser Jorah, I would ask you to ride out at first light to meet up with the horde and ensure they remain there until we reach them. Take as many men and supplies as you need."

"I'll start preparing at once." The old knight responded nodding.

"Lord Cerwyn may already have headed north to return to Winterfell, regardless I'll organise a raven be sent to the castle first thing in the morning to inform whoever may be there."

"How long is the road to Winterfell?" queried Daenerys.

"Eight or nine days, it's not a long march but winter is here now and we won't be travelling on summer roads. If these snows keep up it may take longer, therefore it's imperative we prepare fully before we march."

"We will, have no fear of that." added Ser Davos.

"We should look to send a raven to my sister as well, and to all the other northern houses, no doubt word of our arrival will reach Winterfell soon enough, still we should try to notify as many as we can. The next few days are going to be tough but this is just the beginning of the road, we still have a way to go."

The council room quickly dissipated once the meeting concluded, walking back to his chambers, wonder pondered Tyrion's thoughts, The road ahead starts here, a road that will hopefully end in triumph, if the dead don't massacre us all. With the Wall fallen, there will be nowhere left to hide, the darkness will come for us all alike, will we be able to stop it? Halt the reach of its shadow, this war will decide whether the children of Westeros will see another summer or if we will all end up submit to evil incarnate, only seeing what the world will become through blue eyes.