Jon
It was the most amazing thing, yet it was so simplistic and hardly anything special at all. No clouds, not a single damn one in sight as far as the eye could see. And from dragonback thousands of feet in the air, the clear skies for a hundred miles in all directions was the best anyone could ask for. No sign of the dreaded storm that was coming, no sign of a flash winter storm to worry about. It was days like this that the North felt free.
Down below on the Kingsroad, the great procession of the united armies of Westeros marches like a long dark snake miles long with a small head of bright silver men, the Kingsguard, leading them all to their destination. They were just entering Wintertown.
Winterfell was in plain view. It had been nearly two decades since Jon had been able to see it like this once again. The night of both his final battles there had covered it in darkness too thick to see through without a blaze of fire to show anything.
A loud hoot caught his attention, gaze drifting to his left. Drogon flapped his wings, the great bulk of them even causing Rhaegal to sway in the air currents. Daenerys was but a speck of white and silver mounted on the great beast's back - as if a bird perched on a large tree. Jon could see her glittering smile though, feeling so at home on dragonback and so delighted at having someone to share it with.
His smile burst onto his face, Jon letting his emotions for once release themselves. There was no reason to bottle them in. "I love you!" He hoped she heard.
It seemed that she did. "I love you too!" Daenerys called over the roar of the wind.
Another hoot rang out to his right, this one even more eager. Viserion, denied a rider for so long, was jinking and weaving with what could only be described as youthful exuberance. Like how Arya acted when Nymeria was old enough to properly go scampering through the Winterfell grounds. Jon's eyes lit up in amusement at the easy to spot gray clothed, red-haired figure of Sansa holding on for dear life on Viseryon's back. Clutching onto the spines for dear life.
It reminded Jon of himself, when Daenerys and he went on their first ride together. He wasn't without sympathy for that reason, but the japes at his expense from Daenerys finally made sense.
Sansa's exaggerated terror was delightfully hilarious.
And the dry ground called to him, certainly. Growing each second Rhaegal dove, one quick circle and Jon guided his dragon to a gentle landing in the midst of the outer courtyard. The same place as when King Robert had dismounted from his horse all those years before. A dragon was a far more kingly mount, Jon had come to realize with a smirk.
Everyone had gathered, and everyone bent the knee, save for the Free Folk gathered as well. Rickon and Bran at the head of the audience. Meera Reed next to Bran, while Barbary Dustin, Brienne, Smalljon Umber, Tormund, and the other lords and advisors to Rickon followed their Lord's lead. Everyone that mattered in the North was there, greeting them. Very good, very good.
Long through the night did the three of them discuss their arrival in Winterfell. Not just the wider concerns but the arrival itself. In his past the simple moment of Daenerys' entrance beside him had been the start of the specific chain of events that destroyed everything, much as it pained Dany to hear her descent into madness, Sansa to hear of her central role, and Jon to relate it yet again, it was necessary.
Jon had saved the two of them, and they saved him, so now it was time to end that tragedy once and for all.
Hence the successive landing of each of them in the specific order. Jon first, then Sansa, and finally Daenerys to round them off.
Rhaegal hadn't receded from view before Viserion followed, largely on his own initiative, and Sansa was not yet supremely comfortable or knowing her own way around being a dragonrider long enough to guide him in. What awe and eagerness in the gathered crowd for yet another great dragon changed to the most intense shock at seeing Sansa herself shakily descending from Viserion's back. Seeing her close to slipping even in her boots, Jon reached up and grabbed her waist. Sansa yelped in surprise, but it shifted to a giggle as Jon lifted her in the air and set her on the ground. "Gotta be more careful, love," he murmured, only for Sansa to lean down and kiss him lovingly, their arms wrapping around each other.
What silent shock dissipated at the sight of their King and the daughter of their former beloved Lord from the Winterfell household and Lords in residence. Rickon scrunched up his face in disgusting surprise.
Jon really couldn't blame them, but as Viserion hooted and hurled himself into the air, the hardest part was still ahead.
They were still together, Sansa's arms encircled around him while his arm encircled her waist when Drogon began his descent. A wingspan that looked as though it could cover half of Winterfell, Jon was sure that by the end of his life, should they be so lucky, Drogon could be the size of Balerion… or at least Vhagar if he continued to grow.
Fingers stabbed into the sky, gazing upward at the black dragon. Watching it descend with interest, then an awe. "This is good," Sansa murmured in his ear.
"Less threatening when those they know are on dragonback." Even still, only they didn't flinch when Drogon prepared to land, beating his wings furiously and causing the earth to rumble. Heat radiated off of him in waves, settling with amber eyes simply gazing at those in Winterfell. Some shook, some flinched, while some others like Rickon gazed in wonder.
Daenerys didn't need help from Jon to climb down, though she accepted a hand all the same. "You'll need to teach Sansa to climb off properly," Jon told her, getting a snort from Sansa behind him.
His aunt's eyes glittered at him. "I suspect you enjoyed helping her." Dany's gaze flickered to Sansa.
Normally Jon would be in the middle if they walked together, but this time they allowed Daenerys to take the lead with him and Sansa flanking her. A trusted ally of House Stark and the North, escorted by Ned Stark's royal nephew and eldest daughter. The symbolism was undeniable, and from the look of it no one of Winterfell's household held the same thinly veiled mistrust as before.
Rickon especially, staring at Dany. His eyes wide in regarding her just as they had in regarding Rhaegal. Jon thought it could've been a young boy's heartstruck at first as Dany had that effect on many. So much so that he failed to speak. Daenerys broke the silence. "Lord Rickon." She nodded her head, respectful without conceding her superiority in rank. "It is an honor to finally meet you. Further proof to me that the Starks are a strong, handsome breed."
Some behind gave off thinly veiled chuckles.
By now, Rickon had composed himself enough to bow. "Your Grace… the honor is mine to welcome you to Winterfell. The former Queen of Meereen, and betrothed to my brother is always welcome here." His gaze switched to Jon. "Winterfell is yours, your grace," Rickon said, "Welcome home."
Jon smiled and embraced his brother in a great hug. "Sorry I was gone for so long. You've changed so much already."
He looked over to where Lady Barbrey and the others stood. "I had a lot of growing up to do."
Jon simply smiled.
Sansa came up and hugged Rickon too, and then Bran who was behind Rickon, kissing them both on their heads. Jon ushered Daenerys to come forward. "I suppose we can have a proper introduction then." This seemed redundant, but with the arrival having gone so well he decided to shift this to something more… familial. "This is my aunt, Daenerys."
Daenerys stepped forward, smiling brightly at them both. "Once again, it's a pleasure to finally meet you both."
Bran bowed his head. "The same goes for us."
Rickon was still obviously starstruck by Daenerys. "I need to be honest, your grace, but I thought you'd be terrifying because you're the Mad King's daughter but… you're not, and I'm glad about it."
"As am I," Daenerys agreed, "and here before the head of House Stark, I beg you for forgiveness of the crimes my House committed against yours and ask that you not judge a daughter for the sins of the father."
"There's nothing to forgive anymore," Rickon said, "you weren't the one who did the crimes and neither was Jon. All I care about is what you do yourself."
Stepping back, Daenerys stood beside Jon, their shoulders very nearly touching. "Thank you, my lord."
"Rickon," Jon began, "I heard that you're hosting a holiday soon from now."
"Aye," Rickon said, folding his arms, "and if you have any objections then you can march yourself to the kennels and brood in them until it's over. Because it's damn well time we had some time to be happy about things." A few people chuckled all around.
Jon shook his head. "Actually I wanted to know where I can sign up for the games. I'm not letting a chance like this pass by." He'd worn a crown and stood guard atop the Wall for too long. It's time he took an evening to shed his titles and just be another man among many. "And I also want to organize another event in the following nights. A wedding," Jon took one hand of Daenerys and Sansa both in his. "The three of us."
A not so subtle murmur arose all around. Many of the Northern Lords and Ladies were visibly shocked, but Bran and Rickon weren't.
"Just the three of you?" Rickon teased. "Not a beautiful maiden from each of the Kingdoms?"
His mouth opened, but no words came out as Jon found himself flustered. Neither did Daenerys, though he was sure she was enjoying his torment. Sansa, however, merely laughed lightly. "Look at you now," Jon told him, "you're a Lord now."
Rickon fell silent, almost shocked to hear Jon say it but also grateful. "It's good to have you all back."
Jon smiled and seconds later found himself almost tackled by his good friend. "Welcome back, little crow!" Tormund huffed excitedly. "Winter was getting boring without you."
"I was about to say the same," Jon replied, patting Tormund on the shoulder. "I heard you settled things with Smalljon."
"Psh," Tormund scoffed, "I'm going to beat his thick head in the mud one day. But as long as there's beer, today's not that day." He and Jon laughed together. "You finally got your head out of your arse I see," Tormund nodded over to Daenerys and Sansa, "it's always good luck to have a ginger at your side."
The rest of the procession began its enormous settling outside the walls of Winterfell. The Dothraki horde took up an entire hill for their camps and enormous bonfires were lit within. Jon never took the time to really appreciate the mark in history that it was for them the first time, even now, that they were the first Dothraki to sail across the Narrow Sea and the first to fight in winter.
From atop the battlements, Jon could see each section of the realms organized finely. The Vale, The Reach, Dorne, the Stormlands, all of the realms had such a distinction from the rest that it was easy to see. But now, they were here, together, as one army, with one purpose. If they won, Westeros would never be the same.
Everyone had their duties to attend to, Daenerys seeing to her soldiers acclimating, Sansa helping the reinforcements from the Riverlands and the Royal Army. Jon however, had a very special task he was excited for. He found Gendry and the wagon that carried his commission for the mightiest warrior in all of Westeros.
Many men in the courtyard caught sight, including Tormund, who refused to not miss witnessing the delivery.
Marching from the castle to where the Wildlings camped, Jon found the lone Giant assisting in building a cabin by setting logs atop the foundation to start the roof.
"Wun Wun!" Jon greeted.
"Snow," Wun Wun replied, putting the last of the logs in place before facing him and the others.
"I brought a gift for you. This man," Jon set both of his hands on Gendry's shoulders, "is one of the smiths who made this just for you." The wagon came to a halt and Gendry pulled the woolen covering off, revealing the mightiest weapon ever forged in history. The giant's eyes widened and he reached down and picked up the enormous steel axe like it was nothing.
A breath of excitement escaped the giant as he took two swings with the weapon. Suddenly, a great bellow erupted into the sky as Wun Wun held up his axe above him in triumph. The roar surprised Gendry enough that he covered his ears and stepped back. Jon just laughed at the excitement he never saw in the timid creature before.
Wun Wun kneeled down to Jon and Gendry, looking both of them with his great eyes. "Thank… You…" The deepness of his voice shook their bodies. What surprised Jon the most was when Wun Wun bowed his head and spoke one last word. "King."
Jon's smile dropped. He didn't know how to react or what it meant. He caught sight of some of the Free Folk looking at the scene and they were stopped in their tracks.
Wun Wun stood up and walked off with his enormous axe in hand.
"Tormund," Jon leaned over to the ginger wildling, "do you know what he meant by that? Was he just calling me that because I am or something else?"
"The Giants have never known a King except their own and the King-beyond-the-Wall. Looks like you're the first Behind the Wall to him, your grace," he said the last two words with a bit of humor in them, much like how he did when they first met so many years ago.
Oh, when Dany and Sansa find out about this. Neither were unused to the fact that powerful, strange forces were all bending the knee or through acclimation swearing their fealty to them, but of course they'd tease him over this in bed or over dinner.
The other man chortled. "Aye, thinkin' of what the women'll think?" He socked Jon in the arm. "Can't get anythin' past me, nor my many years with the beauties and bears."
"I'll keep that in mind." Jon rubbed his shoulder just as a raven flew ahead, landing on one of the Winterfell battlements with its keen eyes focusing on him in particular, or at least seeming that way. Whether it was just a coincidence or if there was… someone else behind those eyes besides just a raven, Jon appreciated the reminder. "Seems I have to go meet my brother."
"The one in the chair or the Lord?"
He frowned. "My brother, Bran."
"Ah, the warg. Speakin' of them, I think I saw an eagle followin' yeh around when yeh got back." Tormund slapped his back and was off in the direction Wun Wun had gone. Shaking his head, Jon headed in the opposite direction for the godswood, but not before quickly scanning the air above for that eagle. Tormund's laughter from behind him confirmed it was just a joke… but still.
Meera was waiting for him outside. "Bran's expecting you." He nodded, following her.
As expected, his brother sat by the Weirwood. His eyes were vibrant and flickered towards him - that showed he wasn't warging now, but he would have still been warging or greenseeing earlier - not that it really mattered.
Bran straightened himself in his seat. There was a look of worry upon his face, but also that of curiosity. He eyed Jon for several seconds, studying him for something.
"Are you alright, Bran?"
"Sorry," Bran shook his head from his little trance, "it's just that there's something strange about you."
"What do you mean?"
"When I met you, Daenerys, and Sansa… you all gave me this feeling I only have when I'm in thesight. You're different now, and it's rather curious."
"Well things have changed for me, Bran. And it's in a way part of me still can't believe it." Jon gave a half smile.
Bran didn't respond, only looking at Jon as he did, trying to figure out whatever his thoughts were thinking. But a glare from one of the Children put Bran's mind back on track. "There's a problem, Jon. It's about your time, but since my other self is gone, the window to that realm has been cut off to me." His eyes turned to the Children of the Forest, standing together away from them.
"The weirwood sings to us," the Child in the middle said, the one who Jon assumed was Leaf given how he was told long ago that she was the only one who ever spoke to anyone other than the other Children, "the voice of a sister calls to us, but we cannot hear her words. She summons you."
"Pebble," Jon confirmed, "but I can't wake up now," he told them, "or else everything here will be undone."
"The Old Gods can help you," the Children step forward, Leaf keeping in front but the other two surrounding him, "through us, you can open your eyes for a time, long enough to know what our sister must tell you."
Jon nodded. "What do I need to do then?"
"Kneel in front of me," Bran said, "I can't reach you from up there."
Turning around, Jon knelt before Bran, getting a flashback of the day at King's Landing when he did, and felt Bran touch his fingers to Jon's temple joined by the hands of each of the Children on the top of his head.
"Now repeat after me," Bran started, "I am your humble servant, your grace."
Jon looked up to Bran, failing to keep a smile down.
"Sorry, I couldn't help myself." Bran chuckled while the Children remained silent. Jon could feel their disdain for humor at a time like this.
The Children began to whisper incantations that reminded Jon of the one Pebble whispered long ago. A cold sensation came from Bran's touch into Jon's mind and everything instantly felt weightless and empty. The air was stolen from Jon's lungs and burned like fire for relief. Then just as sudden as things began, a great weight pressed on Jon's chest and the coldness of air touched his face.
Jon's eyes shot open and he gasped for air, taking in heavy and desperate breaths as though he awakened from death once again.
"Jon?" came the familiar course voice of Tyrion. "Jon!"
The first instinct was to sit up, But Jon forgot that he was bound by roots and moss. He began to cough hard, feeling like his lungs would jump out of his throat. Then he saw the head of Tyrion looming over him as well as an elderly woman who looked vaguely familiar. Were it not the pendant on her neck, Jon would not have recognized Kinvara.
"What happened? Why are you awake?" Tyrion bombarded him with panic.
"Shush," Jon said, "let me catch my breath at least." He heard the echoes of someone calling through the tunnels. "Everything's alright," Jon told the two of them, "call this a visit."
"A visit?" Kinvara said curiously.
"The Children of the Forest sent me here because there's something I need to know-"
"Jon!" came Sansa's voice, but it was more than just her head that suddenly appeared above them. Pebble and Arya suddenly appeared as well.
"Listen, I only have a moment," Jon jutted in while he could, "I was told that there's news I need to know from you."
"Yes," Kinvara confirmed. "The Night King found us. He's coming."
Seven fucking hells. "How long until he gets here?"
"Maybe two moons. Our warg scouts saw him pass Winterfell's ruins three days ago."
"Two moons?" Jon confirmed.
Everything started to become fuzzy in his vision. A sudden fatigue overtook him. He was slipping out already.
"Everyone," he said with his last moment being in the present but catching eyes with his sisters, "I forgive you!"
Jon gasped. One moment he was in the cave, the next he was back in the godswood gasping for air.
"Are you alright?" Bran asked.
Jon pushed himself up to his feet, catching his breath. "We," he said before a deep breath, "have a serious problem."
Tyrion
It was just like preparing for Stannis's attack on King's Landing, only with a full force of soldiers instead of a few veterans and dozens of fresh conscripts with piss dripping from their breeches. The only difference was that just about every group of Lannister men were met with gazes colder than the weather.
Tyrion kept himself off to the side of things so that he could watch. He wasn't needed anywhere since he technically had no place or authority anymore. He was simply a guest in Winterfell now. The time relieved of his duties had made him consider that after all of this, he should write a book regarding the tales of his adventures since the first day he arrived in Winterfell with Robert's procession. But what would he call it? The Dwarf's Tale, or maybe something in reference to one of his escapades… Where the Piss Landed?
"Well well," Tyrion didn't shy from displaying his pleasure in finding his old squire alive and well, "you look like a fully anointed knight now." Pod was dressed in a new set of castle forged pauldrons, cops, gauntlets, and gorget that sported the sigil of House Payne upon it. "And I heard you were one of the few chosen to get a new Valyrian steel blade."
Podrick smirked and placed his hand on the finely decorated hilt of his sword. "I wasn't too sure why I got one until I asked around and found out that the King owed his rival's Hand a favor."
"I merely did what was logical of course. A blade like that is far better in the hands of someone I trust with my life in a fight."
A chuckle escaped Podrick. "I'm glad you're still alive, my lord."
Tyrion opened his mouth to speak more, but a grouping of three young northern ladies passing by beat him to it.
"Hi Podrick," They all said in unison with smiles that were both sweet and wicked with hunger.
Pod simply nodded his head with a smile at them.
Tyrion's brow arched in amazement. "Torrhen Stark may have bent the knee to Aegon, but I see it's you who's really conquered the North."
"A thousand swords don't mean shit when you got a magic cock." Bronn revealed himself to each of them. He was in a thick robe with a fine fur pelt over his shoulders, quite rich in make. He was certainly happy to display his new wealth.
"I'm surprised you're here," Tyrion admitted, "having just finally gained your wealth, I would have thought you'd be at a place safe enough to ensure you'd live long enough to keep it."
"And you're damn right, but when there are two spymasters watching everyone in Westeros, I'd rather not wake up to three dragons staring me down for betraying my sworn oath as a lord. I'll admit, a part of me wishes Cersei were still in power. There was more work for me then, more money to get from you lot, and hardly any fucking formalities."
"Only thing left for you is to set foot in your new keep. All the more reason to fight as hard as you can, Lord Bronn. Otherwise you'll have never truly collected your debt."
"I got a nice detachment of your nephew's boys under my command. By the time the dead get here, I'll make sure my lads fight down to their fingernails if they have to. I've done everything your family asked of me, and everything Aegon commanded of me. I am ready to wait for spring in peace once we've all these dead fuckers."
Podrick chuckled. "And now you've cast a spell upon yourself to see that you'll never get it. My mother used to tell me that whenever anyone got ahead of themselves."
Tyrion smirked. "I cannot wait to see what block in the road falls before you after this."
"Won't be none. I'll make sure that here in Winterfell's the last time we see each other without a crossbow aimed at your approach. I've had enough of Lannisters."
"I'm sorry to see our friendship has fallen that far, Bronn." Tyrion said, partially sincere about it. "How do you suggest we rebuild it?"
"Don't ask me for anythin', that's how." Bronn patted Tyrion' shoulder extra hard before setting off to meet a few knights under his command.
"Nothing lasts forever, Pod." Tyrion said. "It's been good to see you again." he set off himself, needing to simply take a walk.
His feet took him outside the walls of Winterfell, down the Kingsroad in the opposite directions of all the soldiers and wagons feeding into the hills of snow around the castle. Contemplating the enormity of everything almost seemed impossible. There would be no war as greatly remembered in history as this one.
Continuing down the road, Tyrion found himself in Wintertown, a place he was familiar with but never at such capacity. His first visit here was far more pleasant as being rather low in populace gave him a ort of satisfaction in his visits to the brothel, making him feel like he had it all to himself.
"Oi' little lord." Tyrion stopped walking and looked behind him, in the direction of one of the alleyways. A young woman stood, rather pretty and slim. Hazel eyes, auburn hair, and a soft face. She smirked when he noticed her. "Don't remember me, do yeh?"
He fully turned, cocking his head. "I don't, but given my journeys into Winter Town before were only to seek the comfort of women and wine, I assume you were a part of them."
She laughed merrily. "Ah, that highbrow wit… a talker ye' were. Never fuckin' stopped. Me and the girls thought it was hilarious." She made a saucy pose with her hips, grinning. "Yeh always picked Ros first before the rest of us. How's King's Landing treating her?"
Tyrion's face scrunched at the bad news he had to give. "She died quite a few years ago."
"Hm," the woman's head fell slightly at the state of things revealed. "We weren't friends but she wasn't mean at least. Too much actin' like she owned the damn place."
"I don't recall your name, sadly."
"Because I never gave it then." She replied.
"I see."
Clicking her tongue, the girl walked over to him. "I'm Minisa. And yer' Tyrion Lannister. Dragon Queen's Hand."
Tyrion winced a bit. "I used to be."
"Ah." Minisa regarded him with pity. "So that's why yeh're skulkin' about like a lame goat."
His brow rose. "Really? Am I that morose?" He ran his hand down his beard. "Or is it the beard?" He never got around to shaving when he was being smuggled to Pentos and came to like it. Though it made him look as aloof to the world as he felt.
"No, but you do look twice as old now. What I meant was that yeh used to have this way yeh walked about. Always struttin' tall."
At least the dwarf jokes were subtler than the usual fare. "Let's just say I haven't had the best few years of my life."
"At least yeh're still alive."
Tyrion sighed. "Not that simple."
"Hmmph, a bunch of dead men are marchin' here to kill us all. Bein' alive is the only thing we have left." Minisa turned away. "Rich with all the wine and gold and silk in the world, and yeh still don't really love anythin'. Makes yeh look poor for a Lannister, if ye' ask me." Boots crunching on the snow, Minisa left him there, standing with much to think about.
Alive. Yes, he was alive. A cursed life Tyrion always figured. Every time he found something he truly cared for, it was taken from him. His pride, his love, and his place.
He looked to the heavens, watching as errant flakes of snow fell from the sky. These days it appeared that the only gods that answered were either Red or Old. Whichever one it was, Tyrion couldn't help but wonder what purpose he had if any to them?
For once, Tyrion was glad for the silence that came from the emptiness.
"Lord Tyrion," One of the Unsullied approached him. "The Queen is waiting for you."
"She is?" Tyrion asked. "What for?" He didn't recall getting summoned by Daenerys… he assumed it was Daenerys at least.
"The meeting is starting soon. Your presence is expected."
Tyrion's mouth hung open as if he were frozen before being able to ask another question. But instead he blinked and made his way back to the castle. He didn't realize he was wanted there, or that it was already underway so soon.
Daenerys
Winterfell's Great hall was considerably smaller than the throne hall of the Red Keep and Dragonstone. There had never been a gathering as large as this one perhaps ever in the castle's history. It was taking quite some time to organize and decide how best to accommodate the many Lords and Ladies. There were even some discussions about who may be required to leave just to fit everyone inside without everyone standing shoulder to shoulder.
It would still be quite a few minutes until such organization was found, during which Daenerys could finally find the time to confront her former Hand for his lack of absence in King's Landing. Granted, Lord Varys had informed her two days after his departure with his nephew that he left to assist with the Westerlands expedition north, but to leave without notice was out of character for Tyrion.
Despite this, Daenerys did not need to think why her former Hand has been avoiding her this entire time. He of all people did not deserve the brunt of her anger the day she said the worst she could to him.
While the Great Hall of Winterfell was being settled in, Daenerys waited patiently in the corridor outside with just one of her Unsullied standing guard with her until finally, the soldier she sent out had returned with Tyrion in tow.
"You asked for me to join you, your grace?" Tyrion said quite calmly but also as if this was something that was unexpected of him to do.
"Leave us," Daenerys told her guards and they both took off down the hallway in the opposite direction of the Great hall. Slowly, Daenerys sank down to her knees, not to bow to Tyrion but simply to be at his eye level. "I'm so sorry for what I said that day."
"It's nothing I haven't heard a thousand times, your grace." His tone was exactly like how Jon's was before, so empty of himself.
"But not from someone you believed in. I tell you why I was angry, I can say I didn't mean it, but I know that it won't heal the pain you felt. If there's anything I can do to start, know that all you need is ask." She reached in her sleeve and revealed the silver pin of the Hand of the King. "I need your help, Tyrion, more than ever before."
She watched as Tyrion eyed the pin longingly before reaching his hand up. But instead of taking it, he touched her fingers and closed them over the pin. His hand rested on hers.
"It's not just what you said to me, Daenerys. I lost my family while you were gone in a way I never could have imagined. And it broke a part of me that I cannot mend. I can't take that knowing I would fail you."
"Tyrion-"
He shook his head and withdrew his hand. "I will do everything in my power to help you however I can in these coming days, but I will not take that. I can't." He looked at her with great remorse. "I'm sorry."
Rather than accepting it gracefully, Daenerys reached her arms out and pulled Tyrion into her embrace. She felt his small arms touch his hair. "I would have been honored to have had you as a brother, Tyrion."
The time had finally come for the meeting to begin, and both Daenerys and Tyrion found their way to their respective parties. Tyrion took his place with Tommen while Daenerys joined Jon and Sansa.
"He didn't take it?" Sansa asked.
"It's alright. We can talk later."
The Great Hall fell silent. All of the heads of each of the reigning Houses sat with their most trusted men, Sam and Qyburn sat adjacent to the maesters, but the distance was kept.
Jon stood at the head of the lord's table. "When I came to many of you asking for aid to retake Winterfell, I showed you the scars of my betrayal and what was beyond the Wall. All of this stemmed from the visions I claimed to have in my death, but that was a lie. I had no visions." Many began to whisper among themselves.
"If it's a lie," Olenna asked, "then how did you know about the things that transpired? The Sept of Baelor, your brother's imprisonment in Last Hearth, your heritage?"
Jon's jaw clenched and Daenerys shared a glance with Sansa, who was similarly concerned about their man.
"Because the truth is far more complicated, so much that if I said it, you all would not believe any of it until it was too late. I knew everything that would happen because I lived through it all already." As expected, many looked absolutely confused. "Everything that has transpired since I awoke has been a second chance to right the wrongs and correct the failings I have already lived through once. We won the battles, but lost the wars."
Jon began to tell the story, the real story of what he lived through so long ago for himself. From losing Rickon and his near defeat against the Boltons at Winterfell, to becoming the King in the North, all the way to the battle against the dead, and the tragedies at King's Landing. No one dared to interrupt or ask questions, though there was shock over the burning of King's Landing. Daenerys had thought she'd come to terms over it, felt her body stiffen and her blood run cold nonetheless at the tales of her madness. She would still sometimes hear Jon's heartbroken and horrified voice in her mind.
Then, Jon finally came to his tales after becoming the 1000th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. They had called themselves the Last Watchers the days they had all left the Wall for the lands beyond.
"With the Night King gone, spring was finally coming to the lands that had been winter for thousands of years. Within four years, the lands were becoming green, warm, and peaceful. I led the Free Folk to a bountiful valley where we settled and lived away from the Seven Kingdoms. Life was good for us there, and we rarely had to interact with the south. But when we did, it was never good. Both the crown of the North and the South were facing hardships after the crisis…"
Daenerys saw Sansa hang her head, eyes shut. It hadn't been her, but the guilt must've still weighed her down. Reciprocating the love and understanding Sansa had given her when the tale of King's Landing and madness had been relayed, Daenerys leaned over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.
"All were becoming divided in dispute over independence and rivalries to be settled, and for glory and power given to the Houses that fought. Westeros had not seen such chaos for hundreds of years. But then years after we defeated the Night King, the day finally came that everything we fought for proved to have been for nothing. Through a mark made on Bran's arm by The Night King's touch, a small essence of his spirit resided, and in those years his strength grew until he was finally ready to resurface, taking over Bran's body and power for himself."
Gasps were the order of the day. "How… how is that possible?" stammered Tyrion.
"The power was born from ancient magic." Bran himself looked sad. "But it was something that no one could have foreseen since it had never happened before."
No one had any response. What could one say? Daenerys certainly didn't know - she had discovered the lost magic of the dragons, but that had only been lost since the end of the Dance not even two centuries ago.
Jon cleared his throat. "Bran himself was able to keep his own mind and spirit intact by separating them from his body, and into the greensight. King's Landing fell in a night, Westeros south of the Neck fell within a month, and the last stand was fought at Winterfell. The battle was going to end, but I had been found by Drogon many days before it happened and led a force south to help all who could flee north. I burned Winterfell to the ground and we escaped. After we passed the Wall, we feigned traveling to Essos with Bran's help to throw the Night King off track from following us, and instead we marched on to lands further north than anyone ever explored. It was there we were guided to a weirwood as massive as the Wall, bearing a thousand and one faces, and underneath in the tunnels between the roots was the last Child of the Forest. A year later, the Priestess Kinvara found us with reinforcements and revelation. There was one hope left, one last chance. With the powers of the Old Gods and the Red, a spell could be sung to send one's mind back into the past and rewrite history. But it could only be one marked by death. Me. My death at Castle Black was like a bookmark in the pages of history. For two years, we planned everything as best we could. And then the day came that it was time. That day was just over a year ago. Right now, I am still asleep under the weirwood."
"Right now?" said Rickon. "But if you've come back through time," Rickon began, eyes almost rolled back into his head from careful thinking, "shouldn't things have changed for the future… or … your past?"
Jon shook his head. "There's so much that was unknown to us when I chose to go back, so much that still is, but only one thing was certain. The fates are joined, both in my time and in this one. Until the source of the dark fate ahead is destroyed for good, a new future is not certain." He looked back at the two of them, Daenerys shivering at the grim set of his eyes. "Kinvara told me that unless the Prince who was Promised defeats the Night King, the future won't change."
Some put the pieces together quicker than others. Tyrion spoke up first. "If how I'm reading this is correct, then if one of the three of you kill the Night King in this world," he looked at Jon for confirmation that he was getting his statement correct so far, "then that monster dies in both?"
The accented voice of the Red Priestess spoke through the Hall. "The essence that pollutes all of existence will be done away with once and for all." Melisandre perhaps seemed the only one there that could follow Jon's line of reasoning word for word. Daenerys only managed to after a lot of explanation. "But there is another danger ahead of us. If the world from which our King emerged from is conquered by, then his Grace will be lost to us."
Dany's eyes widened. She shared an apprehensive look with Sansa, who went white as well. "What do you mean?" Arya asked, hesitantly.
Melisandre looked to Jon, who hung his head. "Not an hour ago, the Children of the Forest and Bran helped me awaken in my original time for just a brief instance because there was a warning that had to be passed. The Night King I fled from has found where I am, and he is coming for me." His gaze then swept across everyone, landing on Daenerys and Sansa at the end. "We have only a few months before we have to face him." Silence hung heavy over the crowd. "If my original body is killed, then all of this that is now for us will be nothing. We will have lost."
"No," Melisandre said, tThe Prince who was Promised has been made whole," Melisandre said, "and as long as the heads of the dragon stand, nothing is certain. Only until light or darkness falls shall the future be set."
"Sansa leaned forward in her seat. "You mean that as long as one of us is still alive, we still have a chance?" No response was given as none was needed to confirm the deduction.
A question arose from Tyrell host. "Then why is the Night King we have to deal with coming at all? Why does he not hide away and wait like he has done for thousands of years?"
"He is afraid," Bran answered for Jon, " so much so that even hiding seems futile unless he destroys the source of his terror. He doesn't know all, just the prophecy. So close to the end, he wants it done. For good or for ill, the fight is coming."
There would be no glorious speeches, no shouts of victory as had been in Dany's experience in rallying the Dothraki. As with the acclimation of Jon's ascension the way Sansa told it. There would be no glory in this coming fight, no spoils, no conquests. Just life… or death.
It was… sobering.
The words shared in the great hall still resonated within Daenerys' mind, echoing inside as if hammering the inside of a great bell.
The Great Hall cleared out, few remained to discuss their thoughts with others, Jon and Sansa being some, but also Melisandre. She had approached the High table with that which she had never parted with since receiving it.
The Red Priestess placed the broken half of Lightbringer on the table in front of Jon, Daenerys, and Sansa. The way she was around it was as though the blade was the Lord of Light himself.
"Fate has always been a powerful force. Some would say your journey is a fight against it, but I disagree. Everything that happened was for a purpose so that we could be where we are and who we are for the days ahead of us. The prophecy became ignored and forgotten once before, but when you seek to follow the Lord's path, he shall guide you. And now both halves are reunited once again."
"What do you mean?" Jon asked. "The other half was destroyed-"
"Remade," Melisandre interrupted. "Your brother's power has given the answer. The half that the Targaryens passed on was stolen and reforged."
"Aye, into a pair of small blades…" Jon's silence and the stunned expression passed onto Daenerys and Sansa. The realization sweeping over the two of them as the faint weight of the Valyrian Steel at their hips suddenly made itself known to them.
Daenerys drew her dagger and held it aloft before setting it down underneath the broken portion of the sword blade, Sansa doing the same as she.
"Everything's for a reason," Daenerys whispered, in disbelief that such a moment came to be. Her hand drifted from hovering over her dagger to the broken blade. "Why did it fail thousands of years ago?"
"Azor was not the Dragon who was Promised. This was merely just another sword, mighty and powerful as it was. The true power that will defeat the Night King once and for all is in the three of you."
Jon's hand brushed over Longclaw's pommel. "It's like my father used to tell the stories about the Daynes and the Sword of the Morning. Dawn is a legendary weapon, but the true sword is the man who wields it."
The words settled amongst all of them. "Lightbringer was never the sword," Sansa said, "it's a person."
"In this case, three," Jon added.
Still, a thought occurred to Daenerys. "Then I think the sword deserves one more chance to see the victory it was made for. We can reforge the broken half with my dagger to make something new."
"Why not both daggers?" Sansa asked.
Daenerys smiled at her. "I don't want you deprived of protection."
Night came sooner than expected, especially in this season. And as rambunctious and clamoring as the day had been, cold silence befall in the darkness. Despite so much revealed, everyone who had heard what Jon had to say needed the day and night to think and understand it all.
Not all was silent, though. Wrapped around her in a tangle of limbs and hair were her loves. The furs were pulled up to their chins to ward off the cold from their bare bodies, stripped earlier not in a lust-filled desperation as many of their intimate encounters but something more… gentle. Caring. Using passion and love to banish away the numbness of the impending clash, one that no one would be capable of fleeing from. It had worked for the most part. Sore and sated, Daenerys didn't feel numb anymore. However, sleep did not come easy to her tonight, just like the night before.
Ever since she stepped foot in Winterfell, there was an air of caution in her. She could not force away the memories that were shown to her of the disdain the Northern people had for her, the looks they gave her. Such was not what she herself experienced on her arrival, but part of her could not fight away the doubt that perhaps they were just hiding it.
Jon and Sansa had fallen into a gentle sleep, the rise and fall of their chests through their breathing being the only noise that pierced the silence of the night. Daenerys envied them, for with her body's relaxation did not ease the mind. Ease her torment. She stood up as much as she could, trying not to disturb her lovers.
They would insist on helping her, to talk all night and cuddle or kiss the worries away - it was as therapeutic for all as it was for one, Daenerys personally knew - but she couldn't insist on it. Jon with the weight of two lifetimes on his shoulders and Sansa with her own agony at past mistakes and present terrors… Daenerys loved both of them with all her heart. They deserved their rest, their comfort.
Not to have it disturbed on her account.
Sighing, Daenerys decided that perhaps she just needed a brief walk to clear her head free of the risk of disturbing her loves. Teeth gritted in concentration, she began to wriggle her way out of bed, ever careful. It was a chore to slip out of the bed unnoticed, but Daenerys did so, smiling softly as she watched them still asleep. Sansa shivering and reaching closer to Jon, scooting closer to him.
Donning a dress, cloak, and boots to keep warm, Dany leaned over the bed and kissed Jon's forehead, marveling at how he relaxed in sleep, unburdened of the nightmares of his failures regarding her and the worries of his current duty. She kissed Sansa on the cheek, beautiful as she is in the light of the moon. A woman she almost would've scorned, a mutual feeling.
The knife's edge of fate pricked at her mind as she left their shared chambers.
Her footsteps awoke the far lighter sleeper just outside. Ghost's head rose as she entered the hallway. "Hello, boy." She didn't even bother to chide him for rising and following beside her, the perfect escort for the night. "Come to join me for my stroll?" Ghost lolled his tongue out when she ruffled the fur of his head.
Like her dragons, he seemed to understand her.
The keep wasn't empty at night. Guards and servants and others like her wandered the halls outside the Lord's residences. They stiffened and bowed and bent the knee, mindful of her status. Daenerys eyed them carefully. After all she'd been through, both in this reality and knowing of the struggles of Jon's past, she inspected each of the men and women she passed by.
They were deferential to the Dragon Queen, the Mother of Dragons, but it didn't seem forced. Their expressions reflected an amount of respect after the second of surprise at seeing her. At least at first glance. Daenerys couldn't be completely certain, but the first impression was a hopeful one.
What she could see behind it was a steady nervousness they each held as the looked and measured her. She was not the Mad Queen she could have become, but she was still Queen Daenerys Targaryen to them. It would take some time before they saw her for who she really was, who she hoped to be for them.
The sounds of conversation reached Dany's ears as she approached the entrance to the kitchens. Voices she tilted her head towards so she could hear clearly. "That armsman's been working me to the bone in the yard for days," a man said.
"Not surprised. Ye' can't wield a blade for shit," came another man's voice, far older.
"Probably why I'm gonna be put in the back of the lines when we fight."
"Nah, yer' too good at cookin'," came a woman's voice, "I asked Wolkan to kip yeh till the end."
"Cunt."
"Would prefer yours'." Everyone laughed as Dany heard a thump, making her smirk as well. A little cruder and with deeper accents but it sounded like her own family and friends.
Without further delay she simply walked in, coming across three men and two women. The latter wore aprons and simple brown dresses of the kitchen staff, while two of the men wore the blue gamesons of the Stark guards while the other seemed to be another cook. They each had a plate of meat and bread, plus a mug of ale each.
Eyes flickered to her absentmindedly… for about a moment, recognition spreading out as if in surprised terror. "Your… your Grace." The men bent the knee while the women curtseyed low.
"You may rise," Dany offered. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I couldn't sleep." She smiled warmly. "My escort and I were both feeling peckish." she scratched at the top of Ghost's head, causing the white wolf to lean into her touch.
"Right. Say no more, your Grace," offered one of the maids. She took a knife and carved two slices of pork from a freshly pork belly while the male cook took a slice of bread and spread jam atop. The meat was steaming warm, and smelled wonderful, presented to her on a clean plate with the bread. The other slice of pork was tossed over to Ghost who snapped his head up and caught it in his mouth.
"Thank you…" Daenerys said as she took the plaid form the maid, implying in her tone to hear her name.
"Falla, yer grace. Ned over there is my husband," Falla replied, pointing over to the older of the two guardsmen. "And Ballard's mi'brother," she gestured to the cook. "As for Lorren here…"
"I'm Lyla's betrothed," the younger soldier said proudly, grinning.
"Not in your life," Lyla snorted, though she smirked a bit. Despite the jape, there was still an awkward tension in the room now.
Daenerys chuckled. "Well, I'm glad to make all your acquaintances." She politely carved a bite of pork belly and chewed gracefully. "I hope I didn't interrupt you."
Lyla shook her head. "Er, no. Not at all, your Grace. It's… an honor to host you." The five of them began to feel more at ease, especially since Daenerys wasn't in her regal form as she would be in public.
"And yet I would guess that you feel wary in my presence." the stares between the people confirmed it.
"It's not that we're wary, your grace," Lyla said, "we just never met none like you before, queen or not. We don't really know yeh except what rumors say." She was a slight, pretty woman with a friendly face and kind demeanor. In the end, that had been the best way to approach the people still wary of her father's legacy.
"And what do the rumors say about me this far north?" Daenerys pressed calmly, not showing a single hint of anger or aggression to the subject but genuine curiosity. "AM i a witch who put Aegon under my spell, or the Mad King's daughter bidding her time to finish what he started?"
"No!" Lyla objected. "Nothin' like that… I mean nothin' as terrifying as that."
It was Ballard who decided to break the ice. "They say you're like Tywin Lannister but with tits."
"Shut your dumb mouth, you idiot!" Falla shot at her brother.
"It's alright," Daenerys said, "I appreciate his forward honesty. And how much like Tywin am I?"
"Powerful, commanding, respected, and feared. But you're honorable too, and not at all ruthless or unmerciful as him. Recent happenin's just don't do well for your reputation I guess."
Daenerys' brow arched up. "No, they haven't." She set her plate down on the table and leaned against it.
"Is that what bothers you, your Grace? If I may ask." said Lyla.
Licking some bacon fat from her lips, Daenerys met Lyla's brown eyes. "There's just so much on my mind right now."
"Same goes for everyone these days." Ned shivered. "The nightmares of mi'youth brim' real. Fuck me… beg yer' pardon, mi'Queen."
"No, that was my reaction." That first wight Jon brought nearly made her faint from terror.
"But we're not afraid," Lorren insisted. "Sure, we're scared of death, but we know we're gonna fuckin' win with the three of ye', riding yer dragons."
Dany looked up, her brow risen. "You have that confidence in Aegon and Sansa?"
"Of course… what can stop a dragon?" He shook his head. "Them and you, yer' Grace."
"Myself as well?" Jon's past came to mind, how the Northmen hated her. How Sansa hated her. "Even with my father?"
Falla waved off the sentiment. "Eh, forget the fuckin' Mad King. He's dead and buried, plus yer' not like him."
"My sister is right." Lyla smiles at her. "What madwoman that only cares about power would give a pair of Starks dragons?"
"I did not give my dragons to them," Daenerys said, "they chose Jon and Sansa for themselves. That is how it has always been."
"They call you Mother of Dragons. Must've been hard to let your children go off like that then."
"It was for time. When Rhaegal chose Jon, part of me feared that if war broke between us that he would not come back unless it was to fight against me. In a way it came true at Gulltown."
"Ye' were controlled by an Ironborn madman, and ye' still did it." Lorren raised his mug. "Yer' our Queen just as Sansa Stark'll be, not just cause yer' marryin' the King."
"The Queen."
"The Queen!"
Daenerys smiled brightly, and for the first time that night her mind was at ease.