Grey Worm

After all his years marching and fighting in the beating sun of Essos, Grey Worm couldn't decide if he found this biting cold weather worse. So long as he kept his body moving, he would be warm, but he couldn't adjust to being cold. The feeling was still so unfamiliar to him. But he would not yield a single moment to the winter cold, and neither would his Unsullied. Already their efforts in the Bay of Dragons earned them their place in history of the many great preceding armies, but this would be remembered forever.

Their work over the past few days was finally becoming something impressive and to be proud of. Together with many Westerosi equal numbers to the Unsullied, they all had been digging the deepest trench in warfare history.

The one thing Grey Worm took out of the work to enjoy was that he was able to work up a sweat and feel the heat in his blood again. Ever since he first set foot in the North, nothing has come close to reminding him of the great warmth of Essos in the Bay of Dragons. He was wrong to think that he could have led an army against the Northmen who handled the cold as he was able to handle the sun. It was a lesson in humility he felt was well deserved for being overconfident.

But those thoughts did not matter now. The bond between his Queen, her nephew, and his cousin the Northern Lady had banished any thought that they and the northmen were anything but allies - such speculation and regret were a distraction against the task at hand.

Gritting his teeth, Grey Worm kept on shoveling the dirt and rock. He needed to get as much done as he could before noon when the shift change began. The men from the land called the Reach would be done with their fighting drills and trade places. Today was training the Westerosi commanders how to improve their shield formations so that nothing, not even that great giant, could breach through. Their thick, rectangular convex shields were strong, but not near as maneuverable as the round Unsullied shields.

"Torgo Nuhdo," Red Flea approached from the left, holding out a large wooden spoon steaming with hot broth. Despite the work heating up the body, it was still damn cold.

Grey Worm paused his work to quickly drink in the entire spoonful of bone broth, finding it more refreshing than nourishing and in that moment felt himself thank his Queen once again for making him a free man. Had he and his men still been slaves to the masters doing this work, not even a drop of water would touch their lips until the job was done.

"Kirimvose," Grey Worm said, patting Red Flea on the shoulder, "With all this progress, I think we'll finally finish before nightfall," he commented before going back to digging.

"What was that you're sayin'?" a voice said, coming from a younger man near him on the right.

Grey Worm looked and saw a young Westerosi boy looking back at him while he too kept on shoveling dirt. "The work be done before night."

"Diggin' the dirt. But with all this snow," he circled a finger up in the air indicating the medium of snowfall that was coming down around them, "we'll have to clear that out else our work'll be filled by the time the Night King gets here, aye?"

Grey Worm stiffened just a bit. The boy had a point of sorts.

"Stannis," from across the other side of the boy stood up Ser Seaworth, "quit throwin' around your whingin'. It's heavy enough for one person, don't try and get others to carry it with you."

"I'm just tryin' to point out-"

"Back to it!" Ser Davos barked.

"Yes, father."

Grey Worm stared at the son of Lord Davos, seeing faint resemblance between father and son. The father was more gruff looking but the boy was still a boy, yet to find his manhood in age.

"We ought to think about that though," Stannis said over to his father, "I reckon these'll be filled halfway when the dead arrive."

"Dragonfire," Grey Worm said. "Not even an hour of work when you have that."

Davos cocked his head with a look of impressed at the idea. "Good idea."

Grey Worm finished filling the crate adjacent with dirt before stabbing his shovel into the ground and whistling to the crew above. "This one is full!" He looked back over to the Seaworths and then noticed just how out of breath Davos was. No surprise of course. The man was past his prime years but his perseverance and commitment to the work was admirable.

Reminded Grey Worm of Ser Barristan Selmy in a way. Less skilled but with a sharper mind for tactics.

"Don't say it," Davos said, "I know I'm gettin' too old for this. Don't need others remindin' me either."

Grey Worm was astonished that the Onion Knight could tell what he was thinking. "You are tired. Why not do work that fits strength?"

Davos stopped his shoveling and gestured to his son and another young man near him. "The dead are comin'. And I the last few years have taught me anythin' it's that I'm not wastin' another day apart from my family if I can help it." He went back to shoveling the dirt. "Besides, hard work keeps the muscles from goin' soft."

Taking in a breath, Grey Worm both agreed with the last statement and admired the love Ser Davos had and quietly lamented that he himself would not get to find such a bond. "You are good father, Seaworth."

Ser Davos paused, looking at him with a stare of sympathy. "When the war's over and if we live to enjoy the world we have left, make a home for yourself, lad. It's the only thing stronger than duty and honor that can hold a man down if he doesn't have love in his life. But then again, you certainly have a pretty one waitin' for you."

A shrug. "Missandei of Naath… the best woman, but I cannot give her what she most wants."

Davos snorted. "I'm thinkin' she chose ye' knowin' about that." He shoved the spade deep into the frozen earth and hauled out the icy chunks of sod. "Sides', nothin's keepin' ye' from havin' children if you want."

Furrowing his brows, Grey Worm paused to stare at Davos. "I no understand."

"Simple. Lots of orphans round. Young'uns too. Some lonely little girl would love te'ave a sweet mother like Lady Missandei… and some scard little lad'll love te'ave a strong warrior like ye' as his papa." Grey Worm stared, eyes wide. That… he hadn't considered it at all. "Think 'bout it. If we live, we'll have plenty of time to mull such shit over."

As the Seaworths resumed digging, so too did Grey Worm. The cold no longer bothered or distracted him, his mind too concentrated at what Davos just said.

It wasn't the most conventional of solutions, but mayhaps that was what made it so perfect for Missy and himself. Their love wasn't conventional by any sense of the word…

A loud hornblow boomed over the plain. One that made Grey Worm and the other Unsullied pause and look up… while making many of the Northmen tense. "One blast," he heard one mumble under his breath. "Please one blast… please one blast… please one blast…"

One blast… that's all there was. A progression of sighs went throughout the trench from many of the Westerosi men. Grey Worm remembered what he was told about the horn blasts. It was a code used by the Night's Watch. One for the Order, two for the Wildlings, and Three for the White Walkers.

"Stannis," Davos said, "continue. Gotta head back to the keep."

"Yes, father."

Davos looked to Grey Worm. "Yer' in the war council… comin?" Grey Worm nodded and handed his shovel to one of his men.

Jon

"Here they come!" Called the watchman atop the North Gate and seconds later, a host of horses rode through with a cascade of factions upon them. Each and every man was exhausted and fatigued.

"Edd!" Jon called out when he found the face of his former brother in arms, pushing through many until he met with him.

Edd nearly fell to his knees from fatigue when he dropped down from his horse. He probably would have fallen completely had Jon not picked him up.

"You certainly look like you've had a worse time in the sun than you did at the Wall," Edd joked but clearly angry. "Next time get your brother your-damn-self."

"I'm sorry, Edd." Jon walked his friend over to someplace he could sit down. "I didn't know it would be this bad. I would have pulled you all back here-"

"Shut it," Edd said sternly, "who the fuck could have known just how bad that was going to be?"

"Make way for the wounded!" Someone called out.

Jon turned his head and saw several wagons filled with wounded followed after and it was hard to tell if they were still alive or not. It was a miracle they were able to escape at all. "How did they manage to escape like that?"

"We had a mutual friend return to Castle Black. He gave us some time to catch our breath and run." Edd coughed, grabbing a water gourd someone handed him. The drink seemed to ease his discomfort. "Jon, when we met the others we realized Eastwatch was hit the hardest. We were the lucky ones."

"Ah!" Someone yelled out in fright. "It's one of the White Walkers!"

A panic nearly exploded and Jon shot through as fast as he could, hand on Longclaw until he saw the familiar cloak worn by the 'white walker' and the chain hanging from the saddle of his horse.

"Wait!" Jon bellowed! "That's not an enemy!" He pushed past one of the Winterfell guardsmen with his sword drawn and stood between the many men ready to fight. "That's my uncle, Benjen!"

The panic began to turn into confusion, but nearly arose again when Benjen pulled his hood down as well as the wrapping over her face, revealing his pale blue skin.

"He's a dead one!"

Jon shouted louder. "His eyes are still brown! He's not one of them!"

"Put those bloody things away," Benjen barked, "and save your damn strength for the real enemy." He dismounted his horse. "I didn't suffer from the pain of cold for years just to die in my own home!"

"Uncle?" Rickon made his way forward but halted when he saw Benjen's condition.

"Rickon," Jon started, "it's alright. He's not-" he didn't even need to finish as Rickon ran forward and caught their uncle in a warm hug.

"I'm so glad you're here!" Rickon said.

The scene had brought the needed calm to the men alerted and they began to sheath their weapons.

Rickon wasn't the only one of Ned Stark's brood to emerge from the keep at the commotion. "Uncle!" Arya was not one to care about propriety - that she didn't leap into Benjen's arms as she was wont to do with Jon was surprising, but her tackle could've knocked down any lesser man.

That Sansa disregarded propriety to hug her uncle was far more surprising. "Uncle… I'm so happy you're alive." Tears pricked her eyes. "Jon told me you had lost your life north of the Wall."

"Most people did think that," Benjen replied, his voice… a bit icy. "And it's true in a manner of speaking."

Jon furrowed his brows, but Sansa's gasp drew his attention. "Your skin is cold." She'd pecked his cheek, and it seemed the Stark children finally noticed his blue-tinged skin. "What happened?"

Benjen shrugged. "Death. Damn Night King left me to die, think cause I had the Stark blood… Children of the Forest managed to save me."

"If Bran hadn't told us about them, I might've not believe you," Arya drolled, biting her lip. "So… are you…?"

Unsurprised, remembering the truth buried deep in his mind - with all that happened, he'd forgotten for a moment - Jon strode forward. "He was bound to remain north of the Wall, but now that the Wall fell…" He needed not say more.

Nodding, Benjen approached him. "Aegon, so you know now." A tiny curve of a smile formed on his face. "By gods, you've made a good show of yourself. I'm proud of you."

A misty smile formed. "Thank you, uncle." It meant a lot.

"I'm proud of all of you," he allowed, only for his smile to fall. "But we have very little time left till they get here."

An uncomfortable truth for all, but one Jon recognized. "Right." He cleared his throat. "Everyone get some rest and a hot meal. Work details are required, but there's no sense in doing so while close to dropping."

Benjen chuckled as the surviving watchmen trudged to the kitchens. "Food no longer is an issue for me, nor rest." He hefted up a rather rusty sword. "Could use new weapons though."

Jon nodded. "I'll walk with you to the armory… uncle, can you fill me in on what happened?"

"Aye… Sansa, come on as well. Wouldn't want one of your betrothed to be left out." Jon's eyes widened in surprise, as did Sansa's, but Benjen only winked at them.

Hours later found the couple reaching their solar… had been Ned Stark's solar. Jon received it as the crowned King, but in effect he and Sansa shared it since reclaiming Winterfell - now alongside Daenerys. "Benjen was this affected in your time, wasn't he?" Sansa asked, sitting herself in one of the plush chairs.

Jon groaned as he plopped down exhausted in his own. "Aye."

"You didn't deign to tell me?"

"Gods help me, it slipped my mind." Jon rubbed the bridge of his nose. "He saved me when I fell in a frozen lake, fighting off hundreds of wights to his death… Bran interacted with him more." He leaned his head back, reaching absentmindedly for a stack of dispatches. "He's here though, safe and sound… as best he can."

"So many are, better able to make a difference in the war to come." Sansa watched him as he began to open the seals on the ravenscrolls. "The second to last convoy left this morning."

"Oh?" Jon looked up from his dispatches - the least glamorous side of being King, but he wouldn't be a Robert Baratheon and ignore such a vital duty. "If it were up to me all the noncombatants would be gone."

Sansa quirked her head and scrunched her nose, her telltale sign that she was going to explain what a naive idiot he was. "And while our brave men are training for battle and digging the ditches and setting the staves of our defenses, who would be healing the injuries and tending to the meals or mending the clothes… or for that matter providing all the functions of the normal noncombatants you've impressed into the field forces?"

He leaned back in his seat and sighed. "At least you were sweet about it… your explanation of how stupid I am."

His betrothed and sister smirked at him, blue eyes twinkling. "You are no idiot, my love, just you know nothing sometimes."

"Oh gods, did Tormund talk to you about that?"

"He likes teasing you, if by himself or through others." Regardless, she reached out and took his hand, kissing the palm and rubbing it against her cheek. "I enjoy working with you, makes things far less monotonous."

"No, they're always monotonous, just it allows us time to be together with the excuse of the duties of the Realm stopping those who wish to drag us in different directions." Sansa giggled a bit a blew him a kiss, the whole exchange a welcome and calming respite before both dove back into their reports. "Uncle Benjen sent a dispatch from Last Hearth."

Sansa looked up again, her expression far colder. "The army of the dead?"

Jon mirrored her mood. "They haven't reached the keep yet, but are getting close. The Night King is… taking his time."

"Could show unease."

"Or supreme confidence." Or waiting for his other half in my time to strike simultaneously. Jon didn't want to think of that option. "Whatever his motivations, it gives us time to finish the defensive works. I think we need to double the trenches."

"That will need more manpower concentrated on digging… I'll tell Daenerys to inform the Dothraki to pitch in." Sansa made note of it - one thing he learned about his sister and bride to be in matters of state, she was a compulsive note-taker.

As they continued to sort through the dispatches, a knock sounded on the door. "Come in," Jon called, seeing it open. "Lady Brienne."

Brienne bowed. "Your Grace, my Lady, I bring message from your brother, Lord Bran." Both were paying attention now. "He wishes to meet with you in the godswood. Says it's important."

Gazing at the paperwork, Jon sighed and rose. "Well, seems we have a chance to escape this tediousness."

Sansa smiled. "You are quite the romantic, Aegon Targaryen." She took his hand, as if it were a feast and he escorting her for a dance.

It turned out it wasn't just them Bran had called. "You too?" Rickon asked, looking bored.

Jon nodded. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Dunno… long enough waiting for you," Arya said, exasperated. "Bran, can you now tell us what the you want? They're finally here, so out with it."

Their brother chuckled, eyes alight with interest. "I've discovered something new I can do, something my older self couldn't even." Bran had this smile about him that contained excitement. He reached out to them. "Take my hand, and come with me."

Everyone except Bran looked at each other, both curious and nervous. Rickon was the first to lay his hand on Bran's palm, then Arya, then Jon, and finally Sansa.

In a breathless moment, everything became the sensations of rushing water from all around and immediately it stopped as soon as it began. The white ambience of the snow filled godswood was gone. Everything was dark and damp. Not a shred of light to be found anywhere.

"You'll only be able to listen," Bran said in the darkness, "I wish I could give you all a moment to talk, but I can't."

"Where are we?" Arya's voice appeared in whispers. But Bran did not respond.

There was a pregnant silence that followed. Nothing but the sounds of rats scurrying on the stone floor and drips of water could be heard… and something else, a coarse breath.

"Old Gods," a man's voice said in the faintest whisper that sounded so close, a voice that was so familiar and lost long ago, "hear me now in my darkest hour."

Jon lost his breath, it couldn't be. He reached his hand out, finding a shoulder and grasping it firmly. He knew he found Arya, even in darkness, and he could feel her tremble.

"I have lived my life as best I could, made my choices as I have both wise and foolish. I beg of you to grant me peace in the coming hour, that I may find the strength to carry on with my fate. But more than that… watch over my children that they may not suffer for my failures. Bless my son, Robb, that he may strive to be honorable and wise as he takes my place leading our people."

Jon sighed, closing his eyes. Robb's death still hurt even after nearly two decades for him.

"Bless my daughter, Sansa, that she may grow to understand the patience she needs and the love she has for her family."

At these words, Sansa was openly in tears, head lowering to bury itself in Jon's neck.

"Bless my daughter, Arya, that she can continue to strive for the path she seeks to tread for herself."

"father…" Arya tried to stop it, but when Jon pulled her close she broke. Sobbing as she clutched Jon's chest.

There was a pregnant pause in the prayer, but it continued on. "Bless my son, Bran, that he may find strength in himself to lift him up from that which he lost."

Affected by the words, Bran turned away his head, covering it with a hand. Jon wouldn't see his tears, but knew they were there.

"Bless my son, Rickon, that he will grow strong and brave as I know he can for the people who love him and he will love in return. And bless my son, Jon… I do not know if I deserve his forgiveness when the day comes that I must tell him the truth. I forced him to live in a shadow he did not have to when I know he is full of light that can lead many when he finds it."

Jon's jaw tightened as did the muscles in his neck and chest. If his voice could be heard for only a second, he would use it just as he had in the last moments had seen those from his time.

"Please, watch over them in the days to come, for I may not be able to anymore, but they will always have my love." Ned Stark took in a deep breath before closing his prayer. "Winter is Coming…"

A great feeling like that of a gust of fiercely cold wind biting at naked skin hit everyone all at once and seconds after, the Starks had found themselves back in the Godswood of Winterfell.

"Father!" Rickon suddenly shouted. "Don't go!" But it was too late… except it wasn't. In the last second that the children of House Stark had to be in the presence of their father, a glare of approaching torchlight lit up the room just enough for them to see Ned Stark sitting in the corner looking back at them.

The moment was gone, and soon Jon lurched back into his own body, breathing hard.

"Oh Jon," cried Sansa, hurling herself into his arms. Weeping, a picture he mirrored albeit silently. She melded herself to him, but they didn't last alone much longer. Rickon joined them, then Arya, and finally Bran - as well as he could, given the chair.

The pack had survived, even if a few lone wolves had been lost on their way. That wouldn't cease their mourning of them, or the sorrow at their death, but at least they were here for each other.

A pack facing the winter… a pack that would survive.

"He saw us," Bran muttered, clearly aghast, "he heard us."

"What?" Jon said and everyone else looked at Bran. "That's impossible."

"It should be," Bran said as he reached a hand out and held Sansa's, "whatever this power is within you two and Daenerys is something greater than I've ever felt before." He let go of Sansa and his eyes fell to his lap. "Whatever this is, it's… something new."