All around him swords, spears, weapons of every sort seemed to light up. Where before it was only Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion who wielded fiery blades, now it was every single man and woman who the dead faced. It was a glorious sight, one that could only be the work of the gods and while his own blade didn't alight, it mattered not. Jaime looked on as the dead burned when they were struck, as they then set others on fire when they fell and it made him believe that they'd be victorious here today.
He believed it right up to when the White Walker extinguished any flame that came near it. Then he and others watched on in horror as men were cut down as if they were nothing and as weapons found no purchase against the icy skin. The fight was beyond any man or woman that the White Walker faced, it was beyond Jaime too and yet his weapon at least wouldn't break or be useless against the icy sword.
Moving as swiftly as he could, he arrived just as the sword threatened to cut down Lady Melisandre, who was kneeling on the ground almost as if she was waiting for the blow to come. In truth she was simply exhausted by the magic she'd expelled, yet had he not arrived when he did, then an execution that he knew Davos Seaworth longed for, would have been her fate. Instead, his blade stopped the icy one, blocked it, and turned the attention of the White Walker to him and not her.
In a way, he welcomed it and yet did not at the same time. For quickly it became clear to him that this was not a fight that he could win. His old self would struggle against the speed and strength he faced. Had he his sword hand, it would have been a fight for the ages. With his offhand, it was very much not and all too soon he found himself being played with. Jaime's end was inevitable and he remembered something that Oswell Whent had said to him once. The Black Bat had been the most humorous of the Kingsguard and as Jaime began to laugh it was with his words in his mind.
" Death smiles at us all; all a man can do is smile back."
He knew when the moment came, closed his eyes and readied for the blow, and then he felt warmth close to his face. Opening his eyes he swore he saw a ball of fire covering the White Walker's face and he heard a voice tell him to: END IT'. Jaime needed no second invitation and he swung Widow's Wail with all his might, the ball of fire soon fading away and in its place, an explosion of ice rang out, as did loud cheers.
"My god shows us both his favor this day, Ser Jaime, but this day is far from over." Lady Melisandre said and then he, and her, both moved to offer aid to wherever and whoever they could.
Meera.
This noise. The rattles the dead made before attacking would forever haunt her. She had tried to forget them when she went back to Greywater Watch but had dreamt of them far more than she had wished to. Now they were getting closer and those rattles, rather than playing into her fear, fueled her anger. These monsters were responsible for her brother's death, and she would avenge him as well as protect the others from losing any loved ones, for she knew how devastating that was. She grabbed her spear and ran to her spot next to Brienne and Nessa. The Forrester's guards had the ironwood lit up and the archers used the fire to shoot the approaching horde with their flaming arrows. In the distance, she could see the dragons raining down fire on their enemy and she wished they would get destroy the bulk of the army against them.
Meera tried her best to defend her position. Their orders were simple. Slash the dead, burn them, repeat, so she had to protect the one holding the torch to work efficiently on it. Lady Melisandre's gift proved itself a huge boon to their forces, as they now didn't lose time as their burning weapons did the work even quicker. The dead were now trying to extinguish the ironwood flames with their bodies, impaling themselves on them so they could cross over.
"Step back!" She heard Lady Brienne say. "Keep the line formed, but step back! They're about to…"
One of the dead jumped right into their ranks, narrowly taking her with him in his fall, and she was about to dispose of it when Brienne drove her sword into it. Around her, every spearwife was quicker and more alert than her. The Northmen were fighting fiercely, invigorated by the flames burning on their weapons, and Meera felt suddenly out of place. She had been trained, yes, she had faced them before and killed some, but she was not as good as these people. The fleeting thought almost got her caught by another corpse, but Brienne, ever vigilant, once again came to her rescue.
"Get a hold of yourself, Meera!" she exclaimed at the young woman. "You've got to be more focused, else you will be dead and will rise again as one of them!"
Brienne's words seemed to shake her out of her state for a moment, and she managed to fight and stop more corpses until she found herself facing something or someone she never thought she would.
She stumbled backward, her eyes filled with tears as the glowing blue eyes of a White Walker stared at her with glee.
"Hodor?" she whispered, the hold on her spear weakening as she watched the mauled face of her fellow protector now standing next to the White Walker.
He advanced on her and two of the men she traveled with went on fighting the giant she had grown to care about. Hodor had become one of them because of her, and she would now have to bear her guilt for the rest of her life.
Did they know she would be there? Did they do this intentionally? Why would they do so? Why would they target her out of those far more important among their ranks?
She had no time to think about it. Soon Hodor, or what was left of him began to truly attack. His giant blood had made it hard for him to fall to his enemies when he was alive, and it was even harder now that he was dead.
Set him free, Meera. You have to set him free… she thought as one of the men fighting him fell.
She looked to Brienne, who was trying to fight the White Walker, the Valyrian steel that she wielded seemed to be even more effective than Dragonglass, and seeing it strengthened her resolve. She took the fallen crannogman's dagger, her eyes full of tears, and with a run towards Hodor, she jumped on him and struck him in his eye socket with a heart-wrenching cry.
She felt him go limp under her as he fell to the ground, and she quickly set him on fire to make sure he would not stand anew, bracing herself as she turned to help Brienne and hoping that the female warrior was still alive. Before she could go into the fight, Brienne finally disposed of the White Walker, the sound of exploding ice resonating in Meera's ears sounded like a deliverance of sorts. Brienne fell to her knees, bloodied but still alive, and tried to stand up while Meera stopped her.
"There's no time to rest," she said weakly. "We must -"
As if the Gods were listening to them, the dragon's roars and their flames a little ahead of them gave them a little respite and time for them to regroup and close ranks.
Beric Dondarrion.
Around him it was chaos, the dead crashed against the shield wall and were brought down, only to be replaced by another wave almost immediately. Men's courage threatened to falter as they came face to face with things from their nightmares. If it was not for some of those amongst them, then all discipline and order would have been lost. But be it the giant redheaded wilding with his words, Ned Dayne with his incredible sword, or Jaime Lannister who fought like ten men, they held the dead back.
He, like others, had looked on when the dragons had brought their flames to bear. R'hllor's greatest gift to the world was finally showing his true power to one and all. Around him, men had seen it as both he and Thoros ignited their swords and brought their own fire to the dead they faced. Beric believed that it helped rally the men closest to him when he did so. He'd fought as he'd never fought before, his sword aflame and it moved swifter than it had ever done. The light from his flames shied like a beacon in the darkness of the night and held back the darkest of its terrors, for now at least.
When he'd seen the flames appear on the sword nearest him, he'd at first believed that it had caught fire from his own. Then he looked on in awe as every single weapon held by a man who breathed still, suddenly lit up. From the moment that Thoros had brought him back, Beric had been a convert to the God of Flame and Shadow. Each and every time he'd risen again, his devotion to R'hllor had been the one thing that had grown. Through his lost memories, his feelings of becoming a lesser man than he once was, all of it, he'd taken comfort from the fact that he was here to do his god's work.
Seeing R'hllor intervene so directly, witnessing his power firsthand, brought him something he'd not known since the first time he'd died, comfort. His god was with them, as clearly as if he walked this field and touched the shoulder of each and every man and woman that fought. The dead may have the favor of the Great other, but he was not yet dead, those with him were not yet dead, and they too carried a god's favor. As he swung his sword, he did so with a renewed vigor. A strength that he'd feared was long since past. He fought for the living and for his god and they would win here today.
"For R'hllor," he called out as he took down another dead man.
To his left, his right, in front of him, and once when one got lucky enough to somehow make it behind him, the dead found no quarter from Beric's flaming sword. He heard cheers as a White Walker was taken down and a large group of the dead fell with him. Looked on as the shield wall began to push back against what felt to him like a lesser force pushing against it. Every so often his eyes would look to the sky in search of the dragons, to the hills to the sides for the cavalry, and around him for Thoros and others who fought with them.
Ned Dayne was as majestic as he'd wager his uncle had ever been. Dawn sang in the young man's hands and though he could remember little about their time together, or what their relationship was, he felt proud of the lad for some reason. Jaime Lannister may not be the swordsman he once was, yet he was more than a match for the dead he faced. Melisandre he could see held their god's favor even more than he and at times he swore he saw fireballs seem to come from her hands. As for Thoros, drunk or sober, he was as fierce as ever. He was unstoppable and though not a man who smiled much if, at all these days, Beric smiled as he watched his truest friend.
"WATCH OUT!" a shout rang out and Beric turned in its direction, the sight he found himself looking at was one that almost defied explanation.
There were animals running at them, animals and what seemed to be giants. Shadowcats, Aurochs, Mammoths, Wolves, Direwolves, and things he could name not, all were now racing toward their lines. He looked on in horror as the largest of them broke through a part of their shield wall. Men who'd faced off against dead men were no match for dead things. Beric mayhap because of how many times he died and had been brought back, now felt a calmness that was much needed. He knew what needed to be done and moved forward to see that it was.
"SPEARS, TAKE THEM DOWN WITH THE SPEARS. SPEARMEN TO ME!" he shouted
One, two, five, ten, and then more moved with him. Dornishmen and Unsullied from the back of the ranks. They moved and he watched as a Mammoth was poked and prodded and eventually fell. The sight restored the will of men who'd lost their discipline, as did the sight of a giant falling. Wolves were set ablaze, Shadowcats hit with arrows and Beric could see the tide turning in their favor once more. He felt it, right up until the moment he saw the Snowbear and what lay in its path.
"THOROS! THOROS!" he called out but in the sounds of battle his warning went unheard.
He ran as fast as he could, his sword slashing out and taking down anything that wasn't living in his path. Though it was a forlorn hope he bore, it was all he had other than the prayer he sent to R'hllor. At what point he knew that he'd be a tool late, only his god would be able to tell for true. Though he was no more than twenty feet away from his friend, he may have been on the other side of the Wall. Beric looked on in horror as the Snowbear crashed into Thoros and took him to the ground. Moving even faster than he had been until then, the rage, anger, and despair he felt fuelled him and made him feel a man once more.
His sword slashed out and caught the bear across the back, the flames soon catching and setting it alight, though not stopping it from its grisly work. Beric reached in to take his Dragonglass dagger and began to stab furiously until finally, the bear fell to one side, dead for true now. He moved to where Thoros lay. Blood pooling on the ground beneath him and a look in his eyes of shock and to his surprise, mirth.
"I think I saw a bear, old friend." Thoros coughed as Beric knelt down and raised up his head.
"I.."
"A drink, my pouch, don't let me go to my god with a dry mouth."
He moved and took the pouch from Thoros' side and held it to his mouth, around him men fought dead men and the last of their dead beasts, and yet for now he cared not.
"Send me to my god, don't let me… don't let me…" Thoros said as he dropped the pouch and were he not so concentrated on his friend's fate or not the half of a man that he now was, then he'd have smiled at the fact that it was finally empty.
"May you find the comfort you deserve in R'hllor's embrace, old friend," he said as he lay Thoros back down on the ground and stood up.
Beric moved his sword to the red robes and watched them catch fire. Once he was sure that Thoros would burn for true, he turned and moved back to the front of their lines. He walked with a purpose, feeling the grief flow through him and when he saw the white figure off in the distance, he knew what he needed to do. Moving past men who tried to stop him, out past the shield wall, and into the open ground, he glared at the White Walker, and then he began to run.
Dead men tried to stop him and yet they were no match for him or his fiery blade. Beric almost ended them contemptuously as he sought his target. When he finally reached him, he felt the cold that came from him, and yet he felt something else too. It was inside of him, filling him up, giving him the strength to do what needed to be done. R'hllor would work through him and the flames of his sword grew ever brighter.
"For Thoros," he said as he moved forward.
His lifeblood ran from his body, the cold threatening to be the last thing that he felt. To his side lay a pile of ice that had once been a White Walker and around him, was empty ground. The fight had been one that he'd won and lost. His Dragonglass dagger ended the White Walker but not before he'd found his own end too. As he felt his eyes begin to close, he saw them in the sky. Fire made flesh, R'hllor's gift to the world and he took comfort in knowing that they'd win this fight. Then he felt it, the flames as they washed over him, the Green Dragon laying them down even though there were no dead men near him.
"Thank you, R'hllor," he said and then he said no more.
Baelon.
The dragons were as rested as they could be. Though he wished they could give them more time, he knew they could not. It was not here they were needed and while he believed they'd done enough so that their lines would hold, they'd only hold temporarily. Without the dragons, they'd lose here today. So they flew back towards the battle and he spoke to Rhaegal through his bond. His dragon told him he was tired but not exhausted, that he would like to rest more, but didn't need to and Baelon thanked him for all he had and would do.
Turning to Dany on Drogon, he offered her a comforting nod and then looked to Viserion. The Golden Dragon had almost allowed his natural instincts to be his downfall. When the spears had come, Baelon through his bond with Rhaegal had felt the danger of them. His dragon shared with him what had happened to Drogon when he faced off against the Lannister Army. Drogon had listened to his mother's will, Rhaegal to his own, Viserion though was bonded to no one and so he'd needed to warg him once more.
It was different from before, lesser than it somehow. Mayhap because he was doing so on his own and without Rickon's help or mayhap because Viserion wasn't weakened as he had been the first time he'd done so. So things had been more difficult and Baelon had felt Rhaegal's own worries for him more so than for his brother. Yet it had needed to be done and only the promise that just as Rhaegal had found him, there was no doubt a rider out there for Viserion too, had been enough to get the Golden Dragon to accept his will.
Now as they neared where the battle was raging, he had no fear that Viserion would fall prey to an ice spear. He, Drogon, Rhaegal, all three dragons were fully aware of what those spears meant and of the ones who wielded them. They'd avoid them and allow those on the ground to deal with them, only bringing their flames to bear against the White Walkers in order to distract or cover their retreat. Seeing the army below him, Baelon breathed a sigh of relief that they'd held so well. Looking down on the flames that covered their weapons, he believed that Melisandre, Thoros, and R'hllor had played their parts here today, it was now time once again, for he, Dany, and the dragons to play theirs.
"Dracarys," he said and Rhaegal let loose his flames over what seemed to be an empty piece of ground, yet for some reason, Baelon knew it was not.
He'd felt something there, a call to him and so he'd had Rhaegal answer it. They flew around the back of their army, to where the dead had surrounded them, and then they began to loose their flames for true. He knew they were far enough from their own lines to ensure that it was only dead men and their dead beasts that were caught by the flames. Dany followed his own flight as did Viserion and once they'd loosed their flames in one place, it was to another that they flew.
On and one, flying wherever the lines of the dead were thickest, the dragons though tired continued to lay down their fire. Dead men, dead animals, even at times their icy masters all felt their flames. Spears came their way and were easily dodged and after he knew not how many passes, he knew now what needed to be done. Directing Dany to follow him, he bid Rhaegal first to one hill and then to the other. The Green Dragon roared out its signal to the men on horseback and bid them charge and end this once and for all.
Just like the men who fought within the circle of their shield wall, the cavalry too bore weapons that were aflame. Lance, Arakhs, even the arrows fired from bows all alight and from atop a dragon, it was a majestic sight to see. Feeling the tiredness of the dragon beneath him, seeing that both his brothers too had given their all., Baelon bid them do a circle of the place he'd chosen for them to land. Once he was certain they were safe and there were no enemies nearby, he brought Rhaegal to the ground on a hill overlooking the field below. Drogon and Viserion soon joined their brother and after shaking his head at Dany when she moved to climb off Drogon's back, he looked out at the end of the battle and then thanked his dragon for all he'd done.
"Kirimvose Rhaīgal, se tubis iksis īlvon." (Thank you Rhaegal, the day is ours.).
Daven Lannister.
" Sit and wait for the signal, ride not until the dragons bid you to, no matter what you see or hear."
" You would have me wait like a craven, your grace?"
" I would have you win me the day and not lose me, my cavalry. The Dothraki I know will do as their queen bids them to, Ser Daven, they'll ride at our signal because they believe in their Khalessi and name me their Khal. They understand the value of taking advice from someone who's faced the dead men before. Would you have them show a discipline that you and your own men could not match? Them follow their Khal's orders while you question your king's?"
" I mean not to question them, your grace, only understand them."
" You'll understand them when you see the dead, Ser Daven, you'll see why these are the plans I've drawn up and why I only wish you to charge at the right time. With luck and the god's graces, your charge will break them, should things go badly, then I'll need my cavalry for other plans."
" As you command, your grace."
" Ser Daven, trust me on this and you'll see it's not folly that leads me to the choices I make."
Despite himself, he'd accepted the words. He'd bid his men hold no matter what and as the battle began and then raged, he'd seen the reason for the king's orders as clear as day. A charge would end them. For these were not men they'd ride against and to do so as they were now was truly folly. Yet it was hard to sit and wait. To watch as men fell while you did nothing. Around him, he could feel his men's need to ride and join the fray. For now, they held, they watched, waited, and looked to the dark of the night's sky for the signal to come.
It seemed to take some time, the fight below them was almost a stalemate where one side pushed against a shield wall while the other held that wall and pushed them back. When the weapons being wielded by the living caught fire, he and others knew not what to make of it. Though it allowed them to see the battle even more clearly. Mayhap that was why men that he knew were disciplined began to show signs they'd lose it here today.
"We should be down there."
"Men of the West are dying,"
"Give the order.
"Bid us ride."
The questions were all met with the same reply. Daven could see now why the king had bid them wait, the plan he had in mind was finally clear to him. To ride now was to ride to death, not just theirs but those men they wished to save. So no, he'd not give the order, they'd not charge into the dead's lines, not yet, not yet.
When they saw the giants and the animals, men who'd wished to charge just moments before, wished it not now. The folly that their ride would have led them to commit was now clear to see by even the most blinded of his men. Daven smiled when the dragons returned, felt his heart beat that little bit faster. His hands gripped his lance and horse's reins that little bit tighter as his body shifted on his horse. To see them so was a majestic sight, one that he was glad he'd not been on the receiving end of during their failed attempt on Highgarden.
As he saw them fly towards the hill opposite, he called out for his men to make ready. The sound of horses' hooves, lances being readied, swords being unsheathed were all drowned out by the excited whispers that ran around the ranks of his men. Moments later the Green Dragon flew over their heads and let loose the loudest roar that Daven had ever heard. He bid the horses forward, a walk, trot, canter, and finally a full-on charge.
"For the King and Queen and for the West!" he shouted out.
"For the King and Queen and for the Reach"!
"For the Living!"
Beneath him, Shadow was in full charge now. His black stallion reveled in being let loose to do what he'd been trained to do. The Men of the West and those of the Reach were born to do this. Their heavy charges were unmatched in a battle against any foe, and so they'd be against the dead. When his lance alighted, he smiled, as he did upon seeing the sight of the flaming weapons ahead of him. The Dothraki rode forward too and would reach the dead before them.
The first strike of his lance sent a dead thing flying, Daven almost wishing he could stop to admire the sight of it as it landed many feet from where it had once stood. He could not, for his lance struck another and then another, deadmen no match for the speed that Shadow had gained or the force with which his lance caught them. At what point he lost the lance, he knew not. His sword was soon in his hand and it too was covered in fire. Slashing down to his left, right, and left again, he set fire to any dead thing that his sword connected to.
Eventually, the numbers he faced began to thin out and the enemies were replaced with allies. The Dothraki's charge had been just as effective as his own and as Shadow moved to a Dothraki charger, Daven looked back over his shoulder. It had been devastating. Never had he ridden in a charge as successful as this one. Few of his men had fallen, which was more than could be said for the dead. The shield wall that held them back had been completely relieved, so much so that the men behind that wall were now out from behind it and ending what little of the dead remained. As were some of his men and some of the Dothraki too.
"The Great Stallion favors us today." A Dothraki called out before he too was riding to end whatever remained of their enemy.
Daven knew not who the Great Stallion was, his own black stallion had proved himself once again though and so he patted Shadow on the back and looked to the sky to see the dragons flying overhead once more. He'd never forgive the Starks for what they'd taken from him. True it was Karkstark's blade that ended his father's life but had it not been for Robb Stark then the man would not have even been in Oxcross. Looking on as the Green Dragon landed, he smiled shook his head.
" I'm not a Stark." Baelon Targaryen had told him as they had ridden to this war, he could take comfort and kneel to such a man, especially after this day.
Tormund Giantsbane.
He joined the cries of relief and joy the army screamed as the last corpses fell on the ground, meaning their enemy had been defeated. He was exhausted, battered, and had thought his day had finally come more than once during this battle. May it be the Old Gods or simply his desire to live, he never gave up on fighting despite his exhaustion and all his thoughts were now on those he cared about. Jon was on the dragon and his wife, who he grew to appreciate, was too, but Brienne who was at the front as himself was unaccounted for and it made him worry.
He quickly went to look out for her, praying the Old Gods she was safe, and breathed a sigh of relief when he found her being held by the girl from the crannog.
"There you are!" he boasted, deciding against making a fuss in public as to not embarrass his lady love with signs of affection.
"Thank the gods you're alive…" she breathed, visibly exhausted, and her concern warmed his heart.
"Har! You thought a few dead things would get rid of the Giantsbane! It will take more, way more than this to take me to the Old Gods!"
"Is it over? Is it really over?" Meera asked, frowning.
"Aye! We did it. We won." Nessa replied cheerfully, while the girl seemed troubled.
"But… The Night King…" she stammered, making Tormund frown in turn. "Has anyone gotten him?"
"I think the dragons did, else we would still be fighting," he replied.
"Then why…"
"Stop worrying, girl!" Nessa exclaimed, patting her back. "All the White Walkers are gone! Brienne here killed one and now we just have to burn these fuckers to make sure they won't come back!"
"I'm going to see the king." Meera retorted, getting back to her feet and walking towards the crowd who surrounded the dragons.
"What the hell is wrong with her?" Nessa asked confused.
A look at Brienne, who seemed worried about the girl, was all it took for Tormund to know his next move. With a sigh, he followed the young crannogwoman, promising his maid that he would look after her. She had visibly been shaken by something and Tormund knew it wasn't the first time she had faced the dead. Part of him felt that she was right, that it should not be over. He felt like he should have fought more, that compared to Hardhome, even if they got the numbers on their side, they got away with very few casualties. He would keep staying on alert until he spoke to Jon.
His friend seemed to dislike the attention he was given as he dismounted his dragon, the effusion of joy around him contrasted with Jon's demeanor and it gave Tormund pause to think. He should be happy, they should be happy, both of them, yet for some reason, he felt as if Meera's concern was not for naught.
The Night King was an impressive fucker. He just like the rest of the surviving Free Folk had seen what he was capable of at Hardhome. As much Tormund trusted Jon to do what he must to end him, he doubted it would be easy to defeat a monster capable of raising thousands of dead with a single hand flick, even with dragon fire.
Was the fight truly over? Was the Night King down and were they worrying for nothing?
"I'm glad to see you in one piece, King Crow," he said slapping Jon hard on the back.
"And I, you, my friend." Jon smiled when he reached him. "Brienne?"
"She's breathing still."
"Thank the gods." Jon sighed before giving him a warm embrace. "We need to gather the commanders, Tormund."
"This is not over, is it?" he whispered back.
"I… I know not." Jon confessed. "I need to make sure of some things."
"Have you seen the Night King, Your grace? Have you fought him?" Meera pressed, panting, as she got next to them.
"I haven't, hence why I need to know if someone else here got to him."
"I think not, Your Grace. I saw White Walkers being killed, but I didn't see him at all. They knew we were coming. They targeted us, me… They sent Hodor to kill me…" she ranted, making Jon recoil in horror.
"Gather the commanders. Quietly. Let the others celebrate but make it quick." Jon ordered. "We need to assess our losses, to burn and mourn those who fell. We owe them our lives today. Whatever happens next, we need the time to rest before gathering information."
Tormund nodded, silencing Meera and holding her back when she was about to protest. Jon was the one in charge, and he might have not knelt to him, he was however ready to follow him blindly.
Meereen 304 AC.
Daario Naharis.
Ruling was boring, he'd thought so for the longest time. Being in charge and responsible for the safety and prosperity of a city was harder work than he wished it to be. Each day he'd risen, he'd felt the weight of being his queen's representative in this city. Then each night when he'd gone back to his bed, be it alone or with a willing partner, he'd felt the absence of who he wished to be laying down beside. He'd asked her once "Who comes after you, who could ever follow the Mother of Dragons" and she'd replied "A great many women I'd imagine" In this, she'd been proved right. Yet it had never been about a number to him, never about quantity only quality and he had not come close to meeting any who even matched her when he was drunk and lonely.
Walking back to his bed-chamber, knowing he was to spend the night alone for once, he felt that loneliness more keenly than ever. Soon enough he was asleep and there she waited for him as always. Close enough to imagine all the things they could do together, but too far away for him ever to take her in his arms. When he woke the next morning, he readied for yet another boring and dull day, only to find it was to be far from either.
Daario made his way to break his fast, then once he'd eaten he moved to sit a throne that had seen was made for a much nicer arse than his own. He was the Protector of Meereen, the Queen's Justice, and the embodiment of her will. Beneath him, a council of sorts ran the actual day-to-day running of the city. Her will was done even in her absence and when it had been formed and he'd trained the men, he'd thought about leaving this place. Had he believed she'd have welcomed him, then he would have. Boring and dull though it may have been, he had a comfortable life here and wanted for nothing other than the one thing that he could never have, her.
"Ships, Commander, ships have been spotted heading our way bearing the flag of the Kraken." Prondil na Dala, a freeman of Meereen and one of the men under him shouted before Daario could hold the first of his meetings that day.
"The same as the ones that sailed with our queen?" he asked and the young man looked at him hopefully.
"Mhysa has returned," Prondil said hopefully.
"Did you see the dragons?" he asked to a shake of the man's head.
A part of him wished to feel the same excitement that he could see on Prondil and some of the other faces around him, yet something about this felt off to him.
Over the years, Daario had developed a second sense regarding certain things. He knew when trouble was stirring and it had served him well. Not many men who sold their swords lived as long as he did, fewer still enjoyed years of relative peace before they met their end. As dull and boring as his time in Meereen had been, other than a few minor skirmishes, he'd known peace. So what he was feeling right now, was something he'd not felt in far too long.
"Lysono, Aronos, with me," he said and both men moved when he did.
By the time he reached the bottom of the Great Pyramid, his horse had been readied and so he, the two men with him, and five others rode and rode hard through the city. The ships were not yet close to the docks and so it was to one of the large watchtowers that he'd had built that he rode to. Dismounting his horse quickly, he was soon taking steps two at a time, and before too long he had reached the top of the watchtower.
Taking out his Myrish Eye, he looked to the horizon and saw a rag-tag small and battered fleet. There were maybe thirty or forty ships and for the briefest moment, Daario thought the worst. Things had gone badly for his queen, her invasion had faltered and she was upon those ships seeking refuge. As soon as the thought hit him, it was gone. No army could stand in the way of Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. The Unsullied, Dothraki, there was no force in Westeros that was large enough or skilled enough to beat them.
Holding the Myrish Eye, he sought more and more of the ships, his eyes finally finding what it was he wished to see. Men were readying themselves for an attack, these ships were not allies seeking refuge, they were enemies seeking conquest. A smile appeared on his face almost immediately. His blood began to race through his body and the old excitement he'd felt in the moments before a battle was now back once more.
"These are not allies, nor our queen's men. Ready the Defenders of Meereen, Ready Mhysa's Marauders."
His words were soon being shared amongst his men. Lysono, Aronos, Vargor, Gyllos, Prondil, Ordaz, and Drazhaq, all ran from him and went about their work long before Daario had mounted his horse once more. By the time the first ships neared their docks, he'd readied the Second Sons and Mhysa's Marauders. Almost four thousand men at arms, cavalry, infantry, archers, and those to use the catapults and scorpions, now all awaited the enemy that would soon be landing.
Daario sat upon his white horse, for now, he'd command from the rear, but soon he'd be in the thick of battle himself. With his Myrish Eye, he looked out to the ships and noticed one that was larger than the others. Upon its deck, he saw a man looking their way and he smiled at the sight the fool would see. Meereen looked ready to welcome the men as if they were truly sent from their queen and the truth that they were not welcome here, would only come when most of the ships had crossed the point of no return.
He's sent a rider to let loose the two fire ships on the left side of the bay and Lysono had taken men to ready to use the large chain that would keep them from sailing away. His time here may have been spent trying not to give in to his boredom, but it didn't mean he'd been idle. A man with time on his hands and no true threat can do far more work on raising defenses than one who was constantly under attack and raced to do so. Meereen had been left to him to see safe, she'd bid it of him, and on the off chance that one day she'd return to him, he'd done as she'd asked.
A few hours later.
The smoke was everywhere, in the bay ships burned and sank as they had crashed into the chain before being broken up. On the docks themselves, so much blood had been spilled that the stone had turned a dark shade of crimson. Men cried out for mercy and found none, for these men had sought to enslave men and rape women, something that Meereen no longer tolerated. By the morning the walls would be full of heads on spikes and the clean up of the docks and the city would begin. Now it was the end of these fools that he and his men saw to.
When he made his way onto the deck of the large ship, he heard the choked screams of a woman and hurried down to the cabins below. With his Arakh in one hand and his lady close, he and his men opened doors to silent men bearing weapons that they wielded badly. Eventually, he came to the door where the sounds were coming from, and upon kicking it open, he saw the reason for those sounds.
On the bed in front of him, a man was strangling the life out of a blond-haired woman. Her eyes looked to him pleadingly and then before he could reach her, they closed. The man was wearing a Valyrian Steel breastplate that was somewhat magnificent. He had short hair and a beard and bore a glint in his eyes that showed madness of a sort. Moving quickly from the bed, the man picked up an ax and glared at him.
"The bitch had it coming, she lost me my ships, both here and in Westeros. Fucking Lannister cunt." the man said before spitting.
"She cost you more than that, for now, your life is forfeit too," he said and the man laughed as he ran towards him.
Daario's men knew better to interfere. His Arakh swung and was parried by the large ax the man wielded, the two of them moving around the small cabin and though he may have wished the fight to be elsewhere, you never truly got to choose where you fought. Daario had fought in fighting pits, in pitched battles, on the streets, and in buildings. He'd fought in houses of ill repute and drinking dens, and even once in his tent at night while deep in his cups. Fighting in a cabin on a ship with a dead woman laying on the bed may have been a new experience for him, but he'd ensure it was not the last one he'd ever know.
When the opportunity presented itself, his lady was brought to bear. The underhanded throw found the gap in the man's armor and lowered his ax momentarily. It was all he needed and the sweep of his Arakh took the man's arm from him. The knee to the face as he dropped down to reach it with his other arm, then knocked the man to the ground. With his Arakh pointed to the man's neck, he bid Vargor to see if the woman lived or was dead as he believed her to be.
"She breathes no more, commander," Vargor said and the man in front of him spat out a mouthful of blood and began to laugh.
"So dies Cersei Fucking Lannister, the golden lioness who thought she could rule the world." the man spat and Daario looked at him.
"And the name of the man who killed her?" he asked.
"No man, a god. Euron Greyjoy the greatest…"
It was the sound of a man's head hitting the floor that was heard and not anymore of his voice. Daario needed no more than his name and looking at the woman that lay on the bed, he smiled as he moved towards her. His Arakh made quick work of the removal of her head and he bid his men take them both back to the Great Pyramid, while he then explored more of the ship. He was stunned by just how much gold and jewels there were, and by the books and the jars that seemed to contain either eyes or tongues. There were charts of seas and lands he knew not, writings in languages that he spoke not, and treasures of a like he'd not seen before. Between the attack on Meereen, all that he had found in this ship, and the heads he'd taken, he knew it gave him an excuse that he had not had before.
"My Queen," he said smiling as he walked back to the deck of the ship and turned his eyes to the west.
The Gift 304 AC.
Dany.
She and Baelon had embraced and she'd spoken to her children. Her praise for each of them was fulsome as was her relief that none of them had been injured or hurt. As Baelon moved one way, she readied to move another and soon she was smiling broadly when Qhono and some more of her Dothraki rode to where she and the dragons had landed.
"A great victory, Khalessi," Qhono said happily.
"The Great Stallion favors us once more, Qhono." she said to a nod of the man's head "How were our losses? How many ride no more?"
"Few Khalessi. Khal Ver's orders saved many." Qhono said his eyes searching for Baelon and not finding him, so he turned to her and looked at her questioningly.
"Khal Ver seeks to find out how many of the men of Westeros paid the true cost today, as I now seek with the men of Essos," she said and Qhono and two of his men took their places beside her as she moved to where the survivors had gathered to pay respects to the dead and see to the injured.
It was Ser Jorah who reached her before Grey Worm. Dany embraced her bear knight almost as warmly as she had Baelon when she'd climbed down off Drogon's back.
"You are unharmed, Khalessi?" Jorah asked and she nodded "His grace?" he questioned and she nodded once more.
"How bad are our losses, ser Jorah?" she asked worriedly.
"Far less than they should or could have been, Khalessi. The lines held, the men fought bravely and the dead found their match amongst us."
"That they did," she said proudly.
They found Grey Worm standing with the Unsullied injured and looking over those who'd fallen. Dany felt the number of both to be far too high and yet in the end it was very much not. Four hundred men had lost their lives and another three hundred had been injured. While it was one-tenth almost of their forces, considering what they faced and the victory they'd achieved, it was far less than she'd feared when they'd set out on this march.
"My queen." Grey Worm said when he saw her.
"Torgho Nudho, you are well?"
"This one is well, my queen, and happy to see the same is true." Grey Worm's nod to Jorah and Qhono and then the half-smile he gave to her were both enough to prove the truth in his words. When she saw him look over her shoulder, she smiled back at him, knowing who he looked for.
"Baelon is gone to speak to the men of Westeros, to find out their losses."
"Men of Westeros fought well, my queen. This one was happy to stand with them."
As praise went, it was true and good and as fulsome as Grey Worm was like to give anyone. She offered her sympathies for the fallen, then spent some time with the injured men. Dany thanked many of them for what they'd done here today and let them know in no uncertain terms just how proud of them she truly was.
It was hours later when she met back up with Baelon. Her husband was walking with Jaime Lannister, Ned Dayne, Lady Melisandre, and Tormund. He was smiling, truly. Baelon showed both his relief that those he was closest to had lived through this day and of the truth of the numbers they lost here today. All in all, they'd lost close to four thousand men. A huge number and yet very much not. Of those she truly knew, only Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr were unaccounted for. Melisandre had said when asked that both were in R'hllor's embrace.
Lady Brienne, Meera Reed, Ser Daven Lannister, all lived and breathed still, and while some bore looks that showed their shock at what they faced, more bore looks of relief that they'd won the day. Baelon said that they would need to burn the dead still. That as much as he may wish to send bodies back to their families or bury them, the cold ground wouldn't allow for the latter and they were far too far from the former to see that done.
So pyres were built and her husband moved bodies onto them the same as other men did. Food was eaten, ale drank and though not yet a celebration, she knew it would soon be one. Her own celebration of their victory would be much different. True she'd drink and share time with the Dothraki and Unsullied, with the Men of Westeros and the Free Folk. But it would be the time spent alone in their tent with her husband that would bring her the comfort and goodwill that others would gain from drinking and making merry.
"Each and every man and woman here today fought bravely and played his part as much as any other. All of us won this victory, each and every single one of you won this victory. Those we say goodbye to now won that victory even at the cost of their own lives. They fought for the living and the living owe them a true debt, as they do to each and every one of you.
To the Brave Fallen.
To the Men and Women who stand still.
To the Heroes who beat the Dead.
On behalf of her grace, Queen Daenerys, I Baelon Targaryen, King of Westeros, salute you all and name you the Heroes of the Living."
Baelon's words rang out and then the dragons went about their work. While some men stepped forward and laid their torches on the pyres, it was the dragons' flames that truly set them alight. She felt her husband take her hand in his and looked to see Tormund standing close to Brienne and one or two men and women standing closer to each other than they may have the day before. Despite the sadness that she felt at the losses they'd incurred, the smile she wore was a true one. Life goes on, it perseveres, and after this night she'd not be surprised if new life was created. She prayed with all she had that Baelon was right and that in time, she too would see a new life brought into this world.
They were moving back to begin their celebrations when the commotion broke out. Men in front of them surrounded a lone horse with a rider upon it and seemed ready to strike them down. Dany didn't hear what Melisandre said to Baelon, but before she knew it, he was running towards the horse and its rider, yelling to the men to lower their arms. Seeing her husband run, quickly had her doing the same thing and she arrived to find Baelon embracing the rider as truly as she had seen or felt him do to anyone.
"What do you mean we've been played, uncle?" she heard her husband say and she, Jorah, Grey Worm along with Tormund, Melisandre, and Ned Dayne all moved to Baelon, and the man he'd named his uncle, Dany was surprised to see Jaime Lannister had beaten them all there.
The words she heard sent a shiver down her spine and she wagered she was not alone in feeling it. Nor was she the only one who flinched when Baelon turned and she saw the angry look on his face.
"We've been played, Jon, this was only a diversion. The Night King marches to Winterfell and he brings with him his full army. An army much larger than the one you faced here today." Baelon's uncle, Benjen Stark she believed his name was, said and then her husband's voice rang out loudly.
"MOUNT UP! WE RIDE FOR WINTERFELL!"
The Bridge of Skulls/The Wolfswood 304 AC.
The Night King.
Many times he'd considered how to finally cross the Wall when the time came. From seeking out the Horn of Joramun and bringing the entire thing down to crossing at Eastwatch after icing the sea over. When he'd hoped that those who shared blood with him would come to his side, it had been through the tunnel at Castle Black itself or through the hidden gate at the Nightfort that he'd thought of using. In the end, circumstances, the plans he made, and the foes that stood against him had decided where he'd bring his army to cross to the southern side of the Wall.
Upon arriving at the Bridge of Skulls, he sent some of his forces across it and to the two nearby castles. One of them, Westwatch by the Bridge was uninhabited he knew, the other, The Shadow Tower, he felt was the same and yet he needed to be sure. The cover that the night's darkness afforded his advance as well as the diversion he'd set in motion at Castle Black, would have few if any eyes upon them. Yet should they find any, they needed to be closed and reopened as men of his army in order for his plans to bear fruit.
Using his connection with those who served him, the Night King found no men in either castle and ordered those he sent to take them and cross the Wall there. Then he moved onto the Bridge itself and closed his eyes before raising his hands to the sky. He felt it when the storm arrived, welcomed the wind and the icy hail it brought to bear. Concentrating and feeling the magic he possessed grow ever stronger, he set about his work. By the time the storm had blown itself out, his work was done. On either side of the Bridge of Skulls, the ice had formed and created a steep hill down into the gorge below.
Their path around and through the Wall now lay ahead of them and he bid his army forward. Some moved to the two castles and climbed the Wall unhindered. Most moved down the icy hill and into the Gorge below and simply walked around to its lowest path and back up to the lands on the other side of the Wall. How long it took for his entire army to cross, was something he could not tell. Hours, Days, a week or more, time to someone who had existed for as long as he, was a tenuous thing. All he knew was that they had crossed unhindered and the path ahead of them was now clear.
" What you wish us to do cannot be done."
" We see not what you see."
" Our gift has been wasted upon you, but you still have a purpose, a role, not the one we'd chosen for you, but another just as important."
" Why would I seek to do your bidding when you won't see what your apathy leads to?"
" Why should I trust you know what's best when I know you do not?"
The argument played out in his mind as he moved over the lands south of the Wall. It stopped him from looking to the battle that was soon to be held far behind him and forced him to relive things long since past. He'd served them only because it suited him to do so. Listened to them only in as much as he had needed to. For even the gods were fools and full of hubris. They believed that they could control the uncontrollable, rein in the worst tendencies of man and boy. He knew better. He knew the truth. For he had foreseen it all before they'd taken the ability from him.
Their plans led to the doom of the world. His to its salvation. Power left unchecked and ambition unresolved was as dangerous as any combination the gods had gifted men. It took a man to understand such, and he had been a man once. He knew what lay in the heart of his enemy, what desires he truly held. They may have ignored his warnings and told him that it was but one possible future he had seen, but he'd seen it and waited and it had come to pass. Or would had he not prepared for it.
"Damn you all for your inaction."
"Curse you for the path you forced me to walk."
"May you suffer for making me walk it alone."
The curses were not spoken aloud. Yet he knew they would be heard by them all the same. His time to rest was almost upon him, his reason for being almost at hand. To the living, he'd be a monster, a villain, and a foe to be defeated. In his cold icy heart though he knew the truth. He was the hero of this tale, the first and last hero. He was the prince that was promised, for had he not been a prince once. Had not the blood of kings once run through his veins. Destiny had led him to this point, a destiny that he'd not sought or asked for. Just as it had led his enemy to the path he had chosen, and Destiny was All.
Days passed, his army marched with no need for sleep, food, or rest. For some of it, he rode upon an undead horse, yet most of it found him walking amongst the army he'd created. Though he couldn't truly feel the lands beneath his feet, he felt the memory of when he could and that was enough for him. It may have been thousands of years before that he walked these lands as a man, that he rode over them with those he called kin or friend, yet to him it was but yesterday. They had changed little, were still empty and barren, and still lands he had wished to be buried in when he died. Though now the true place he wished to sleep eternal in was some distance away from them.
When they reached the large forest, he had to fight down the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. Memories of those he named brother and sister, uncle and aunt, mother and father. Thoughts of hunts and pleasure rides, of facing off against bandits, and of food cooked over an open fire. Whether they were his own thoughts brought to him by the feel of the lands he'd once named as his home or sent to him by the gods to dissuade him from what he must do, he couldn't be certain. So he forced them away and bid his army to march faster.
"Soon," he said as the trees welcomed and hid his army. "Soon you will fall and my destiny will be fulfilled."