Daenerys
Stretching out as her eyes fluttered open, Daenerys yawned herself awake. Morning light was peeking in through the window and she wanted nothing more than to fall back with her two lovers… two? Her left arm felt over to where Jon was between her and Sansa last night but there was no one. She peaked her head up and only saw Sansa in the bed still.
"Jon?" she said, looking around the room.
"Over here," he said in the corner where the desk was guarded by shadow. "Just finishing up a letter."
Daenerys sighed in relief, wondering why she was about to get so worried. But then she remembered their conversation last night, the dark note that it almost ended on. But that was last night, today was new, and they had work to do.
Reaching over the bed to her robe on the nightstand, Daenerys dressed and walked over to her new husband just as he had dripped the wax on the paper and stamped the seal, closing it. She walked behind and hugged around his neck, leaning down and kissing him on the cheek. "Tonight's the night," she recalled.
"Aye," Jon whispered, tapping his knuckles on the table. "Either the last night or just another." he stood up and looked her straight in the eye. "It's time to get ready for battle."
Daenerys smiled hopefully at him. "No, it's time for breakfast first."
Jon chuckled just as Sansa stirred awake. "Hmm.." Sansa sat up and stretched her arms up. "Seven hells, I feel sore all over." Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she tossed her hair back and cast a half-glare at Dany.
A shrug. "I make no apologies for such a wonderful night." As Jon nodded his agreement with his usual subtle wit, Daenerys giggled. "I think last night was the most fun I've had with my clothes off."
Sansa's faux offense melted to a serene smile, falling back on the pillows with a satisfied sigh. "No argument there."
As it was, the morning breakfast was served and everyone had an air of confidence about them that had been lacking in the days before the holiday and the day the Wall collapsed. One by one their family trickled in, from Arya and Gendry first, followed by Rickon and lastly Meera wheeling in Bran. Over bacon, porridge, and freshly-baked bread business and duties were shunned in favor of light conversation. A tantalizing glimpse of a peacetime and loving family.
A loving family that Daenerys had craved for so long, the one Viserys couldn't have provided her after selling their mother's crown had led him to bitterness, anger, and finally madness. Something she wouldn't let harm her new family… and the new additions when they came.
"Daenerys?"
Blinking, Dany looked up at Arya. "Sorry, what is it?" She didn't seem to notice Sansa's knowing grin or Jon's blush.
Arya smirked. "I was just sayin' that's a rather interesting bruise on your neck." Hand going up to her neck, apparently her dress had ridden down a bit, exposing the join between her neck and shoulder. Her face turned bright red, leading to a round of laughs at her expense.
Aye, a properly close family.
Duties took over their world as soon as they left the private dining chamber. With hugs for her new siblings-by-law and loving kisses for her husband and wife, Daenerys was immediately swept away from them into her role as the Dragon Queen. Each of them had their specific functions. Jon the warrior King, diving straight into his martial functions of planning defensive strategies and overseeing the specific training of Winterfell's defenders. Sansa, ever the active Queen where she had been the active Lady, handled the logistics of the household as well as communication with the rest of Westeros. The Realm couldn't run itself.
Daenerys, a mix of the two, had varied duties. Her first stop was to the forge, Gendry just beating her and her bloodriders and Unsullied captains to get there first. He was a good sport about it, immediately talking to her about not only the dragonglass weapons but also the chainmail armor he had procured and prepared for her Dothraki. Gendry had done well to work out the segments of the Unsullied's armor, adding plate steel where it would not obstruct the various movements of their combat.
The bloodriders complained early on over the cowardice of having to wear armor, but the testimonies from the survivors at the God's Eye had greatly changed their opinions about their pride. They were not fighting other men, they were facing monsters.
They could do what they wanted when in their grasslands in Essos, but here against the dead, protection came first. Daenerys would not have any man lost if it was in her power to protect them.
The orders were given to distribute the armor to all of her Unsullied and Dothraki with Lord Davos and Lord Bronn of the Blackwater in charge of handling the quartermaster duties. Daenerys had her appointment with her faithful knight Ser Jorah. Something special, an idea of Jon's… well, of hers, but Jon had picked out the means. The visions of the dark times of Jon's past had left one in her mind at the moment. Of her fighting the dead alongside Ser Jorah and seeing him take wound after wound until he died.
She was glad that she had taken it to be trained after receiving her dagger at Voltanis. Her sword was perfect for her. Light and maneuverable, it fit her petite stature and determined fire, making for quite the powerful image when astride Drogon. Jon and Sansa both beamed at how fearsome she looked on foot with the blade at her hip. She knew she was short and slender, a tiny thing ignored by many. Dragons, large thrones, and just sheer Valyrian majesty kept the impression at bay but it wouldn't with her fighting. She would need to train with every spare moment she could, as every minute spent in practice could mean a minute longer on the battlefield if she was forced to.
Ser Jorah was the only one she could both spare to train her and trust not to find her efforts to learn ridiculous and demeaning.
Covered in sweat in spite of the freezing cold, Daenerys certainly felt ridiculous. "Once more, Khaleesi. Don't over lunge"
Her arms were exhausted, burning from the effort to raise her blade - however light everyone said it was, at that moment it felt as heavy as a lead weight when she hefted it into a proper stance. Waiting… waiting… she darted forward, parrying a slash from Jorah before stabbing down. It purposefully missed Jorah's leg, but would've wounded it had she fought a real opponent.
Watching her pant, Jorah twirled his tourney blade, nodding. "Good job, your Grace. The foe you would've faced would be crippled and unable to move."
She gave a tired nod. "Wonderful… that's two successes for me to every seven for you." At least in practice. She knew full well that Jorah would have every victory of every duel they fought.
"Better than before, Khaleesi, and the dead won't be as skilled as I am."
"Can't count on that, Ser Jorah." Dany reached for a leather pouch of water. "My best chance is to stay on Drogon." She bit her lip, remembering the vision. Seeing Jorah dead, a dozen stab wounds marring his body. Daenerys didn't want to think of it.
A loud horn blow broke Daenerys out of her concentration - at first she felt annoyance… until the significance of that particular horn made her blood turn cold. Waiting the longest seconds of her life, silently praying that there would be no other to herald the arrival of the Night King. Not now, they weren't yet fully prepared…
But as the seconds passed, relief slowly dawned on her. A single duo of blows, heralding the arrival of scouts from north of Winterfell. "We still have time," she murmured to Jorah, chuckling out of more relief than any sort of humor. "They haven't arrived yet."
Jorah nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "The small things we can hope for, Khaleesi…"
Daenerys shook her head. "Not with these monsters, Ser Jorah. Not with them." Even with all the preparations in the world, they'd be dancing to the tune of the Night King till the very end. The Queen would take as much time as she could to delay the inevitable.
As Jorah followed, she pressed into the outer courtyard. Daenerys spotted Jon quickly and hurried to him - not worried about propriety to press a chaste kiss to his lips. "Who is it?"
"Tower says a small group of scouts, no more than a dozen," Jon replied, wrapping an arm around Daenerys' waist. She appreciated the warmth as she pressed herself into his side.
Finally the gates opened and the party galloped inside - the men were panting, while the horses appeared blown, practically staggering. Stablehands took them for water and fodder while the leader of the scouts presented himself before the King and Queen. Bending the knee.
"What's your report?" Jon asked.
The lead scout nodded, rising though not without difficulty. "Massive storm… beasts as well… we knew it was them, so got out as soon as we could… we'll be set up them late into tonight, your grace."
"Good man," Jon replied. "Go get a meal and some sleep. You've done your duty." The scout smiled tiredly and shuffled away, allowed by his King. Jon cleared his throat and looked to the entire keep. All those gathered in the courtyard. "Whatever efforts you've made, double them, for the darkness will soon be here!"
Daenerys clutched his hand, pulling him towards the keep. "We should start the evacuations," she murmured, voice low so only he could hear.
Jon nodded. "Find Sansa and have her draft the order."
"I was going to have Tyrion do it." Jon eyed her. "I'm taking Sansa to practice with Viserion. She'll need the extra experience."
"Alright, good." Jon kissed her. "For good or for ill, this ends soon."
"For good or for ill." It would end for good if she had anything to say about it.
Missandei
"Your Grace…" Missandei tried to stifle the tears that fell from her watery eyes as she hugged her Queen tightly, but such was futile. "I wish I could stay by your side."
Daenerys was equally emotional - Missandei knew why. As the Queen was the savior of the freed slave, Missandei was the oldest friend Daenerys had apart from Ser Jorah. No matter the new allies she picked up, regardless of her husband and wife whom she loved more than anything, that couldn't extinguish both the trust and the level of ease in which they worked and interacted together. Absolute trust.
"You are no combatant, my friend." Daenerys pulled back, the two still embracing. "We cannot have any civilians in the keep, only those that can wield a blade. Had Viserion not bonded with Sansa, we'd send her away too. As such, you were too valuable to send to safety anytime but now."
Missandei smiled. "I'm touched to hear you say that." They hugged again. "Stay safe, your Grace… and tell Aegon and Sansa…" she trailed off.
"I will. Promise."
With that the Queen stepped back, and now Missandei was face to face with Grey Worm. "Turgon Nudho."
"Missandei of Naath." His face was impassive for a moment until it broke into the emotion she was more used to seeing in him - especially with her. The stoic soldier reached for the back of her neck and pulled her into a kiss. One she moaned into, melding to his body. It lasted quite long, but the need for air grew paramount. "I will stay safe. For you."
"Do not make promises you cannot keep," she replied, not bothering to hold back her tears.
Grey Worm cupped her cheek and kissed her eyelid. "I plan on keeping the promise, Missandei… we will see your home after all this ends, I make this pledge." Nothing would make this parting feel less like the last time she would see him alive, but Missandei smiled nonetheless. They kissed again, Missandei pouring everything into it.
She'd known nothing but joy in her life with Grey Worm, and if a reminder of their passion would make him fight harder to win then she would gladly see it happen.
The sorrow and love of her farewells with her loved ones contrasted in the monotony of the slowly moving convoy of wagons and horsemen that plunged south along the Kingsroad to White Harbor. Inexorably trudging through the snowfall even as it had been cleared away earlier, quietly settled in quickly among the women, children, and elderly that made up the few hundred occupants that had been so indispensable they hadn't left with the larger convoys days or weeks before.
Quiet turned to apprehension, minds unburdened by duties and free to imagine the worst of the coming battle. Missandei, whom had seen the dead first hand - one of the corpses at least - saw the thing of nightmares everytime she closed her eyes. The cold wasn't helping, forcing her to wrap herself tighter with the thick fur cloak given to her at Winterfell.
It helped. She wouldn't freeze, even if she hadn't been comfortable outside since she left King's Landing.
"Kin' I huddle with you?"
Eyes closed and hoping to simply fall asleep, Missandei jumped a bit at the voice. Opening them, she found a young boy - no more than six or seven namedays - staring at her. His clothes were frayed and his teeth chattered between rosy cheeks.
She'd never seen this boy before, but could Missandei deny him? No. "Sure." She opened her cloak, to which the boy immediately crawled along the wagon bed till he was cuddled tightly against her side. "What's your name, child?" she asked sweetly.
The boy sighed in relief, hugging her round the waist. It felt nice. "Silas… mi'ma gave it to me."
"And where's your mother now?"
"She died… while ago."
Missandei's heart broke for the boy. "I understand… my mother died when I was very young too."
Silas nodded. "Yer' voice is nice. 'Ike a song." Missandei smiled at the compliment, leaning down to kiss Silas on the crown of his head, topped with wild brown curls. He was simply too adorable for words. Warm again, soon he was sleeping.
Someone tapped Missandei on the shoulder - one of the cooks, an older woman with a wrinkled but friendly face. "One of the orphans, he is. Liked to help round the kitchens, so we kept him there till now." She smiled. "Never seen him take to strangers like that before."
"Well… seems we're kindred spirits," was all that Missandei could say.
A nod from the cook. "Yer' the Dragon Queen's lady, right?"
"Yes."
"Wish she knew we like her… cares about us. Brought dragons too - they'll save us all, they will."
"They'll try, for sure."
The cook fished a wineskin out of her own cloak. "Ere's some mead I scrounged from the kitchens. It's sweet but it'll warm ye' up."
Missandei took it, giving her a smile. "Thank you."
"Least I could do fer' the Dragon Queen's lady." With the smile of the cook, little Silas cuddling her, and the sweet warmth of the mead as it slid down her gullet. Missandei didn't feel cold anymore.
Theon
"Brother." Theon looked up to see his sister approaching, shaking her head as he was having trouble tying the straps of his new pauldrons to his armor. "You're a grown man and still got fingers fumbling like a virgin."
He frowned. "Even knights need squires."
Yara chuckled as she helped him. "You've been gone from the sea for too long. You're almost a greenlander at heart." It was a light teasing, the sort of filial banter she and Theon should've had from the beginning. His relationship with his blood was strained and awkward, and Yara was the one he had always been closest too. "Are you ready?"
He heard a loud thud outside the castle walls, followed by a very particular hoot - each of the dragons had their distinctive sounds as well as look, and he recognized the particular one. "I'll be with you soon. Have to speak to someone first."
Yara clicked her tongue. "Dunno when the fuckers'll get here, so either take all the time you need or hurry the fuck back."
Theon allowed a smile at that. "We'll have plenty of warning, I'm sure."
Light snowfall sprinkled from the overcast gray sky above, dusting the battlements and courtyard of Winterfell with a beautiful white sheen. It had amazed Theon when he saw it his first week after being made a ward of Ned Stark. He didn't like the blizzards one bit, but he enjoyed the gentle snows. Oh how he missed the days he played with Robb and Jon and Sansa, finally warming up to them while doing it. Such happy memories only served to highlight how bleak things were with his other family, even worse than they were with his blood in a way.
Yara loved him and supported him at least, and he hadn't betrayed her when he was of sound mind…
The Starks on the other hand… Rickon hated him with a passion, as did Arya. Bran was hard to read but there wasn't any warmth between them. Apart from perhaps Jon, the attitudes of the others were set in stone, nothing Theon did changing them.
Sansa, Sansa was different. The only one of them to see him at his worst and see him restore himself. Of returning to the loyalty he had squandered in a vain attempt to please his father.
Theon knew he didn't deserve Sansa's forgiveness, but treasured it nonetheless.
Always free to approach Sansa, even back when the people she trusted could be counted on one hand, Theon nevertheless stopped quite a ways away at the company the Queen kept. It made for a… unique sight. The red headed northwoman dressed in the battle outfit of her house standing right next to a great dragon, stroking his snout lovingly.
He waited a minute or two, then cleared his throat loudly. "Your Grace?"
Sansa turned and smiled at him, but Viserion growled. When a dragon growled, it felt more like the earth rumbling. "Easy, boy. Shhh," Sansa murmured in a motherly way. "Theon is my friend." The dragon still eyed him with… suspicion and hostility, but the beast quieted.
Theon let out a breath he didn't know that he was holding.
Leaving one last stroke on his snout, Sansa approached him with her northern cloak brushing against the ground and boots crunching on the freshly fallen snow. "You don't need to look as if you'll soil your trousers."
Weaving his hands together, Theon bit his lip. "It's one thing to fight in a battle with those things… quite another to actually get close to the beasts when you're not their rider."
She frowned. "I don't see them as beasts anymore. They're intelligent creatures with their own soul and true beauty. Didn't understand it at first." Sansa looked over her shoulder at Viserion, smiling widely. "Now I do."
"It's still strange… you're not a Targaryen, and before Lyanna there were no Starks that married any Valyrians."
A shrug. "Momentous times, Theon. Everything that's happened has proven my skepticism wrong. Some things are preordained." She looked back at him and smiled softly. Taking his hand. "And some things aren't, but rather we control our own fate."
"As you did."
"Aye, as with you as well." She brought up his hand to her lips and kissed it. "My family are still angry with you, and I understand it, but regardless of your failings and the decisions you made, you've become a good man. Your deeds in the last war and in this coming fight will determine how all of us will see you."
He sighed. "I don't care how anyone sees me, aside from my family… just that I do the right thing."
"You are, that I can promise." She squeezed his hand then let it go. "Stay safe, Theon."
Theon smiled. "You as well, sister."
Sansa chuckled. "I have a dragon, likely the safest place I could be." They both shared a merry laugh, hopefully not the last.
Tyrion
Tyrion watched only momentarily as the wagon that Varys had boarded set off. He would be right behind him of course, but the feeling still left a pit in his stomach, as though he was able to empathize what it felt like to be one of the men staying behind.
"Well here we are now at our parting," Tyrion said to his brother and nephew, "tomorrow is certain, and I have a feeling that this won't be the last we see each other." He walked up to Tommen and hugged him tightly. "Keep my brother safe, won't you?"
Tyrion looked over to Jaime who didn't appear to be expecting much. He was dressed proudly in his Kingsguard armor once again, only now instead of a golden right hand, he sported a dragonglass blade and a small buckler. "When I get my vineyard, I want you to be the first person to share my wine, Jaime."
"Like you shared that cup of horse piss with cousin Nigel?" Jaime joked.
"Am I that predictable?" Tyrion smirked. Jaime knelt down and the two brothers embraced. "Good luck, brother."
Both Tommen and Jaime joined the ranks of their men, leaving just Podrick who was saying his farewell to a most beautiful woman who gave him a long, passionate kiss before departing for a wheelhouse instead of a wagon.
"If memory serves me right," Tyrion said, "that was Wynafred Manderly who was drowning you just now."
"I think I'm in love, my lord." Podrick said, almost sighing like a young girl to a gallant knight. He blinked and snapped out of his romantic daze. "I'll make sure to do you proud, Tyrion."
"You already have, Pod… Ser Podrick." It was then that Tyrion noticed the axe nestled in the belt ring at Podrick's hip. "You're bringing that into battle? Dragonglass would be better-"
"Dragonglass doesn't have the same luck that this has," Podrick patted Tyrion's axe securely before shaking hands.
"Give them hell, and then another six."
Podrick smirked and took a step away, but then stopped, looking behind Tyrion.
Tyrion turned around and felt his demeanor fall when he saw Joanna standing away from him.
"Who's that?" Podrick asked.
Tyrion took in a breath. "That's my daughter, Pod." He could feel the shock from his former squire after becoming deathly silent.
Joanna swallowed and approached slowly. "Can we talk?" She asked gently.
Tyrion could only nod so subtly, being at a loss for words with her so close. He turned his head. "Podrick-" he didn't finish his sentence. His squire simply smiled at him and took his leave.
Joanna led the way to a place that was less in the way of everyone coming and going. "I grew up wondering what you were like… who you could be. Whenever I asked mother about you, there wasn't much she would tell. She said you used to tell her stories and she would sing to you. But she wouldn't ever say if she loved you or not." There was a pause, Joanna spent it taking a deep breath and straightening herself. "Did you love her?"
"Yes." Tyrion spoke quietly to Joanna. "I never found it again with any woman after her." There was hardly a reaction from Joanna with his answer, her eyelids fluttered as though she were about to cry but there were no tears.
"Father," she said, and that single words brought a new weight in him, one that began to replace the guilt inside, "it wasn't your fault."
Tyrion lost his strength to look at Joanna as his eyes began to sting. He took in a shuddering breath just before his daughter knelt down and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle embrace. Hot tears began to streak down his cheeks as he held his daughter in his arms.
Rickon
"There we are," Brienne said as she finished the last strap on Rickon's brigandine, "how does that feel?"
"Safe," Rickon told her. The armor he wore was his House's leather brigandine that Jon had in the Battle of the Bastards, only he had a few more additional pieces including a gorget, pauldrons, and cops. The pauldrons were made by one of the smiths belonging to Lord Royce, who decided to gain Rickon's favor by having a wolf head motif forged into the design. It was similar to the Lannister's armor almost.
"Then it's perfect. Arms up." Rickon did so and Brienne wrapped his sword belt around his waist, placing Ice and a dragonglass knife at his side.
A knock came on his door. "You just about set?" Jon asked as he walked in. He too was dressed in armor, but his set was far better looking than Rickon's. He had a full breastplate that bore the three headed dragon and underneath was a coat that had plate scales protecting his thighs. It looked like he was wearing a dragon made of armor. His left hand was resting on Longclaw's pommel while he carried a round shield by the rim in his right.
"I think so. You?"
"More than I was the first time. I wish this would be as swept over as fighting Ramsay was."
"Jon," Rickon asked, "just how bad was the battle when you fought it the first time?"
There was a pause between them, even Brienne was intrigued to know the answer. "If it hadn't been for an intuitive attack, we would have lost. It may take just as smart a play as it did then to kill the Night King if no one is strong enough to stand against him."
"You can, Jon. You're the best swordsman alive in the entire world."
Jon smiled at him. Thank you, brother. Here," he presented the shield to Rickon, showing that it was a roundshield but with bronze inlay throughout the direwolf. "This was last used by our great grandfather. You should carry it to battle."
Rickon to the shield in his left arm, feeling the weight not as heavy as anticipated, but heavy nonetheless. But more than that he felt protected and honored to have it. He walked up to his older brother and hugged him tight. "Thanks for saving me, Jon. I still owe you for it."
Jon smiled at him. "Brothers don't keep score."
With his armor donned, Rickon led Brienne out of his room to meet with his men outside the Godswood. When they got there, they found Podrick and Ser Wallace waiting for them.
"Theon's crew are situated and we've prepared to create a shield wall around the weirwood. Everything is ready." Podrick informed.
"Very good." He looked up to Brienne. "Go ahead and join them. I'll be back soon." He went onwards to the Northern gate where the Mormonts and the Umbers were taking their positions. He spotted Smalljon with his son, Ned, speaking words of comfort before the battle. There also was Daenerys and Ser Jorah Mormont. The bear Knight was going to fight with his family's bannermen once more, and it looked Like Daenerys was gifting a new sword to him. However Rickon thought it curious as to why she would give him a sword with dragon decorations instead of bear ones.
"Rickon!" Lyanna called over to him. She was also dressed in the armor of her House with her axe at her side and a dragonglass spear in hand. "Are you ready?"
"I don't think anybody can really say they're ready for a fight like this." There was an awkward silence between them. "Good luck, Lyanna. I hope I get to see you tomorrow."
"Me too."
As Lyanna left to join her troops, Rickon looked up at the top of the walls and saw his family's banner astride the light of brazier's and flowing in the cold wind. The direwolf's fierce expression helped Rickon one of the faint memories he had of his father. "Winter is here, father," he whispered before returning to where he came to take his position in the Godswood.
Bran was already positioned by the weirwood with Meera, Osha, and the three direwolves next to him. Theon and his men had surrounded the heartree with the Stark guard. Uncle Benjen stood alone at rest, holding a chain
Brienne, Podrick, and Wallace were waiting together for Rickon.
"Looks like we're all ready," Rickon said, instantly feeling the most unprepared he had ever been for anything in his entire life. His hand went to rest on Ice's pommel but he found himself gripping it tightly.
Ser Wallace cracked a smile at him. "I know the feeling, milord. The hard breath before the shout of war. Don't worry, just stay close and keep your shield up.
Rickon nodded and looked over to Bran just to finally realize that Bran was in his state of warging with his eyes ghostly white. "What's he doing?"
Brienne answered. "He said he was bringing reinforcements."
"Not bringing," Meera said, looking out to the entrance of the Godswood, "brought."
All eyes followed hers and there among the trees were dark shapes getting closer and closer until they emerged into the dim light and took form of wolves. One of them however was incredibly larger than the rest.
"Is that-" Rickon began to say.
"Nymeria," Bran's voice spoke out. "Welcome home."
Arya
Usually it was the woman that gave the sendoff to the brave warrior heading off into the danger of the unknown. Waiting at home with nothing but worry and fear. Perhaps there were some in Dorne or Bear Island - Nymeria and her husband came to mind, her being the warrior of the two - where the roles were reversed. Targaryen dragonriders excepted, women often used in battle to guide their dragons into the fight, Arya never heard of an instance where both of the couple were warriors sending off the other into the fray.
But then again, when did Arya ever do anything the proper way?
Hugging Gendry tightly, her arms looped around his neck and tugging him down to meet her mouth - still standing on her tiptoes to reach his lips - she smirked against them even as their tongues slid against each other. Both of them pretty much did it their own, unique way, and she was damn proud of that.
But a man and woman couldn't kiss forever. They could make a strong go of it - especially nude and under the soft furs of a bed - but with battle approaching… Gendry pulled back, and part of Arya missed his touch. Her lips were certainly swollen and she made a sight her younger self would've scoffed at, but her younger self was foolish in a lot of ways. "Well…" she muttered. "That was one damn good sendoff."
Gendry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah." They both had their armor on, Arya her mail and leather of the North and Gendry in thick plate that would've given Robert Baratheon in his prime a run for his coin - Arya also thought he looked damn attractive that way, grinning slightly. "Wish you were with my men and I, so I can protect you."
Once again, younger Arya would've been angry and bitter at such, thinking it meant she couldn't take care of herself. Now though, she was touched by his care. "We're not married yet," she replied, gently tapping his arm. "Besides, I'll be fine."
"Would set me at ease to be your protector."
"Same for me, but we both have our duties." She leaned up on tiptoes and kissed his chin. "Love you, Bull, and stay safe or I'll find you and gut you."
The chuckles of earlier turned into a belly laugh. "Just promise I'll get to be insulted by you for the rest of my life." Arya nodded, only to be kissed yet again by him. Shorter, but no less passionate, one she greedily reciprocated.
Climbing the battlements, she gazed out at the blackened landscape to the north of them. Plenty of torches and lanterns of the men making last-minute repairs and changes to the defenses, but otherwise… eerie. The calm before the storm.
"You're fuckin' disgusting."
She turned at the voice, but wasn't startled. Just scowling, hands on her hips. "An ugly fuck who looks like you shouldn't call anyone else disgusting."
The Hound only grunted, while Beric Dondarrion laughed. "Good one, little Shewolf."
"Don't call me that, you're not my friend." She stared daggers at him.
Beric shrugged, swigging something from a gourd. "I have a feeling this night will be my last. The path the Lord of Light has set me upon is reaching its end at last." He tilted his head back, looking up. "I've seen death so much that sometimes I feel an empty void in the past but I don't know what I missed. Each resurrection takes a little out of me."
"Shut up, Dondarrion," Sandor spat, "I thought gettin' drunk makes you less mopey." Sandor tossed a rock at the stone battlements behind Arya. "Worked for the fat King… does it work for the fat King's son?"
Arya rolled her eyes. "He's just happy when he's around me and his new friends."
A snort. "Never fuckin' thought you'd end up with anyone, let alone that idiot."
"Careful, I could slit your throat without even breaking a sweat." A pregnant pause, only for Arya to groan. "I could be with my man right now, waitin' out the impending horde in his arms, but here I am with you two idiots."
"The honor is ours, Ser Arya," replied Beric. Arya snorted, but smirked - 'Ser Arya.' She'd be fine with that, like Brienne. Better than 'Lady Arya' for sure. "Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
"Don't worry, I'll be there," the Hound said. "Just like I saved your arse with my fuckin' brother. Yer' man can thank me after."
"I'll be fine." She meant it. That had been her hubris, her overconfidence. Arya was a wiser fighter now, someone that could be a warrior rather than simply an assassin. The latter wouldn't help her here.
"Best if none of us get too cocky," Beric stated. "This is not going to be like most fights."
"My brother, sister, and good sister have dragons."
Sandor glared. "They'll stay away from the walls." Perhaps he was hoping rather than sating.
Arya opened her mouth to reply, only for a loud horn to sound off. Frowning, Arya rose with furrowed brows. Was this the signal? No, it didn't come from the towers. It seemed to the south as well, as if marching up the Kingsroad as it winded through Wintertown. She leaned up to peer over the walls.
Jon
The sound of a hornblow took everyone's attention. It was a long, clear and singular note that was not of the horns the lookouts had for when the dead were spotted from the north. No, this horn came from the south.
By the time Jon and others made it to the courtyard, the gates were already opened and a host of soldiers dressed in ornate armor decorated with flames over bright orange robes marched through. Leading this host of soldiers were a group of men and women wearing the familiar deep crimson robes of the Red Followers.
The host halted when at least two hundred of these soldiers had filled the courtyard.
Jon stepped forward at the same time Melisandre made herself known. The priests and priestesses pulled their hoods down and at their lead was the Lady Kinvara.
"The dragon shall bring the dawn," Kinvara said with such a soothing and melodious note to her words.
Jon smirked. "Thousands of years and enough catastrophes, we finally understand the real meaning."
Daenerys looked at Jon. "I thought you couldn't speak High Valyrian.
"I don't," Jon replied, looking quizzically at her.
"But you understand it?"
Jon looked at Kinvara who was smiling like she always had. "A gift, then?"
Kinvara stepped forward. "The unity of the dragon has harmonized our lord's strength to us in the darkest night until your task is done. We have come to fight by those who fulfilled the prophecy of our Lord, to die in his name, and to see the dawn you will bring."
The soldiers behind Kinvara stamped their spears rhythmically as the Unsullied would do.
"The thousand strong of the Fiery Hand are at your command, my prince," Kinvara bowed as did the other priestesses and priests who accompanied them. "And twenty devout to pray our Lord's blessing in battle, spreading his boons to every man who would fight for his morning."
Slightly shook, even with all he'd witnessed, Jon nodded. "Rise, then," he bid Kinvara and her priests. Apart from her, they were all armed as well with bow and spear. Warrior priests just like Thoros of Myr. He approached the High Priestess, who by her youthful features and earnest optimism seemed the same age as he. "We are glad to have you, then."
Kinvara smiled. "Long ago, our people fought together as one to drive away the darkness of night. Their allegiance was forgotten as legend, but today it is renewed. We honor that memory and will fight again."
"You are most welcome, my Lady." He looked down at the many soldiers of R'hllor. "We'll bolster the numbers atop the battlements."
Kinvara bowed her head and the leader of the Fiery hand stomped his spear. "Onward!" He shouted in a fierce and commanding voice.
"We best get to the dragons now." Daenerys suggested.
"Aye," Jon agreed, "but first I think we ought to break the ice of fear that's growing all around." Jon led his wives to the top of the North Gate. Thousands of men were united all around. It was just like before. And he couldn't help but dread how many would be the last he would see tonight.
Jon stood upon the overlook, every pair of eyes that could see were upon him and just as many ears that could hear were listening for him in the calm silence before the storm.
"My brothers! My sisters!" He shouted as far as he could carry. "Tonight we are challenged for our convictions to live! We face the dark of night, the howl of the winds, the bitter cold. There are no riches to be reaped, or power over men to obtain. There is life in victory! Honor for your courage! Tonight every oath is challenged, to lord and man! So fight until your arms break and your heart aches! Fight!" Jon shouted with all his vigor. "Fight for your lives! For your death! For the dawn of tomorrow!"
Jon drew Longclaw and raised it up high above his head, showing his strength and bravery against the fear that they would all face together. Next to him, Daenerys drew her sword and Sansa drew her dagger, raising them up next to Jon's blade.
"Forward unto dawn!"
"FORWARD UNTO DAWN!" thousands of voices chanted in unison back to him.
"Dawn!" Jon shouted, joined by Daenerys and Sansa.
"DAWN!"
As the cheers of the army before them echoed throughout the challenging night, a miracle shined upon them all as light sparked and grew from the three blades. Jon, Daenerys' and Sansa each looked at the weapons they held and saw that between the ripples of the steel, their blades began to glow as if in the heat of a forge until they were white hot and nearly shining.
A powerful but calm light began to illuminate from the blades, shining over the armies and the valley around and the clouds above, breaking the darkness of the night.
"DAWN!" The armies cheered again, all drawing forth their weapons and continuously calling out. "DAWN!"