Shielding Their Realms Forever

by WrathofAvarice

The consequences of success will always collect their due. Westeros shall learn that ignorance to prophecy will not be treated lightly. But what if the events that unfurled were part of it this whole time? Co-written with Longclaw 1 6

50. Chapter 49

Sansa

"Are you almost finished?"

Daenerys clicked her teeth. "Should I tell your sister that the illustrious Sansa of House Stark cannot handle someone braiding her hair?"

Sansa shuddered. "Please don't." Arya wouldn't let her hear the end of it. She heard a giggle in reply. "Shut it."

"Make me."

A sly thought came to mind. "But that would wrinkle our dresses." Both ladies blushed a bit at the comment, a bit too much even for Sansa, however pleasing the thought was. Thankfully, Daenerys set back to work without more teasing, wrapping it up in no time at all. Sansa gasped as she looked in the mirror. "It's beautiful."

"I know I'm not as skilled at this as Missandei, but you're still as beautiful as ever." As Sansa stood, Daenerys took Sansa's hands in hers, the oldest daughter of Eddard Stark looking down into her violet eyes. "Your victories may not be on the battlefield, but they are as hard fought as any of mine."

She couldn't explain why that touched her so, only that it did. "Thank you, Dany." She leaned down, pecking Dany's lips. "Maybe when we rule in King's Landing. But for now I still want to look the part of a Northern Lady." They linked arms with one another and set off to join Jon and the others for the start.

The last light of the setting sun cast only on the castle of Winterfell as hundreds gathered at the gates before their host of the new Northern holiday. Those of House Stark and House Targaryen stood atop the wall, awaiting for the Lord of Winterfell to declare the start.

Several minutes earlier when all were gathering together below, Rickon was hiding out of sight, almost on the verge of passing out from nervousness and fright. It looked like there indeed was a difference between addressing fifty people at court and thousands as a host. However he was able to collect himself for the most part and brought himself in view of all.

"Do you think his voice will carry?" Sansa asked quietly over to Jon. He didn't say anything. All he did was give a subtle smile that showed his confidence in their brother. At least the Direwolves were up here with them to give better company.

"Welcome all to Winterfell!" Rickon shouted as best he could, and from the sounds of it he was trying to deepen his voice a little. "Tonight we remember what life is worth living for, what we sacrifice for! Tonight we celebrate the Night Before Dawn!" He raised his arms up and a thunderous applause came from below as Podrick walked over and handed him a northern style warhorn made from a goat's horn with a copper mouthpiece.

Pursing his lips, Rickon took the horn and blew, but only sputters came out. His cheeks immediately went red with embarrassment as he tried again. Sansa couldn't bear to look out to the hundreds of eyes watching. She was about to tug on Jon's arm and ask him to go and do it, but she didn't need to.

"Um," Rickon licked his lips and got ready to try again, but then he froze and a great big smile grew on his face. "Take this," he handed the horn off to Podrick who at first looked as if the task was appointed to him, but it wasn't. "Shaggydog! Come here boy!" Shaggydog padded over and sat in front of Rickon who kneeled with his wolf. "Aroo!" Rickon howled up into the air and suddenly Shaggydog joined his companion's voice, louder and beautiful. A pair of howls joined into the night, Ghost and Summer joining their brother in great volume better than any warhorn could.

Another wave of applause and a chorus of cheers erupted into the air just as the last light of the sun clipped the top of Winterfell's keep and the stars began to blink into sight.

This would be a night to remember for a hundred years.

With the opening ceremony done, the holiday had officially started. With less than two moons to get prepared, Rickon certainly managed to put together quite the spectacle that was hosting tens of thousands of people. Sports, food, merchants, artists of music and performers, it was incredible. One could only wonder what he could have put together had his plan been put into motion when he first proposed it.

Despite both of their wishes, Sansa and Daenerys were left alone by Jon who had to go prepare for the events he decided to participate in. The sword fights and the bear wrestling, the former of which they would be attending because they were to present the prize for the champion which would be a Valyrian Steel sword, this one forged by Stephen Moon with marvelous beauty.

"I don't understand why he must prepare for the melee?" Daenerys pouted. "He's already the most magnificent swordsman."

"Aye, he is." Just thinking of him in a strenuous melee made Sansa warm inside. It was a pleasant feeling, especially since she had no need of concealing such thoughts anymore. Jon was hers to ogle and lust after. "But I am content, he gave you and me some time. Just the two of us."

Dany raised her brow, then smiled sweetly. Reaching out to weave her fingers in Sansa's as they strolled through the bustling Wintertown marketplace, surrounded by a light screen of Dothraki bloodriders serving to protect them both.

Sansa eyed Daenerys. "Are you upset?"

"No." Not a moment's hesitation, just a look of love in those gorgeous violet eyes. "I love him, but I love you too and we haven't had much time for just the two of us."

Blushing, Sansa grinned nonetheless. "Aye." What would her mother and father think of her current arrangement? Sansa could only hope they'd be happy for her, for she was over the moon. There was nothing that she'd change, ending up with Jon and Daenerys both. It was better than her childhood romance poems and songs.

All around them were stalls and tables filled with foods and sweets. It reminded Sansa of the winter festivals of her youth, her father holding them on occasion during the dead of winter to provide some levity for the inhabitants of Winterfell and the new residents of Wintertown who came in for refuge from the cold. "Those must have been idyllic," Daenerys commented as Sansa told her of them. "Even with the snow and all."

Sansa giggled. "You have the coloring of a winter maiden, but you dislike the cold. How odd."

"I am a dragon. We prefer the heat."

"Is that why you hold on so tight to me and Jon in bed?" She gave an exaggerated sigh, sounding so much like she had in the past during her banter with Robb and Arya… perhaps a bit more mature and less indignant. "I feel so used."

Dany squeezed her arm. "Please, you enjoy it."

Sansa smiled. "You're right, I do."

The moon was high in the sky now, bathing Wintertown in its ethereal glow through the clouds. Torches and lanterns combining to banish away the darkness, Sansa guided Dany through several of the streets until they came upon the central square of the settlement, filled with tables of feasting locals and guests.

Unsullied drank with Northmen. Freefolk and Dornish fought each other only for men and women both leading others of the opposite sex away for a tryst. Using translators, Reachmen and Dothraki argued good-naturedly over what counted as better horsemanship. Children played merrily, savoring their moments of levity and joy.

Daenerys and Sansa were obviously popular guests among the revelers with bows and cheers following them wherever they walked. The youthful Sansa would've loved this, but now it just made her feel a bit sheepish, this being her childhood home. "I'll have to take you to Meereen," Dany murmured in her ear. "Much warmer, and you'll see the welcome of the freedmen there."

Sansa smiled lovingly at her, suddenly eager to explore where Daenerys had emerged as the strong Queen she was… "Wait." Her smile widened. "Follow me, you have to try this." She pulled Dany towards one of the stalls, the smell of fried meat triggering so many happy memories.

Her love looked at her strangely, but complied without making a word until they arrived at a particular stall. "So what is this, then?" she asked with a raised brow.

It was a food stall, manned by an old man with bushy white hair and more wrinkles than old Maester Pycelle. He warmed his hands over a fire before placing skewers of red meat into a large pot hanging over it. The meat boiled in the sizzling oil contained within. He looked up, and his eyes widened. "Your Graces!"

"Good evening, Toller." He was a longtime resident of Wintertown, someone who fought for House Stark in his youth and now tended the tavern… and made delicious snacks. "I'll have one, please, and so will Queen Daenerys."

"Of course, right away!" Tollar exclaimed happily. Delighted to serve Sansa and the beautiful Targaryen Queen. He pulled them two skewers out and dabbed the excess oil away. A little bit of sprinkled salt and he handed them to his young customers. "Enjoy, though I know ye'll love it like ye' did as a wee' girl."

"These are still my favorite, and you make the best ones." Sansa gestured to one of the bloodriders, who forked over two bronze coins for Tollar. As ordered by their Khaleesi, they followed Sansa's commands as much as they did Dany or Jon's.

Beaming, Sansa bit into the fried beef, moaning at the taste. "The only thing that tastes more like my childhood is one of Old Nan's meat pies." She looked at Daenerys, who glanced down at her own skewer. "Try it. You'll love it."

Daenerys raised a brow. "Seems a bit… simplistic."

Sansa paused midway from taking another bite as she looked at Daenerys. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to," she said softly. "But I think you'll like it."

"Well… I've eaten worse in my life." Not exactly enthusiastic, but she shrugged and took her own bite. Sansa cocked her hip and waited for Daenerys to say something as the Dragon Queen slowly ate the fried beef skewer until she was down to her last bite. She stripped it from the now bare stick, chewed on it a bit, and then swallowed.

"Well?" Sansa asked after a few seconds of silence.

Taking a deep breath, Dany turned to Sansa. "Can we get another?" she asked, pointing to Sansa's bare skewer before a slow smile spread on her lips.

Sansa gaped at her, only to burst out into loud laughter. "Oh, I love you." She threw her arms around Dany, kissing her cheek.

They did end up getting seconds, then a shared spiced ale that left them rather… mellow. Whatever stiff formalities remained with them were loosened as they walked shoulder to shoulder. Nothing overtly lecherous but clearly intimate. At the very least, the closest of friends, daring the rest of Winterfell to speculate on their feelings. "I regret none of the choices I made," Daenerys spoke suddenly, drawing Sansa's blue eyes to her. "I mean, I certainly wish I had made better decisions, but my life and my journey brought me here, and so I have no regrets."

"I understand." Her life was full of regrets. 'Loving' Joffrey, not taking the Hound's offer, supporting Baelish in the Vale… everything about Ramsay. "It wasn't until I found Jon again till I made decisions I am proud of, but it did lead me to him, and to you. The best things that ever happened to me." Her heart clenched a bit at seeing Dany's eyes sparkle with love. "I don't regret anything either." Alone in a side alley, she took a chance and kissed her, a kiss Dany quickly deepened.

It warmed them up wonderfully, Sansa clutching Dany's waist as Dany's arms looped around her neck. They broke it for air, but kept their foreheads touching.

Her eyes grew suddenly sad. "I… I've felt the anger of myself. From Jon's…" Dany trailed off, but Sansa knew exactly what she meant. "It still feels like someone different. I cannot imagine ever hating Jon. Hating you." She buried her face in Sansa's neck.

A tear fell from Sansa's eye at the thought. "The blame for that lies with me." She stroked Dany's back as the Targaryen Queen pressed a kiss on the column of her neck. "My other self, I met her in some sort of greensight… she was bitter, and I cannot blame her. Never having broken out of the pain Ramsay inflicted."

"I wish I had fed him to Drogon and rescued you before…"

"I know, Dany, I know." Never would Sansa truly come to terms with what she could've become. The role she could've played in destroying the ones she loved. "We can only move forward." She kissed Daenerys' temple. "I love you."

"I love you too." Dany pulled back and they kissed again, flush against each other.

A cleared throat found an awkward and blushing Ser Podrick Payne. "Lord… Tyrion requests your presence… the melees are about to begin."

For someone that made whores pay him for the privilege of bedding him, he was still the shyest young man Sansa had seen. It made her giggle. "Shall we?"

Daenerys smiled back. "Aye, let's."

In no time at all, they had resumed their Queenly demeanor as they sat and watched the melee begin in earnest. "My Lords and Ladies!" Tyrion shouted loudly with a lion's voice. "Tonight you will see the bravest and the mightiest knights and warriors from across the realms battle for prize and glory," he gestured to Daenerys and Sansa who both stood up and were handed the Valyrian Steel blade. They displayed it proudly as a chorus of amazement and envy went around the crowd. "But first you shall see a match never witnessed before in the history of the world! The Kingsguard versus their own King!"

'Oohs' and 'ahs' echoed across the audience before it erupted into cheers as the Seven Kingsguard presented themselves in their full glory. Seven worthy knights of the Kingsguard. How long had it been since the order was filled with such prowess?

And then everyone roared with cheers when Jon stepped out into the field. His armor gleamed in the light of the setting sun and his crimson cloak glided gently behind him. The ruby eyes of Longclaw's pommel gleamed.

"He's fighting with an actual blade?" Sansa murmured, feeling a twinge of fear that he'd be hurt.

Daenerys reached over to squeeze her hand. "We'll have to trust in his skills." Sansa nodded, but bit her lip nonetheless. From how Dany continued to grip Sansa's hand just a little too hard - she was nervous for him too.

A hush fell upon the crowd when Jon faced off his own guard. Each of the Kingsguard all drew their blades, Beric Dondarrion's being the only one to erupt in fire and Ser Wallace turned a keen eye to it.

Jon bowed his head to each of his knights before his sword up, and then it began.

Ser Marcus Yronwood began the melee, immediately charging - perhaps a little too eager to seek out glory in dueling the King. The other five loped forward in a running trot, not nearly as excited to close with the King. Jon proved why rather quickly, spinning out of the way of Ser Marcus' swing and kicking at the knight's legs. Ser Marcus howled and threw a punch. Sansa gasped as it connected with Jon's side, but her love was unflappable and merely smashed the flat of Longclaw on Ser Marcus' back, sending him falling to the ground. He kicked the sword away, disarming him.

One down, six to go. So far so good.

While Ser Marcus may have been headstrong, the others held enough combat experience or wariness - in Ser Loras' case, a significant amount of the latter - to smartly avoid bullheadedly charging at the King. They worked well together, glances between them quickly deciding on a proper strategy as they surrounded Jon. Spinning his blade in his wrist, Jon was not going to let them preempt him. Before they could get into position, he launched his own attack at the join of Ser Jorah and Ser Brienne. Neither expected it and were brought on the defensive by a series of strikes, blades clashing against the Valyrian steel of Longclaw. However, the daring move would not work against such skilled opponents, recovering their bearings just as Beric and Loras converged on them.

Jon reacted quickly, seeing that his plan had been foiled. Longclaw, twirled into use and deflected a swing from Ser Loras. Beric's flaming sword didn't faze the Targaryen King, who shoved Brienne back with a sudden strength and punched the hilt of Longclaw at the Lord Commander. It staggered Beric, sparks showering all over both him and the King. Jon took the opportunity to dart back into the center of the circle, no worse for wear.

Sansa sat on the edge of her seat, fingers entwined with Dany's as they joined the entire crowd - riveted to the fight. The same pattern played out for what seemed like hours, the six surviving Kingsguard using their numbers to their advantage against the King. Three would hang back and recover their strength while the others tried to swarm Jon with their furious strikes and precise slashes.

But Jon, wielding his Valyrian steel blade as skillfully as Ser Barristan Selmy, seemed an unrelenting force. Certainly more than any normal man. He stood his ground, not letting anyone force him off his patch of dead grass and frozen dirt. Longclaw glinted in the muted sun, though the King didn't rely only on them. Punches were thrown, and so were kicks, each seeming almost fluid.

As if the King didn't break a sweat at all. He was… magnificent.

What a perfect specimen of a man that Sansa had acquired for herself. While joining the others in staring in awe at him, there was a tinge of lust in her eyes, mouth watering at the almost sensual display of her man's strength and cunning. From how Daenerys subtly - so subtly that only Sansa noticed it since their hands were still joined - quivered at the sight of him, she felt it too.

Oh, did the two of them wish that it were their bodies and not his two blades that Jon was handling in that moment, but there would be time for that later in the day.

The stalemate couldn't last indefinitely. The only question was who would break first, and both surprisingly and unsurprisingly it was Ser Jorah. Getting older, his leg faltered and the old bear stumbled. Jon saw the opportunity and swiped with his leg at the right moment, felling Ser Jorah and opening a gap that he charged through before Ser Loras and Ser Brienne could stop him.

Recovering from a strenuous bout, Jaime Lannister was stunned as the King had broken his encirclement and headed straight for him. Perhaps before the loss of his hand he could've checked Jon's assault, but perhaps not. A simultaneous, parallel blow from Longclaw batted away his sword and Jon bodyslammed him to the ground. The Lion of Lannister yielded just as Ser Loras reached him. Jon wheeled about and punched the Tyrell knight in the jaw, felling him too.

Three down, four to go.

"He's amazing," Daenerys breathed.

"That he is." Sansa kissed the back of Dany's palm, which drew a smile from her betrothed.

They tried to swarm him again, but it was Jon that had the momentum. He jinked and weaved and moved, forcing his opponents to struggle to keep up. On more than one occasion did Jorah or Brienne or Wallace run into each other and louse up the attempted encirclement, Jon easily taking advantage. The tired Ser Jorah was disarmed again, and this time he yielded on his own. Beric, part of his skill being the intimidating factor of his flaming blade, was of no use against an unburnt Targaryen and - after shoving back Brienne - Jon's headlong charge straight into the fire simply stampeded over the old knight.

Two left…

Brienne was strong, a woman who could stand up to the Hound of all people, but she was out of her depth against the King. She tried to coordinate with Ser Wallace but two did not make an encirclement. Parrying a blow from the Tavern Knight, Jon danced around Brienne in an amazing show of speed and agility. Brienne's strength was turned against her, unable to turn in time before the flat of Blackfire crashed against her shoulder. No blood, but agony still spread across her face. Sansa winced at the sight. "Yield!" she cried aloud.

Ser Wallace was the last man standing among the mighty Kingsguard, and to his credit he lasted far longer than anyone - even Sansa - would've imagined. Forced on the defensive, he gave ground liberally but smartly, forcing Jon to exert himself to keep up while dodging and parrying strikes. But all was for naught, and such a gallant performance had to end eventually. Following a feint from Longclaw, Jon sliced in the other direction and forced Wallace's sword from his hand. The knight was defenseless, and saw no honor lost in yielding to the King.

Clearing his throat, Lord Tyrion rose before the cheers could begin. "Of the first melee, his Grace King Aegon, Sixth of His Name, is proclaimed the winner."

The crowd roared in approval from highborn to smallfolk, Sansa and Daenerys the loudest of them as they both rose, clapping till their hands hurt for their man. Jon, helping Ser Wallace up, sheathed his blade and took a modest bow - even still there was a small smile of pride on his face. Why not, he earned it.

Aye, it was perfect.

All was perfect.

---

Arya

Jon's melee made all other matches that followed seem so dismal. He definitely should have done his match for last. But nonetheless, the crowd cheered as the final blow marked the victor of the melee games and winner of a fresh forged Valyrian Steel sword. Gloren Chambers did not boast or revel in his victory, he just stood there as if realizing it himself and taking it all in, amazed that he was the winner.

Jon descended from his seat with the sword and Gloren removed his helmet before kneeling. "You have fought with honor and valor today, my lord. May you carry this blade just as well, so that it will serve you and children in their times of need." Jon passed the sword onto Gloren and the crowd cheered louder as the victor drew his prize and raised it high for all to see.

"Was that one of yours?" Arya asked Gendry as they clapped.

"No," Gendry replied, "that one was Stephen's work. He's probably the best smith between the four of us if I'm being honest." With the melees over, the ring would be cleared out for the next event which was archery. However, the both of them would be missing that contest because just before the melee, Gendry had told Arya that there were some people he wanted to introduce her to.

Together, they filtered out with the rest of the crowds and Gendry led the way to a semi circle of wagons surrounding dozens of tables. Roasting over fires on spits were meats ranging from rabbit to even horse by the Dothraki and drinks from every corner of the world flowing from barrels to cups.

"Here they are," Gendry said, leading Arya to a table of three people, two women and a man, although if she had spotted them from far away, she would have thought it was two men and a woman for one of the ladies was taller than Sansa and dressed in leathers and a fur mantle, but up close her features were feminine. And those eyes of hers were such a piercing blue… the same blue as Gendry's. In fact all of them had the same eyes and the same hair color.

"Gendry…" Arya was about to guess, but Gendry beat her to it.

"These are my older sisters, Bella Rivers, and Mya Stone, and this is my brother, Edric Storm." His half-siblings, and Robert Baratheon's last surviving bastards.

The Baratheon seed was strong indeed.

She wasn't one to judge them for Robert's lewdness, putting on a genuine smile. "It's nice to meet all of you. I'm Arya Stark."

"You're the She Wolf?" Bella asked, looking up and down Arya's body. She was very pretty and wore a bright yellow dress under a pale green shawl that accented her long black hair. She was a woman who knew she was beautiful and just how to flaunt it without going too far. "You're far too pretty to be a fighter like Gendry's told us. Unless they call you that because you're quite the animal in bed."

"It wouldn't be a surprise if she was." Mya was the opposite of Bella when it came to how she displayed herself. The woman taller than Sansa was dressed much like Arya was, with breeches and had cut her hair shorter than Arya's. "She's got a litter of brothers and a sister. Seven Hells Gendry, you two better be careful, or you might just find yourself fathering as many babies as our wonderful father did."

Arya felt herself speechless, but noticed Edric's eyes roll at the remarks of the ladies. She looked up at Gendry with her brow raised. She never liked uptight and prim women of the court. "They seem like a handful."

"Seem like?" Edric repeated with such rhetoric at the obvious answer, drinking some ale from his horn. His clothes were of fine make that were befitting a lord in the same manner Jon had been when growing up. Perhaps his mother was of noble birth like Ellaria Sand.

"Oh piss off, castleborn," Bella sneered at him.

Edric smirked. "Don't take heed of them, they're just jealous I turned out the most dashing of us four." Mya rolled her eyes while Bella sent forth an obscene gesture Edric's way, making him laugh. "In any case, it's nice to meet you at last, Arya Stark." He extended his hand for Arya to clasp, which she did. A tight grip for both, proving that for his being raised in a castle Edric was more like Jon and less like Joffrey in manner. "Gendry spoke much of you in his letters… mostly good things. I promise."

"Mostly?" Arya teased, eyeing Gendry who bore a sheepish smile. "I didn't know you wrote to your brother."

"Aye," Gendry replied. "He was the one doing most of the work in the Stormlands while I had to be in King's Landing. I got to know my brother quite well through our letters and if it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have even got half the number we did to fight for Aegon at sea.."

"He wrote to all of us," Bella interjected. "First Edric I believe, and then us when his messengers finally tracked us down."

Gendry shrugged. "Aegon told me where to find them but it was just sheer flukes that made the letters lose their way."

Bella snickered before looking back at Arya. "Come, Stark, have a seat with us. I want to know all the little secrets he keeps from us but not from you." She smacked Arya's man on the arm, giving a sickly sweet smile that just made Gendry blush.

Arya's awkwardness shifted into a smirk. "That sounds like fun." She dropped into one of those sweet tones Sansa often used around Jon. "Be a dear and pull out my seat for me." Gendry smiled and did so, Arya knowing she could do it herself but oddly enjoying his pampering.

"Whipped," coughed Mya, smiling slyly at her half-brother.

"Just like your betrothed," Edric drolled. "You're embarrassing us, brother. We were real Kings centuries ago, so have some pride." From his tone it was only half-serious, so Arya didn't take offense.

Meals were brought to them swiftly. It wasn't fancy by any means, but Arya's mouth watered nearly immediately. Each of them was given a bowl of soup with a roll of black bread to dip inside, a tankard of steaming mead.

Bella dug her spoon and downed the soup… suddenly moaning. "That's fucking delicious."

"Quite," spoke Edric, careful with his manners as he ate delicately. The only one who truly cared, the others being raised lowborn or Arya, herself not a stickler for these things.

Bella snorted. "Edric, stop being a sheep turd and loosen up."

He narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She scoffed. "You're probably the only one out of all of us bastards who got to live at least something close to how those golden shits did." Bella looked at Arya. "I grew up in a brothel, and I'm not going to bother hiding what I am. I've had high and lowborn alike inside me spilling their seed as much as some tasty secrets."

Arya had been inside brothels, seeing some quite unnerving sights, but Bella spoke so explicitly about it… "I judge none for their way of life, just don't tell me how to live mine."

Bella nodded and raised her cup to Arya before pointing next to her sister. "Mya's a guide on the steep mountain roads in the Vale."

Mya shrugged. "Hard work, but I enjoy it. Love the horses and the mules I work with." She chuckled. "That's how I met Mychel. Guided him and his men to safety after an ambush from the Hill Tribes. Saved his arse more than once… and it's a nice arse."

Laughing, Arya leaned in after scarfing down a bite of roll dipped in the soup. "Mychel's your lover?"

"Betrothed. Mychel Redfort, youngest son of Lord Redfort." A dreamy smile crossed her face more like Sansa's than Arya's. "He'll be a high knight, most certainly."

"A fair catch for a Baratheon, at least for a bastard one." Edric leaned back looking at Gendry. "You've punched well above your weight. Though it's easier done when you're naturalized by the King in person."

Bella scowled at him. "And our dear baby brother Edric's the son of Lady Delena Florent herself, so he of course got to have the lavishments of his own milkmaid and sword teacher. I like you, Gendry, but you'd not win in a swordfight with him."

"Probably not," Gendry said with a smirk when he dipped his bread into his soup. "I prefer my hammer to a sword."

"Ooh," Mya leaned in and cocked her head, "trying to become Robert Baratheon reborn? I heard how you fought against Euron Greyjoy's fleet. Any distinguishing moments of glory for yourself?"

Shaking his head, Gendry took another bite of soup dipped bread. "I smashed in many breastplates and heads, but the dragons are what everyone was looking at."

"Well," Bella said after a drink of ale, "be sure not to swing your other hammer as much as father did, else that one might just cut it off." She pointed to Arya with a smile but Edric found it immature and was quite vocal about it with his body language. "Oh what's wrong, baby brother? Jokes are too beneath you?"

Edric glared at Bella. "I was brought up to be more than a bastard's birth. The least you could do is try to act like you care about our blood if you plan on accepting our father's name."

"Please, enough you two." Mya interjected, sticking her own horn of ale between them. "If the war's lost, we'll all be dead, so can we at least try to enjoy our time together? I'd rather my last thoughts of my family be that we were happy instead of… this."

There was a pregnant pause, the two chastened by the eldest at the table. She'd make a good mother, Arya mused. With Gendry quiet and the fallout from Mya's chiding chilling the others, it was left to Arya to steer the conversation. "So I take it Mya will go with Mychel wherever he finds service as a knight."

Mya smiled and nodded. "He told me his father is arranging an old Keep to be renovated for us to make a new branch of the House. It's on the northern coast of the Vale, but Mychel said that there's another plot of land nearby he wants to purchase one day. I think he said it used to belong to… Lord Baelard? I think that was his name. He was Lady Arryn's last husband."

For some reason Arya found that hilarious. "You mean Petyr Baelish. Jon told me he took that cunt's head before marching against the Boltons. I'm sure if you butter up this one," she elbowed Gendry in the arm, "he can get the wonderful King to make a good arrangement for you."

"Mychel's one who likes earning what he gets. The Keep we're getting is an exception."

"In that case, I could have him fight for it. I've been meaning to experience how the Knights of the Vale fight."

"Is that even a contest?" Bella drolled. "What are you gonna do? Bat your eyelashes and hope he yields?"

Smirking, Arya glanced over to a wooden lamppost about twelve yards away. She stood from her seat and pulled a throwing knife from underneath her cloak where it draped over her left breast. She threw the knife swiftly, hitting the lampost a hair shy from the top. She took out another knife and landed it just beneath the first one. She did that three more times until there was a fixed column of five knives embedded in the lamppost.

Arya smoothened her tunic. "I've been convinced by my sister, my friends, and lover that I am pretty. But I am no prissy Lady."

If the pause from earlier had been awkward, this was downright terrifying. Gendry was silent, both Bella and Edric paled.

"How are you gonna get them down?" Edric asked, pointing out just how high the lamppost was.

Arya smirk immediately fell and she was absent for words. Her knives were deep in the wood, and the lowest one was unreachable without a ladder.

"Right," Arya huffed with all her embarrassment weighed in the word.

Bella suddenly burst into laughter. Not just any laugh, but a punishing cackle that left her bent over and nearly retching. It was infectious, Mya catching it next, followed by Edric… and even Gendry picking up on it.

Giggling too, Arya couldn't help but notice that all of them sounded exactly like their father when they laughed.

"Knives are one thing," Edric said to her, "Perhaps we should see her spar some time." Edric cracked his knuckles. "See if she is as good as she claims?"

"She's better," Gendry replied. "Only the King can compare." Arya reached over and rubbed Gendry's arm at the compliment. "So Bella, what is your plan? You can't be…" he coughed. "Considering to remain in… your current line of work forever?"

She raised her brow. "As it is, I've found my faith in the gods. Once I go back, I'm swearing the vow of the Silent Sis-" she broke into laughter at her own joke. "Oh Seven Hells, I can't even say that with a straight face." She crossed her arms and leaned back. "A year ago I thought about finding a spot to go into business for myself, someplace in the Reach or Dorne. But now that I'm getting a name… I don't know. Seems like I can finally do more for myself but not sure where to start. I will say this, I want to go to Essos, but I'm not quite sure where. Just that I want to."

"Why not go see the Bay of Dragons?" Arya suggested, "Everyone in Westeros still thinks it's Slaver's Bay. Go see for yourself. With the old regime dead, there's plenty of opportunities I'm sure."

Bella shrugged with interest. "I just might take you up on that suggestion." She nudged Edric. "What about you, castleborn?"

Edric glared at Bella as though he were just thrown an insult. "My uncle Alekyne is going to be knighting me tomorrow. With that… and depending on the result of the battle, I'll try and find service somewhere that needs me. The world will need some putting back together after so much war. I want to do my part to help with that."

"That's very noble of you, Edric," Mya said, raising a cup to him. "I know Gulltown needs men like you now especially."

Arya noticed Gendry looking at his brother intently, as if heavy in thought about something. Then she smacked the table with her palm.

"Well, there's lots of places we're going, and lots of adventures being planned, but let me give my advice."

"Oh, we're most certainly listening," Mya replied with a cheeky grin.

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "I've had a lot of fun and a lot of grief on my adventures, but my brother the King and this one right here," she eyed Gendry with love, "taught me that you shouldn't trade all the fun in the world to be without the ones you love. Fate tried to destroy House Baratheon, but all of you remain to give it an extra chance at life. Don't let fate tear you apart as it almost did House Stark."

"I can drink to that." Edric raised his cup.

"Me too."

"Absolutely, Arry."

Bella raised her glass. "To House Baratheon. May we make it less shit than the last bunch of idiots that ran it." A chorus of cheers and chuckles followed as they downed their ale.

---

Missandei

A collective gasp went through the crowd of onlookers as the juggler who had been successfully tossing nine sharp knives in perfect rhythm missed one and was impaled in the hand. The juggler hissed and groaned, burying his injured hand in his body as he curled in pain. Missandei gasped herself and was set to call for a maester to tend to the poor man…

But suddenly, he bent up revealing his hand was uninjured and the knife was gone. He started to smile but then gagged as if he was about to throw up vomit. Reaching up to his mouth, he pulled the missing knife out and revealed it to all and a great round of applause went out to him.

"Amazing!" called out Missandei, clapping and beaming at the sight. "Simply amazing!"

"He must be a warlock," said Grey Worm in Bastard Valyrian.

"Actually," Missandei began as she linked her arm with his and led him away from the show, 'I've seen that before when Kraznys brought me to Yunkai. The juggler showed me that the knife is made of two pieces and it's a fast switch when his hand gets impaled, and then both pieces are hidden by sleight of hand before he pulls it out of his mouth." It lessened the wonder of it all, but Missandei was still very much entertained.

Grey Worm simply rolled his eyes, clearly still trying to learn to be entertained. "A lot of work for a pointless skill. I have no interest in entertainers."

"Hm," Missandei squeezed his arm, "then I suppose we should just get back inside and get on with our duties for the Queen."

Grey Worm sighed. "This type of life… they way people act for fun. I've never been a part of it, I've only watched and guarded. It is hard to find the same fun that a normal man has."

"It's not something that's gone forever. It is just something that needs to be found. We had a taste of it with Tyrion in Meereen, remember?"

Her lover looked at her and smiled, holding her close and continuing onward.

As the two of them walked through, they came to an area set with tables, fires, food, and drinks. Many of the Kingdoms segregated into their own people, as it was clear to see by the similar styles in clothing. The only groups that appeared foreign to Missandei were some men dressed in nothing but fur pelts. She knew them to be the Wildlings, but had yet to see them personally. They had the similar hairstyles and beards of the Northmen most of all and seemed to be just as boisterous with drinks in their hands.

"Come on," Missandei tugged at Grey Worm, "they seem like fun."

Passing by many other peoples of Westeros, Missandei and Grey Worm found that when they reached the Wildlings, there were a few others with them who didn't fit in of of which were Samwell Tarly and his lover… the name was lost on her. And the other man… Missandei didn't have a clue who he was, but then she saw the embroideries of a silver trout on his tunic and assessed he was of House Tully, Sansa Stark's mother's House.

"Hello there," Missandei greeted pleasantly with a smile and all eyes turned to her and Grey Worm in a pause of silence.

One of the Wildlings, a ginger man who seemed close with King Aegon on their arrival to Winterfell, spoke up first. "Why is it your skin's so dark like that? Never seen people like you except maybe a Dornish once, but he's more bronze than dark."

An odd question, but nothing rude. "Because we come from lands where the sun is most bright and hot. You won't find anyone pale as you are there."

"Ah," the ginger said with intrigue. "You've been kissed the sun then." He smirked at her and stroked his beard. "Gingers are kissed by fire, so we are quite lucky indeed. You were with the Dragon Lady's company."

Missandei nodded. "I am Missandei of Naath, a Translator and Advisor for Queen Daenerys."

Samwell spoke up. "She speaks sixteen different languages, you know."

"Seventeen," Grey Worm corrected.

"Eighteen," Missandei corrected him, "I've had more than enough time to find my voice in Ancient Valyrian now."

"Well then," the ginger said with a smirk, "You should learn the languages of the Free Folk next. We only have around fifty, if you don't count the tongue of the Giants." The other Wildings chuckled but all of them turned somber. "Well, we used to be so vast. Less than a dozen clans left now." He shook his head. "Enough crying over the dead. This is a good night for friends, and you are welcome. I am Tormund Giantsbane." He offered his hand out and Missandei shook it gently, earning a chuckle.

"And who is this you have with you, Tormund?" Missandei gestured to the Tully man who cleared his throat.

The Tully man straightened himself in a proud posture. "I'm Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun."

A female Wilding clapped him on the back of his shoulder. "Lost his way to his own men and got trapped here with us," she chided, causing laughter to erupt from the Wildlings.

"And I'd like to take my leave now," Edmure said with much displeasure and clearly part of this crowd against his will.

"Why?" The woman said with a sudden change in tone from jovial to serious. "You got something you don't like about the savage Wildlings from the True North?" Every pair of eyes was on him and he started to shake.

"I-I just meant-" The Free Folk erupted in laughter again, causing Edmure to go red in the face.

"Here." A Wildling handed two wooden cups to Missandei and Grey Worm who lifted it up to his nose.

Grey Worm sniffed and cocked his head. "This is not wine?"

"Fuck that sweet drink," Tormund said. Sweet Drink? Wine? "This is a real warrior's brew here." He clonked his horn with Grey worm's cup and started to drink. Grey Worm hesitated and took a sip and relaxed, drinking deeper.

Missandei took a drink herself and found the taste far different than wine and she didn't like it as much.

"So as I was saying," Samwell started, "it's going to take time to get it done. Years perhaps. And I don't mean to be blunt, but it doesn't seem that you have any historians among yourselves."

"There's plenty of us still alive, isn't there?" Tormund asked. "We can piece our history together to make one of your fancy books. You'll be famous, Crow."

Missandei caught on. "You're going to write a history of the Wildings?"

"Free Folk," Samwell's woman corrected. "We want people to know that we're not just reavers and wildmen. We are our own as well, just like the rest of the world."

A moment of calm held them all, and Missandei started to ease herself among them. "I come from a place not unlike that… Naath is likely the exact opposite of the North of the Wall as could be - warm and idyllic, nothing much of anything happening except for the occasional slave raid." That wasn't a minor thing, Missandei able to prove that by experience alone, but Daenerys had put a stop to those. "But we don't have recorded history. I hope to change that."

"Well fuckin' said," Tormund pounded his chest. "Imagine what the fuck they'll say about the fuckin' King when all this shit is done?"

"He'll certainly be the next Aegon the Conqueror, if not eclipsing him," Edmure mused.

"And Queen Daenerys and Sansa eclipsing Visenya and Rhaenys." Eyes turned to Missandei. "If you'd think I'd allow them to be ignored in the histories then you're all fools."

Samwell sputtered. "I… I… I would never…"

But she interrupted him by turning to Grey Worm with a dark smirk. "See, I can tell a joke."

Grey Worm shook his head. "That was worse than the first one."

Tormund peered in confusion. "Yeh think your woman's not funny? I'll be the judge of that! Tell yer' best joke!" Clearing her throat, Missandei related her jape of the translator aboard the ship. There was a silence… until all of them exploded in laughter. Tormund and his Wildlings were the most boisterous, but Edmure Tully cracked a grin even the still shaken Samwell chuckled. "See here, shes a fuckin' treasure. Funny as anythin… specially cause she's so innocent."

Missandei leaned back, smiling. "See, someone appreciates me." Grey just glowered and crossed his arms.

"Finish the ale," Tormund pointed at Grey Worm's cup. "Damn crime not to."

"I do not need more."

"Who cares if you don't need more. It's about wanting more."

Grey Worm held his gaze with Tormund. "I don't want more."

"Come on lad," Tormund pressured, "don't tell me your stomach's as brittle as ice against a good drink. Was half a cup too much?"

"I can take more, I just don't want more."

"Alright, then how about we have ourselves a game? Whoever drinks the most wins." If Lord Tyrion were here he'd accept without a second thought, but then again, this red-haired man was so big, his stomach could probably fit Tyrion inside.

But Grey Worm shook his head. "I am not interested-"

"What's the prize?" Missandei asked suddenly. "Don't challenges have a wager or a prize?"

Tormund pointed A finger at Missandei. "Aye, that we must have. I won a mighty horse as the wrestling champion tonight. What do we have around that's good enough to offer?"

Missandei eyed Grey Worm, seeing that he still wasn't interested. Still staring stoically ahead, the sullen soldier. He was more than that, Missandei knew. She wanted to see him loosen up and show some passion… so perhaps he needed some persuasion. "How about a kiss?" She asked. Tormund's eyes widened just as big as Grey Worm's did. "If you win, I'll give you a kiss, but if Grey Worm wins… then you have to shave your beard."

Tormund's interest turned into fear for a split second. The man could do with a good shave, all the Northmen could, but it seemed to her that beards were much like Dothraki braids. He stroked his red beard and locked eyes with Grey Worm. "Get the ale."

In just a few minutes, the table was clear and a cask was brought over. Dozens of wooden cups were filled to the brim with more ale. Grey Worm and Tormund sat apart from one another and a larger crowd began to gather around and many started taking bets. Grey Worm's favor was that he hardly had any to drink in the whole night while Tormund was quite deep in his drink already.

Samwell slid a cup to each of them and slapped his hand on the table and both men immediately started to drink. Grey Worm's posture was just as refined as he was a soldier while Tormund was as wild as he was a wilding with drips of ale leaking into his beard and heavy gurgles coming from the cup.

Tormund slammed the cup down and reached for another and Grey Worm followed just a few seconds behind.

All the while watching as the drinks continued down, Missandei sensed that she wasn't the only one wondering where it was all going and how it was staying there.

Seven cups in, Tormund cheered, raising his cup high. "Ah! There's no pair of tits better than the soft hairy bear's!" The Wildlings all laughed until Grey worm suddenly paused, staring deeply at his cups.

"Something… strange…" His words slurred and a collective gasp went all around.

"Haha!" Tormund slammed the cup down and stood up fast. "There's none who drinks more than a man who's had giant's milk…" He suddenly went quiet and his mouth gaped open. His face turned pale and a second later he fell back from his seat into the ground.

All the Wildlings were stunned and many started patting Grey Worm on his back.

"Gots… warm up… in the fire…" Tormund tried to raise himself up, hand in the air, but merely groaned and pitched back into the snow.

Giggling, Missandei wrapped her arms around the stoic Grey Worm. "Well, you won, love."

He snorted, only to smile softly down at her. "No one may kiss Missandei but I," he said with conviction. She blinked, beamed, and then wrapped her arms around him, kissing him deeply. Tasting the bitter brew that he had guzzled…

Only for him to slump against her. Missy let out a yelp and collapsed into the snow, her man on top of her… out as a light. "Help! Help!" But as Edmure Tully and Samwell began manhandling the now equally fallen Grey Worm off of her, she couldn't stop the laughter that tumbled from her lips uncontrollably.

As ridiculous as all of this was… it simply felt real. She felt human. She'd treasure this normalcy for as long as she was lucky to have it.

---

Rickon

"They're late."

Beside him, Lyanna Mormont shook her head. "Stop acting like a prissy steward of the keep, it's not becoming of you."

He frowned at her. "Forgive me if I want a perfect end to a perfect day."

"It's just dessert, nothing serious."

"Dessert is always serious." Perhaps it was the young boy still a part of him, but he didn't care. Lyanna, having not been the little girl she was for longer than Rickon wasn't an innocent boy, just rolled her eyes as if he was being ridiculous.

Snickers drew Rickon's glare. "Careful brother. Your adolescence is showing."

"Shut up." Both Rickon berated Bran, only making him, Meera, Ned Umber, and a few others laugh all the harder at his expense.

From the festivities and feasting outside did the highborn guests trickle into the great hall for Rickon's crowning achievement, announcement not made explicit but the news passed through the grapevine for the last hours. Quite good, for the Winterfell bakers had been hard at work for days on accommodating them all. Dozens of fresh pies were brought in by them and the serving girls, filling the hall with their wonderful smell. Large cakes joined, of all different flavors including a small lemon one for his sister Sansa and goodsister Daenerys. As he had said, the perfect end for a perfect day…

But Jon, Daenerys, and Sansa were nowhere to be found.

Before Rickon could continue to rage in exasperation, his brother was anything but inconsiderate as a guard entered the hall. "Mi'Lord… their Graces bid me to inform you that they will be slightly sidetracked for the moment."

"Sidetracked," Smalljon Umber called out. "That's one way to put it!" Many laughed and chuckled and giggled at the royals' expense.

Rickon groaned. "Is that all?"

"They bid me to say for all to continue as if they were here, and they would join when ready."

Considerate of them at least, for Rickon was more than ready to begin his finishing touch on the entire day. "Alright, thank you." The guard bowed and departed, to which Rickon stood and clapped his hands. "My Lords and Ladies." Looking at Bran, his brother nodded and gestured for him to continue with a proud smile. Proud of him. It was all he needed. "I think it's safe to say that our day of fun and feasts has been a smashing success."

The few dozen people gathered with him cheered and pounded the tables and raised their mugs of ale and wine in glee.

Music to Rickon's ears, all of it. "Now, any good feast cannot be considered complete without a little sweetness, so the head cook and baker have created delicious treats for you all to enjoy. Each either picked or inspected by me." a collective laughter grew.

Lyanna rose and cleared her throat. "I must declare that Lord Rickon was the driving force behind tonight, but the most magnificent centerpiece was of my own creation." Clapping her hands, Lyanna heralded the pastry chef, who with several servants wheeled in the large cake. "A specialty of Bear Island. Apple cider dough cake, one that I invite every Lord of a keep to come and share a slice of to celebrate unity in the face of…"

Out of the corner of his eye, Rickon spotted a figure of black move fast towards the large cake. He panicked when he saw fully who it was. "Shaggy, no!" He rushed after his direwolf but it was too late. Shaggydog hopped his front onto the table and started eating the cake, but his size was so big that when he did, the entire cake got pushed forward and fell off the table right onto Bran.

"No!" the pastry chef exclaimed. "Out!" he whipped a rag at Shaggydog who was now licking much of the cake off of Bran who was glaring at Rickon. "Out you beast!"

"Shaggydog!" Rickon called, 'out, get out!" Shaggydog grabbed one last big piece of the cake in his jaws and padded out of the pastry tent. Rickon followed him to the entrance and made sure he got away from the food.

"Bran, wait!" Meera's voice echoed.

Rickon was stopped suddenly when something soft and smushy hit him square in the side of his face. A sweet taste entered his mouth, blackberries and sugar. He wiped the side of his face and realized it was a blackberry pie. He looked over at his brother who was smirking mischievously.

"I see then," Rickon said as he grabbed the closest pie to him, a strawberry one, and hurled it as hard as he could. His aim was not very good with pies as it was with a sling and bow. The pie missed Bran and hit Meera instead.

"Oh!" Meera exclaimed as she wiped some of the strawberries off her neck. "Rickon, you-" her words were cut off when Bran picked up another pie and hurled it back at Rickon. Rickon ducked out of the way just in time for the pie to miss and hit Ned Umber instead and some of it splattered onto Lyanna Mormont.

"Hey!" Lyanna exclaimed. One of the other men in the tent with them started chuckling heartily, so Lyanna grabbed a pie and planted it right in his face to suit him up. The man's friend started laughing until he too received a pie in the face.

Rickon didn't want Bran to get another chance and threw another pie, planting it right into Bran's lap. Meera pulled Bran out of the open and ran past a table as Bran scooped up another pie.

After that, things took a turn no one in Winterfell would have believed. What started with two brothers throwing pies transformed into two dozen people hurling pies at each other. Bran, Meera, the bakers, and one of the Winterfell guards, had taken up on one side of the tent while Rickon, Lyanna, Ned, the Hornwood men, and a little Wintertown girl were on the other side.

"Not the pies!" the lead baker shouted in anger, "Not the- ah!" he stormed out right after Ned Umber managed to plant a peach pie on his chin.

Rickon grabbed two pies from the table, both were blueberries, and handed one to the Wintertown girl. They each threw them simultaneously. Rickon missed but the girl hit one of the other bakers right between his legs.

A few more people ran into the tent to join the frey. And to some people surprise, Tommen Lannister and the Kingslayer took a look instead at the commotion as well. The Kingslayer pulled Tommen back when a pie almost hit his son, but rather than leave, Tommen raced inside and joined Rickon's side of the fight.

"What is going on here?" exclaimed the voice of Jon as he, Sansa, and Daenerys all entered the tent behind the lead baker. The response was a bombardment of pies onto all of them. Daenerys began laughing as did Sansa. Jon smiled and ran off to take sides with Bran while Sansa and Daenerys took sides with Rickon's force. The lead baker was red faced and gave into his anger, taking up a pie and throwing it at Meera, then another at Bran.

"Ser Jaime!" Jon called, "protect your King!"

Everyone looked at Ser Jaime who held a finger up to object but three pies landed on his fine clothes and a forth splattering on top of his head. Brienne walked in from behind him and erupted in laughter, ignoring the pie hitting her square in the shoulder and the Kingslayer sighed and shrugged, running in and taking forth sugary armaments.

More people gathered outside the entrances of the tent, but only to watch as battle rage on and the laughter chorus in excellent tune.

Jon had a pie at the ready to throw, but he was suddenly tackled to the ground by Ghost who began licking Jon's face ravenously. "Ghost! No!"

A horde of laughter erupted. Several men fell to the ground, wheezing in laughter. Sansa clutched her sides with giggles, only for a chunk of apple mushed right on her cheek by courtesy of a smirking Daenerys… which only made the both of them laugh even harder.

"Alright!" Jon called as he pushed Ghost off. "That's enough. There are plenty of people who don't want to be deprived of dessert. But I do think that this is proof that Lord Stark's holiday is in fact, a wonderful success."

Everyone around began to cheer and applaud happily at Rickon. It changed to laughter when Lyanna snuck by and planted a pie right in his face. "Last one, just for good measure." She smiled and Rickon nodded in acceptance, licking his lips.

"Ooh, strawberry brandy, not bad."

"Thank goodness it's winter," Ned Umber remarked as he wiped a handful of sugared apples from his cheeks, "or else we'd get eaten alive by flies before morning."

---

Brienne

Laughter tumbling from her lips, Brienne trundled out of the main keep, peering out into the darkness illuminated only by orange torchlight. "There," she proclaimed to her companion. "The stables!"

Next to her, Jaime snorted. "How much have you dipped into your cups to want a ride right now?" His own speech was a bit slurred as well… they'd taken advantage of the festivities, most certainly.

Brienne smacked him in the shoulder - quite a heavy thump since she was no weak woman, but he was no weak man and could take it. "I'd not want pie in my hair for the rest of the night." Without further explanation she jogged towards the stables, giggling like the girl she never really had been. From the footfall and mutterings behind, the Lannister knight was in pursuit.

She may have been drunk, but her logic was intact. Where there was a stable there were horses, and where there were horses… The servants had sloshed the warmed water soon before, so it hadn't frozen yet. The trough was perfect for her use, and Brienne knelt by it. "Ah, makes sense," she heard Jaime say.

"See, I'm not too deep in my cups." She dunked her head, the chill causing her to gasp… then laugh merrily. "The horses will be drinking sweetened water tonight."

Jaime, himself covered in pie, cocked a brow at her. "You're deeper in them than I thought you were." Brienne replied by grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dunking him into the water. He flailed and sputtered about for a few seconds before she released him. "Gah!" he gasped, breathing deeply. "What the seven hells was that for?"

"A knight must show respect for his comrades." Blinking, Brienne wiped off as much of the water as she could. It wasn't enough, the cold starting to bite at her face. An awful cold, a bracing cold… "Alright, perhaps this was a bad idea."

"You're telling me, wench." Jaime was more drenched than her. "We're going back inside." Grabbing her wrist, he hauled her up. Even with only one hand, he still retained a strength closer to someone like the hound - in his prime he was a more skillful swordfighter as well. "Best hurry before we freeze."

"That would be embarrassing… Brienne of Tarth," she opined, following Jaime. "The first ever female knight, killed by frostbite before the battle to decide the fate of the living. I couldn't handle the shame."

"Better than mine," Jaime muttered, something Brienne understood wholeheartedly. "We'll get a fire going and you'll be just fine."

"Aye" she replied, hoping to get Jaime away from his demons. He certainly had more than she could count, and after all he'd been through Brienne was sure he deserved one night away from them. "Still, cold aside I haven't had as much fun since I left home for Renly's court."

Jaime peered at her. "Aye, can imagine that sorry state would kill any childlike innocence you'd still have… Ser Selwyn was a serious man if I remember him correctly."

Picturing her father made Brienne smile fondly. "In battle and politics yes, but Tarth is a peaceful land and he quite enjoyed that peace. Only time I found him serious was in my training."

"And that turned out splendidly." His praise made her puff up in pride. It meant a lot, both from the 'Lion of Lannister' and Jaime himself.

Just as they were about to enter the keep - the warmth of the heated corridors so deliciously tempting, Brienne was stilled as she heard a drunken lamentation. Weeping, blubbering as if from a child. "Wait," she said to Jaime, stopping him as she turned to look at the sound. However childlike the cries, from the tone it was from an adult man. "Who's that…?"

It was a Wildling, that much she could tell from the ragged mass of furs he wore, but this was the first man of them she had seen that didn't have a beard. She was taken aback a little by just how handsome he looked. If he trimmed his red hair then…

The recognition hit suddenly. The bane of her existence since Castle Black, the mighty chief of the Wildlings, was reduced to tears.

Tormund himself thought so. "This was supposed to be a happy night!" he cried out to the stars. "How could you let that scrawny boy defeat my pride so viscously?!" his lament to the gods was quite tragic indeed.

"Is that the wildling that follows the King everywhere?" Jaime asked with surprise.

Brinne chuckled. "Yes, that's him."

"Heard some speak of a bet he lost to Grey Worm of all people… apparently losing his beard was the stake if he lost."

"Seven Hells, that must've been a massive bet." His beard was his most prized possession that wasn't a weapon. "Still, he looks less like a brute this way. More handsome."

Perhaps the lingering effects of the drink were still shrouding Jaime, breaking through his walls much as his shock and blood-loss had when in the bath together, but he scowled. "Handsome, eh?"

Brienne shrugged, chuckling. Finally back in the warmth of the castle, her own intoxication was beating back the bracing effect of the cold. Lord Rickon's goal of loosening up all of them was a smashing success. Stoic and powerful her entire life - never giving the men she dealt with any opportunity to dismiss her as some weak woman - it was… liberating for Brienne to let go and be carefree. "I mean, he desires me, and without that scraggly thing he does look handsome a bit." A shrug. "Why not seek him out?"

She didn't mean it - she still had her maidenhead and wouldn't give it away to… just anyone. But her nonchalance did provoke a rise out of Jaime. "You won't."

"And why not?" Brienne cocked her head at him. "Would you rather take that offer?"

Jaime blinked. "Are you offering?"

Another shrug. "The wildling desires me, loves me perhaps, but I can't love him back." Normally she'd never speak these deep secrets, but her lips were loosened. "Not when it's you I..."

When they both sobered up in the hallway, it had nothing to do of the cold. "You…"

"Never mind. Forget it," Brienne hurriedly mumbled, trying to walk away from the situation… Only for Jaime to grab her shoulder. "Unhand me."

"No, not until you finish that statement." His green eyes were firm, searching into her. Ever so handsome. "You love me?"

Brienne gulped, but the confession slipped her lips nonetheless. "Yes."

He stared at her, expression unreadable. In some ways it was worse than had he rejected her with disgust. "Only two people have ever said that to me in a romantic way." Jaime finally looked away from her, expression still guarded. "One was you just now, and the other…" He trailed off.

"Your sister," Brienne finished for him.

"Yes, Cersei." He closed his eyes. "For the longest time she was the only one I loved… and in the end even after all that has happened I still betrayed everyone just for her."

The simple response would be to think him disgusting, to condemn him as any high-minded septon or septa would for his incestuous perversion, but Brienne didn't. Was theirs not a world that held up brother-sister pair Jaehaerys and Alysanne as the ideal of romantic love? That marveled at the actions of Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya the Conqueror? Upon which the marriage of Daemon and Rhaenyra - uncle and niece - didn't rest so divisive on whether they were true loves or a malevolent pair?

Their beloved King had married his aunt and his cousin both, the world celebrating their union as hope in the darkness. Who was she to condemn Jaime for his love? "She was the only one you thought you could trust… that you thought loved you back." She didn't condemn Jaime, but Cersei was another matter. "To be honest I don't believe she ever loved you."

A pregnant pause as they walked through the corridors towards their guest chambers, and for a moment Brienne thought she went too far. "You're right." Her brows rose in surprise at the admission. "As far as Cersei could've loved, in that entitled sort of way, only Rhaegar would've been allowed to enjoy that." A chuckle, dry and dark. "She never would've had his heart, and when he strayed to Lyanna as was predestined, she would've been more broken than anyone."

Brienne gulped. "And where did you fit in?"

He met her gaze with a poignant one of his. "A port in the storm, more safety than anything else. Familiar and always ready." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Someone who she could control."

'When did you realize that?"

"Likely immediately, but I always kept coming back for more." He looked up at the ceiling. "She was the only one I ever slept with, wench, the only one… Cersei didn't extend me the same courtesy, but I was always faithful to her." Jaime's shoulders slumped. "How pathetic is that?" Finally they reached her chambers. "Goodnight, Ser Brienne." He bowed and kissed her hand. "Till the morrow."

Uncertain of a lot of things, when Brienne grabbed Ser Jaime and kissed him on the lips, this was one she was absolutely certain on. "Come," she murmured. "You deserve one night with one that loves you truly."

His eyes bored into her. "Brienne…"

She smiled. "First time you've really said my name." This time the kiss was mutual, arms tangling round each other in an embrace as she guided them in. Him kicking the door shut.

---

Jon

They walked out of the Hunter's Gate alone, arm in arm. Pressed together, for warmth - even Sansa did so, Stark of blood she was, not that Jon minded. If he'd had his way she'd be just like Dany, desperate for warmth at night and eager to snuggle as close to him as possible.

She already did that, though, so perhaps he was the luckiest bastard alive - and not literally.

"Gods, I can't believe you actually participated," Daenerys giggled, the low light of the setting sun casting a glow about her angelic face. Lit up in joy. "Our dour King, Sansa, instead of brooding in the corner of his solar or some army camp he dives headfirst into a pie fight."

"Someone had to protect the two of you," he defended, not bothering to hide the smile on his face.

Her head bent, resting on his shoulder even though her head inched taller than his, Sansa's blue eyes sparkled with mirth. "I've seen you wield a sword, and a shield. The great fighting skills of Aegon Targaryen, from the Wall to King's Landing, and yet your Queens still got pelted by pies in spite of your defense."

He shrugged, the comeback just… coming to him. "Well, how else was I to make you taste sweeter than you already do?" Seeing a speck of blueberry still in Sansa's red locks, he swiped it with his finger and licked it off. "See, even sweeter."

A pregnant pause drew out for… about five seconds before Sansa stared at him with her eyes wide and jaw dropped - mirrored by Daenerys, though her stare was more surprised than outraged. Life amongst the Dothraki had shed her of any prudishness. Sansa on the other hand… "You arse." She pounded on his shoulder, hard enough to hurt but not enough to actually hurt. "That was just… wrong."

"I mean, it's true…"

She smacked him again, scowling at how Jon simply laughed. "Not funny, you lecher."

Giggling uncontrollably, Daenerys backed up, watching the entire scene with amusement. "While the idea that our Aegon would make some filthy jape at our expense strains the realm of possibility…" This from a woman who walked into a fire and emerged with three dragons. "He's not wrong." She walked to Sansa and bumped her with her hip. "You do taste sweet."

Sansa's blush was redder than her hair. "Shut it." Her heart wasn't into it though, voice soft.

"You love it." Confidently, Jon grabbed her by her waist and kissed her. Far from stiffen, Sansa melted into the embrace. The vileness of the past - if not forgotten - was behind her and Jon's heart soared.

"And what am I? A piece of furniture to be ignored?"

Leaving Sansa breathless, Jon turned to her. "The Mother of Dragons? People ignore you at their own risk." Daenerys' lips were just as sweet, his aunt ever assertive and meeting him blow for blow. An aggressive dragon, kisses he for so long missed and never would reject again.

The night was encroaching upon them, but the clouds had passed. Sky a hue as purple as Dany's eyes. As the Targaryen eyes, one Jon found in his rare good mood to be a good omen. Wishful thinking in the face of what was likely to be certain doom? Perhaps, but Jon didn't care. It was finally time to be positive for the future.

Both Daenerys - returned to him - and Sansa - someone he never thought he could find joy with - by his side, it was time.

With the moon emerging, the stars beginning to twinkle in the heavens, there was only one place for a Targaryen to be on such a beautiful night as this. Silently, each of them called their dragons - Jon and Daenerys with the confident certainty of experienced dragonriders, Sansa with the unsure hesitance of one without confidence in herself. But when Viserion was the first one to emerge from the darkness, to come down from the skies and quake the very ground before them. He approached the fire-kissed northerner with an… almost zeal. Jon figuring he was excited to finally have a rider after jealously watching his brothers soar through the skies with a rider on their backs. It seemed to ease Sansa, his love smiling and rubbing Viserion's snout.

The same as she had Lady when she was alive. He and Daenerys watched it with joy.

When had there been so much joy in his life? Jon couldn't remember.

A cloud of warm mist left Rhaegal's nostrils as Jon approached, bathing him in the heat. "Thanks for that, boy," he mused, stroking his scales. Rhaegal seemed to trill, preening at the attention. "And I thought Drogon was the affection whore, just like his rider."

"I heard that, Aegon Targaryen!"

"I hope you did," Jon shot back, casting a kiss in the direction of his glaring aunt. It mollified her… somewhat. She was only so visible in the moonlight, but from the smirk on her face he was in for a rather strenuous ride.

Double meaning intended.

Climbing Rhaegal's back was second nature to him - he felt at ease here, just as before even if he was inexperienced. Riding Drogon during the hellish moons of his return had made him proficient at dragonriding, but he was never meant to be Drogon's rider. Only Daenerys, that particular wrong having been righted.

He expected Dany to take off first, but an excited Viserion roared and hurled into the air as soon as Sansa was settled into her saddle. Her cry of surprise echoed behind her, Jon surprised himself. Looking over at Dany, she was laughing. "You see now that I am an excellent teacher."

"You always were, Dany," he called back. "I love you."

"I love you too!" she called out. "But that doesn't mean I'll make it easy for you!" Drogon roared and beat his massive wings, ascending into the sky. Rhaegal, without even a command, jealously answered the challenge and leapt off the ground. His wings extended, wingbeats kicking up a mass of snow beneath them. Jon held on tight, gritting his teeth and readying his commands.

But the serenity of the night seemed to dull his and Dany's competitiveness. Sansa in tow, her flying much less tense and rigid than he expected, they settled into a rhythm beneath the stars. Ascending and diving, whooping and screaming. Jon felt his lips curved into the brightest smile of his life, laughter tumbling from his lips as he let himself - if only for this moment - be free. Truly free. Free of his duties and responsibilities. The dread of the future and the ghosts of the past.

Oh, if only Ygritte were here to see the true feeling of freedom. She'd have loved it.

But his dead lover wasn't here, only those of his two loves - the ones he was always meant to be it, however tragic or unexpected the journey had been. Watching Drogon and Viserion flying close ahead of him, Jon had an idea. The ground was dark below but he knew the lay of the land like the back of his palm. There was one place there, where Dany loved and he knew Sansa would adore. Urging Rhaegal, the dragon hooted and propelled forward, going faster and shooting past Sansa and Dany.

Another roar, followed by a banking dive. Peeking over his shoulder, Jon saw his loves following him. "Perfect," he murmured. He couldn't wait to see the smiles on their faces.

That they'd soon be naked was only a welcome bonus to him.

Sure enough, as soon as he dropped from Rhaegal's back onto the snowbank did Sansa run to him. "I can't believe it!" she called, Dany following slower behind her. "You remembered!"

"Of course I did," he replied.

Sansa's expression exploded into an awed glee. "The waterfall!" Returned was the young lady she had been, trying to be dignified but still prone to childhood excitement. "Oh, Jon. This was a lovely surprise!" She threw her arms around him, pecking him all over his face with her lips. Jon, unable to help himself, lifted her up and twirled her around. The plan had certainly worked.

"I take it that this is someplace treasured in your past?" Daenerys asked, looking around with her hands on her hips, looking breathtaking in the moonlight. In a clearing surrounded by thick poplars and maples was a lake. Steam constantly rose off the surface, melting the snow around it. "This is another hot spring, isn't it?" Dany asked.

His brow rose. "Another hot spring?"

She grinned, eyes flickering to Sansa who buried her nose in Jon's neck. "We… visited one on an earlier dragonride. It was its own sort of magic."

"Ah, one of those swims. Naughty, swimming without your husband and King." Picturing the wet, slender bodies of his loves twisted together in the sensual delights of female flesh - naught but moans and coos serenading wandering fingers and tongues - it filled him with warmth. "To answer your question, aye. A of hot springs in the area," Jon remarked, letting Sansa down. "Winterfell's built on one, made it the perfect place to build a keep. This one is less defensible but quite a beautiful spot to picnic by." Seeing Sansa's nose rosy with the cold, unable to help himself, he nuzzled it with his own nose.

Sansa giggled, while Dany simply beamed with love and contentment. "You've been here before, knowing I'd like it."

Nodding, Sansa went to Dany and took her hands. "It's a tradition among the Starks, us often going all year as a family just to enjoy being together - even mother tolerated Jon when we picnicked here, though for obvious reasons the ladies had to swim at separate times from the boys." She winked at Jon. "Not the case anymore."

He smirked. "I had the same idea in my time." Their joy seemed to still, as it always did when he brought up his… painful past. "No, this is the rare good memory. My first flight on Rhaegal, bringing Daenerys here for some time alone."

"Some time alone, hmmm?" Daenerys' impish expression returned. "Unfortunately, I do not think that Lady Sansa enjoyed that in your past, though…" Dany wrapped her arms around Sansa's waist from behind. "If she had only asked…"

"Lady Sansa is asking now."

"Oooh, better do as she says then."

Jon was not one to tempt the wrath of his dragonriding ladies. He held out both his hands for them to take. "Allow me to be your escort."

Daenerys accepted the hand. "You seem trustworthy," she quipped, but the mirth turned to mere unabashed love not long after.

A sentiment Sansa mirrored, though she looked back with not a little concern. "The dragons?" Already her feelings for them were turning motherly, much as Dany's. It was quite welcome.

"They'll be happy being near the warmth," Dany smiled, giggling when Drogon yawned wide and plopped flat on the melted ground. "Like lazy children they are. Long as they're able to hunt when hungry, they'll be fine."

"Oh, there's plenty for them to eat," Jon assured. "Robb and I hunted here a lot. Deer, elk, moose… they'll be fine."

"Theon hunted with you too," Sansa reminded him.

Jon frowned. "Aye, him too. Was a right prick when we were growing up…" A sigh. "Suppose he changed from then, as we all did."

He heard Sasna sigh. "We did… I'd not like you to hold a grudge as Rickon does just cause Theon was an arse to you… as I had been while we were but children." She rested her head on his shoulder, kissing his neck. "It's in the past, we've moved on."

"Aye, we did." Jon pulled them both closer. "And I'm glad where we ended up, regardless of the path." It was awkward to walk, but he didn't care.

He hadn't packed a blanket, but it didn't matter. The heat from the water alongside the humid steam allowed their fur cloaks to serve as blankets to lay upon. Helping them to lay down, Sansa looked serene, while Dany watched every new little thing with awe. "Now I see how beautiful this land can be." The poplars and pines were covered in snow, radiant under the blue-white moonlight framed by the stars. "Simple, yet austere and lovely." Her eyes glazed over. "The land that gave me my loves."

"We were waiting for you, I'm sure of it," Sansa replied, pecking her lips. "Now, let us get out of these clothes before I feel like I'm in King's Landing again."

Before Jon could blink his ladies were already stripping to their underclothes. Laces and loops deftly released as their thick coats and woolen dresses grew loose on their slender frames. Daenerys toed off her boots and allowed her dress to slide off to where it now rested on a large boulder, sighing in pleasure as she stuck her toes in the lapping water - wriggling them so they could warm. Sansa was more graceful in her disrobing, carefully folding her dress and letting her hair cascade like a curtain in front of her magnificent teats. Different they were, his wolf tall, leggy, and dignified while his dragon was small and slender in body but carried around with sheer power. Rhaenys and Visenya. Visenya and Rhaenys.

The two Queens a King needed, and as had the originals they loved him. "We're waiting," Sansa chided. "It's not fair that we have but on nightdresses while you are still in your riding leathers."

"Eager for this, I assume?" he teased. "I have seen the two of you bare as your namedays, and yet it still allures me to see you in such dress."

They didn't take the bait. "We are just as desirous to see you in naught but a tunic, now take off those clothes." Daenerys was quite demanding. "Now." Jon snorted as he flung off his cloak behind him on the tundra and started to unfasten his padded jacket. Their eyes changed to ones of hunger, watching him as he unbuckled his trousers and rugged at his own boots. One quick slide and the trousers were gone, leaving him in merely a tunic. "Ah, so much better."

Sansa melded her svelt body alongside his, Jon feeling her pebbled teats grazing him through both their underclothes. "The greatest, handsomest King to ever grace Westeros and he's all ours. The gods are surely kind after all." Nothing he could argue against.

Kisses were unavoidable, near a prelude to other, passionate activities. But as Jon allowed his Queens to pull him down to the blanket, they simply hugged him. Melded against him on weather side, content to simply lay there in a pleasant cocoon, their arms like the softest of quilts. The air was warm, heated by the bubbling water. Rushes of the waterfall masked the beautiful, serene breathing of his loves, leaving them an island in the sea of time all around them underneath the stars. The three of them isolated, and by the gods it was glorious.

He leaned over and kissed Sansa on the crown of her head, his beautiful red wolf. Tall and shapely, a hardy Northerner in the skin of a southern nymph simply eager to make up for the slights of their shared childhood with affection now. A wonder that Jon had never experienced, and yet valued as one would their heart or lungs. Sansa's kisses were like air to him, a necessity. Her love a balm to his soul… Such a quirk of fate, a wonderful quirk.

Pulling Daenerys closer to him till there was no gap between their bodies brought familiarity, but such bred only a deeper love rather than contempt. He adored the loveliness of having her again, returning home to a long-lost port. The slightest of beauties, and yet so powerful. So alive with strength. Daenerys… she came back to him. They were meant to be, his aunt by blood and lover by choice. Not the mighty Queen, but a woman. His woman. Always his.

Rickon had been right… this was exactly what they all needed.

One last day of joy before all of it ends…

"Jon?" Daenerys broke his thoughts, her voice filled with concern. "Are you crying?" Sansa lifted her head off his chest to peer at him underneath the moonlight at Dany's statement.

Damn it all to hells, he was. "Sorry… just a lot to think about… how unexpected it all was." Each hand splayed over the small of their backs, he pulled them ever closer to him - wanting no distance. "But I regret nothing of it." They beamed at him and lowered their heads, sweetly kissing his neck.

He banished away all thoughts of darkness and death to the back of his mind. Concentrating on his loves, the ones that drove him to fight. To defy. To win.

The ones that made him finally choose to hope again.

---

Randyll

The night was dark, but the moon was bright. Braziers and torches lit the top enough that the polluting light might be seen from the Last Hearth were there anyone left to take a look. But even with all the fire, every time a shred of warmth was found, a sharp gust of wind would suck the heat right out of a man.

Randyll wore the thickest layers of clothes he ever had, and pulled the hood of his cloak over his hat. His first days at Eastwatch were spent wondering how in Seven Hells his fat son stayed warm long enough to take his vows, but then it dawned on him that it was because he was so fat he was so insulated.

Some good that came out of him.

Still, a part of the Lord of Hornhill truly enjoyed this environment. Being able to train men and take command of soldiers, it brought back proud memories of war. He even managed to find an amount of respect for the Night's Watch as the days pressed on. They were so easily accustomed to the weather that they took his training better than his most hardened soldiers that came with him.

But in the hours when most were asleep in the lesser cold parts of the castle, Randyll stayed up an hour later to find time for himself. From where he stood, Randyll looked out to the lands and the mountains.

Despite his anger for being thrown to the ends of the world, his first gaze over the Wall made him excited unlike anything he felt in years. Seeing the untamed lands beyond the Wall where savagery and death ruled, domains that tested even the most veteran of men. There was no place for greater and glorious hunts. Once this threat with the dead was done, he would go beyond with Dickon and they would become legends among the hunters of their House. The game that awaited them was too great to turn away from. Snowbears bigger than wheelhouses, shadowcats that could disappear where they stood, direwolves swift and mighty as the King's.

One day, he would take it, and not even the Targaryens would hold a candle to House Tarly.

"Here again, Tarly?" Came the voice of Ser Robin Piper. Having been part of the Night's Watch for more than ten years, Robin was able to walk without shivering or needing a hat and hood like Randyll. His long pale blonde hair and beard protected him all that he needed. "Every night you stare off to those lands like a man in a brothel all to himself. Do the dead scare you that much?"

"It's not the dead that makes me look out there, Piper. But I have seen the one King Aegon had in King's Landing, closer than some of your brothers have I'll wager."

"And you'd win. Not every man of black has set foot beyond the Wall. It's no rite of passage to either. We all have our duty and we do it. Only the command will take us north, nothing else."

"If the dead are defeated, I'll be surprised if that doesn't change. No more wildlings, no more monsters-"

"Ha, you think Wildlings and White Walkers are the only monsters out there? Even if we win, I'll still keep out of those lands as long as I have to. The snow could melt, the winds calm, and still, I fear those lands."

Randyll turned his head to Ser Piper. "What else could be out there?"

"I don't know, and that's what scares me. The White Walkers are back, creatures that until a few years ago were just stories to frighten children. And now the giants are real, only one left in the whole world as far as we know." He looked at Randyll. "Don't you think there are other things that are 'just stories' that are out there too? My father used to tell me and my brothers stories about ice dragons that would freeze a man so cold he turned into stone, unicorns with horns so long and great, they would skewer five men at a time before throwing them off to feast, ice spiders that hide in the snow who's venom freezes a man alive long enough to feel agony as his flesh is eaten from him. And after that… maybe if you traveled north enough, you'll finally find the eyelash of the giant whose eye we live on."

Randyll almost had the will to laugh at that nonsense. "Men will always be afraid of the unknown, Piper. Least they can do is be remembered for facing it."

"Men like you, perhaps," Piper remarked, "but not for men of the Night's Watch." Ser Piper smiled and looked out to the lands and forests, and then to the sky and his smile died. "The stars are all gone."

Randyll looked up at the clear sky. Even with the light from the fires, there should be many visible stars as bright as ever, but there were none, there was only black.

A sudden rumble came from the north. Both men looked out and a wave of snow arose from the trees of the Haunted Forest. It climbed fast and high. Clouds began to form in the sky, swallowing the night up and shrouding any hope of seeing the sun rise.

"Randyll," Piper breathed, looking down the Wall.

Randyll followed his gaze as at the edge of the Haunted Forest were dozens of small dark figures emerging from the treeline. More and more came, and even from hundreds of feet in the air, the faint blue glow from their eyes could be seen.

"Alarm!" Randyll yelled out. "Sound the alarm!" His hand came to the pommel of his sword. Piper had already dashed off, raising his voice calling the other men to arms. Somewhere along the Wall, someone else must have seen the dead because the great bellow of the horn blasted out into the night.

One blast. Two blasts. Three blasts, echoing all throughout the dark.

"Archers!" Randyll ran past dozens of men in Black and his House's armor, making his way to the command perch. Form up and knock! Form up and knock!"

He found the steps to the overlook perch and marched up next to Commander Pyke. "Gerald's waking the men below and Michael's already got the infantry armed and ready. There's no chance those fuckers will get through this night!" Pyke declared.

Randyll looked down and saw that there were now thousands upon thousands of of the dead amassed underneath the Wall, but they were still out of range of the longbows. "Have the ravens been sent?"

"The moment the third blast sounded. Winterfell, Castle Black, and the Shadow Tower will all know the time has come."

Aside from dozens of men running to and from their positions atop the Wall, everything came to a standstill. The army of the Dead halted, just outside the range of their ballista and longbows. In front of the army were four riders on horses carrying tall lances in their hands.

"It's them," Pyke breathed with a shiver, "the White Walkers."

Randyll peered down, trying to see the details of the monsters through the falling snow but all that he could see was the faint glow of their eyes, it was far more prominent than their soldiers. Something wasn't right however, when he looked at the army.

"That's at least forty thousand down there… where are the rest of them?"

"What?" Pyke looked at him quizzically.

"Aegon said that there were at least a hundred thousand. Where are the rest?"

The question went unanswered as a new development happened. The army was splitting apart, creating an uninterrupted column for a single rider heading for the front of their ranks.

A great shiver stole the breath from Randyll's lungs and the marrow of his bones felt turned to ice.

The rider made it to the front and dismounted, taking several steps ahead of the army and stood alone.

Randyll left the command perch, going over to one of the Night's Watchmen and seizing his longbow from him and the dragonglass arrow knocked on the string.

That frozen bastard was a tough shot, but in such open sight it would be child's play.

Randyll drew the arrow back and looked ahead at the snow on the wind, checking the shifts and pushes in the air. He adjusted his line and released, watching the arrow sail far away and carried off, first too much to the left but the wind corrected the course, pushing the arrow straight for that demon.

But then the wind came alive, and a terrible torrent of air was brought up like a wave crashing against a cliffside, throwing the arrow completely off track.

A noise echoed from below, something unholy that sounded like… laughter. A faint glow formed at the rider, and it turned brighter like a star. Suddenly, the light went into the ground, traveling through the snow southwards until it touched the wall. A sudden thunder of cracks exploded and the ice behind the feet of every man illuminated like glass through the sun for a flash. The light traveled west as did the thundering sounds, but nothing happened after that. The cracks stopped and everything went still.

Breaking through the silence came the blast of a horn, but it was from down below. One blast, two blasts, then three blasts.

"What does that mean?" Randyll asked. He knew the meaning of the number, but why would it come from below.

Echoes of shouting traveled up, until a young steward rushed up the steps in complete panic. "The tunnel's opened back up! There's nothing to stop them from entering."

A great cry echoed from the Northern side and the army of the dead charged forth in unyielding numbers.

"Do not falter!" Randyll shouted to his men and the men of the Watch. "We are the first line, and you are the Night's Watch. Your oaths are challenged today and you will uphold them greater than any of your brothers before. You were not sworn to protect the Realms from Wildings, you swore to fight the monsters below. Are you going to run tonight?"

"No ser!" His men responded in unison with the Night's Watch.

"Are you going to hide tonight?"

"No ser!"

Randyll handed the bow back and drew his sword. "Then tell them just how afraid you are!" Be let out a bellowing roar and every man raised their weapons high and roared with him.

"Knock!" Cotter shouted. "Ballista, at the ready!" Several Ballista along the wall adjusted their aim. "Light!" Arrows fitted with cotton and soaked in oil were dipped into brazziers at each firing station. "Draw!" Every man with a bow pulled back on the strings, making a chorus of noise. "Loose!"

A thousand burning arrows soared into the air down to the attacking army like shooting stars. But it was a pointless attack. Another torrent of powerful wind caught every arrow shot and threw them into disarray, freezing out the flames. The winds swept over the top of the Wall and snuffed out every single torch and brazier lit. The light had gone and so had the warmth.

Randyll looked at Cotter. "Ballista! Loose!"

Multiple thunks sounded off down the wall and dozens of heavy steaks shot down so fast that not even the winds could stop them. But the snow made it impossible to see. A blizzard swallowed them whole and blinded any eyes from seeing down at the army.

"Use the dragon glass! Fire at will!" Cotter shouted.

Every man armed with a bow knocked dragonglass arrows and shot as many as fast as he could. Ballistas launched bolts tipped with steaks of dragonglass, all of them shot down into the white of the blizzards but only the arrows being blown into disarray.

"Fuck this," Cotter said and drew his dragonglass sword, "Abandon your bows! Down to the gates! We do not let a single one of those fuckers through!"

Randyll gripped his sword tightly and steeled himself for his last battle, for he knew that he would not live to see the dawn or hunt beyond the Wall with his son as he hoped. All he could do now was slay as many of those corpses as he could so Dickon had a better chance than he did.

He joined Cotter Pyke and his guard, racing for the steps as fast as they could.

"Look!" They reached the edge and peered down. The dead had already overwhelmed the castle, the infantry on the other side of the narrow path that separated Eastwatch from the land were locked in a battle of their own. There were two other tunnels and the dead were pushing through like ants out of a hill when they stirred.

"We never had a chance," a young lad said.

"Sound the retreat," Cotter ordered, "We make for Castle Black and Regroup for Winterfell. Sound the retreat!"

One of the men blew a loud horn with a higher tone than the one used for the signal at the start.

Randyll could do nothing but watch helplessly at his army down below. His best men, holding their lines with everything they had, now getting torn through as if they were green boys. Some of the men in the rear had already begun to flee before the horn had been blown, but now more were following.

This battle was lost before it began. Then again, calling this a battle was a joke. This was a massacre.

"Watch out!" someone yelled. Randyll turned his attention to the direction the voice came from and saw a figure of white and black drop from over the Wall. Its skin was pale as ice and armor black as the night sky.

Randyll took a step back, his courage faltering and wanting to run the moment he saw the White Walker fall onto the Wall with its lance in hand. How in Seven hells did that thing get up here, and so fast too? It couldn't have climbed up, could it? Or did the unnatural winds carry it up?

Without a second of hesitation, the Walker held its lance of ice firmly and threw it down the trenches with unnatural strength. The lance pierced through six men, both Night's watch and Tarly soldiers, before planting itself into a seventh man's body and pinning him to the wall of ice behind. The Walker drew a sword of ice from its back and yelled out the same sound as its master, running through the men before him and cutting them down with ease. Their dragonglass weapons cracked and faltered against such a foe. Ser Piper charged forth with a battlecry ringing the ears and his family's Valyrian Steel axe held high. Ice and steel met, giving rings around, but the axe was parried too fast and Piper impaled.

Randyll grew angry. Samwell killed one of these fuckers, so he should be able to. He would not shame his family like that, he would not be a disgrace!

A great roar came from the Lord of Hornhill as he charged forth. At least three of his men followed behind yelling out their fear to die beside him. Heartsbane would taste the icy hearts of these beasts before he died, that he swore to the Old Gods and the New.

From behind the White Walker, there were glimpses of the other three White Walkers climbing over the Wall and joining the battle. Each with a lance of ice in hand and blade on their backs.

Randyll swung his sword at the Walker after the creature had just gutted a veteran of the Watch and met the ice blade. One of Randyll's men ran past with a dragonglass axe but the weapon was caught by hand and pulled away, all in one motion as the White Walker shoved Heartsbane and Randyll to the ground. Randyll got to his feet as fast as he could, but in that time his other two men had been killed, the first with a slash into his head and the second impaled at his heart. His man who was disarmed met the Walker's boot to his neck, breaking it loud enough to hear.

"Die, you ice fucker, die!" Randyll met the blade again, but he was not the man he was years ago. His age took its toll on him, he was only good for a hunter now, not a soldier.

He clashed blades only to be parried and his sword arm grabbed. His armor shattered at the touch of the Walker's skin and he yelled out in pain as his skin began to freeze and burn. The Walker locked eyes with him and finally released his arm, pushing Randyll aside and impaled him in his back.

Randyll lost all of his breath. All the warmth in his body was taken away and his will to fight had been lost in just that single instant. The blade of ice was torn out, the edges felt like a saw cutting through blood, bone, and flesh. Randyll fell to his knees as his throat filled with blood. He couldn't breathe.. And the blood was freezing in his lungs. It was so cold.

In front of him was the remainder of his men, desperately trying to fend off the White Walkers. One man, no, a boy of the Night's Watch had picked up a bow and a dragonglass arrow, fired it, and hit one of the beasts right in his head. But he was met by the same sword that killed Randyll.

'I will be honored to see you in the next life, young man,' Randyll thought as his body fell forward, next to the many dead. Night's watch, Tarly, so much from one warrior. How many would fall before the Night King? Were dragons enough? 'It's up to you now… My son…'

The last feeling the Lord of House Tarly had was the bliss of going to sleep, but something awaited him at the end of it, a nightmare ready to take him as its own just like it already was taking the men around him as their eyes began to glow when they arose from their death.