The Wall 304 AC.
Eddison Tollet.
They had simply vanished, faded back into the trees, and left them alone. It had been a huge relief and he thanked the gods for Jon Snow once more. He and the queen had settled the golden dragon down while their and the other two dragons' presence had no doubt been the reason for the dead men to depart. The fight he felt so badly equipped for was not one he was to fight that day, nor one he was to fight alone.
When the time came, Jon would return, the queen would return, and they'd not be returning alone. The largest army the North had ever seen would be making its way to the Wall and so while he was sad to say goodbye to his friend, he did so knowing he'd be seeing him soon enough. Though he'd be a liar if he said that he hoped it was not too soon.
With Jon no longer here and the dead no longer a pressing threat, things returned to how they had been at Castle Black. No man ranged north of the Wall, the food and ale were still as god-awful as ever and the cold was ever-present. Still, as much as he may have groused about it, he welcomed things being so mundane. Over the next few weeks, he even began to find moments when he'd not be constantly thinking about what lay on the other side of the Wall. Rare moments when he could put aside thoughts of the end of the world and what was coming for them all. It was during one of these moments, a moon or maybe more since Jon Snow had departed with his queen to go back to Winterfell, that the horns rang out once more.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Edd shook his head and bemoaned his luck once more. He dressed, ran from the Lord Commander's rooms, and made his way to the top of the Wall. Each foot that the lift rose filled him with dread and yet didn't prepare him for what he'd see once he reached the top. He moved past his brothers, walking with a purpose and resolve that he barely was able to maintain. One that was sorely tested when he looked down at the lands below.
"Oh for fucks sake!" he said as he looked at the sheer mass of dead men that were lined up by the tree line and beyond.
"What are your orders, Lord Commander?"
"We stand, we watch. We ready the defenses and hope the gods are good and the raven makes it in time," he said as he turned to head back down to his rooms.
"Raven?"
"Aye, we're not in this fight alone and I've dragons to call to our side."
'Dragons and a friend.' he thought as he entered the lift once more.
Watching the raven as it flew, he wished it a swift journey and that his request for aid would be answered as soon as he hoped it would. He had no doubt that it would be, unlike the many times the Watch had asked for aid before. This time it was not a lord who knew not of the Watch, nor men who cared not for its brothers, it was Jon, a man who'd served just like he, his friend, one of the few he ever truly had in this life.
Taking up his watch that night, his gloved hand held the hilt of the sword that he'd been gifted. Valyrian Steel in the hands of him Edd Tollet, never did he dare to dream of such, and certainly never did he imagine he'd be gifted such a blade. He'd wielded it only in training thus far and had felt the difference between it and his old sword from the very first swing. Though in his hands even Valyrian Steel wouldn't make him a match for Jon, it did make him a better swordsman and give him a far better chance in the fight to come.
Looking out on the darkness, knowing they were out there and yet could not be seen, a part of him looked forward to testing his new lady against them. It was a small part to be true, but a part all the same. When the dawn broke, he like the others who'd manned the Wall that night, all sought the trees with a small hope that they'd find no sight of their enemy. All to be disappointed and as he and the men were replaced by others, it was food and a bed that he looked forward to.
For days that was his routine, alternating between a night or a day on top of the Wall. Making preparations as best he could and sending word to Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower, relieved and yet not to find they had seen no sight of the dead. He welcomed that his brothers weren't facing more of them before he cursed that it seemed all had come to face him and those at Castle Black. After yet another shift on top of the wall, he made his way to his bed, and sleep soon took him.
"A raven, Lord Commander." the voice said waking him up "From Winterfell."
"What time is it?" he asked sleepily and then groaned when he found out he'd been asleep for a little more than an hour or so, only the thoughts of what was in the raven's scroll was enough to give him the strength to rise from his bed.
He broke the seal and read the words, a smile coming to his face upon seeing Jon's handwriting.
"The army has begun its march, they make for Castle Black and will arrive post-haste," he said to a relieved sigh from his steward.
"Shall I gather the men, Lord Commander?"
"Aye, best I speak to them, I'll speak to those up top first."
The words brought much relief and gave them renewed hope. His only fear was that the attack would come before Jon and the army arrived. It was one that he kept to himself and didn't share with anyone over the next few days. One that at night would threaten to rob him of his senses and his courage. Yet somehow it did not and when the second raven arrived a few days after the first, Edd broke the seal and opened it eagerly.
Edd,
The time has come for you and the Watch to stand the Wall no more. Our fight cannot be there, for we cannot win there. Send word to the men of Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower, tell them to ready to ride and ride hard. South and to the army I bring to bear, for I'd have you with me when we finally end this threat. Do not delay my friend, hold to no sentiment, and be assured this is not you or the Watch abandoning your oaths or duties. Together we'll be the shields that guard the realms of men once more. Where we are when we do so matters not as much as that we do so.
Make haste Edd, make haste and know I look north for a sight of you, look south for the sight of me and know it'll do my heart well to see you once again. You are my brother by choice Edd, a true friend and so don't break my heart by dying. For the Wall will be knocked down with you there or not, take comfort that at least it won't be you that does so.
Your brother,
Baelon.
"Soppy sod," he said under his breath.
He sent the ravens, ordered the men to pack up all the food and supplies they could carry, and found little argument from them at his orders. It turned out that none of them wished to fight alone, to be the only thing that stood between the realms of men and the dead that threatened it. Not because any of them were craven or feared death, though none of them would welcome it. More so that in the end, they wished to fight a fight they could mayhap win. To give up their deaths only if it actually meant something and not to waste them in a pointless endeavor.
Riding from the Wall, he led the brothers to take their place in an army that could win. To stand beside a commander that all could have faith in, and not one that held little in himself. His own will had been strengthened, his courage he knew now would not falter. For if he was to die and the gods had decided it to be so, he'd do so fighting with the one man who'd helped him through the many other times where he should have lost his life. He'd stand side by side with Jon Snow, Baelon Targaryen, his friend, his brother by choice.
The North 304 AC.
Baelon Targaryen .
The smile refused to leave his face, not even the need for sleep enough to make it so. She looked so at peace beside him, so content that he'd not been able to go back to sleep since he had awakened. His fingers softly caressed her cheek and moved her hair to one side so he could see her face even more clearly. Every single movement she made was one he took in and put somewhere deep inside his mind for later. Baelon wished for nothing more than when he closed his eyes and sought her there, he'd find a wealth of memories and moments to choose from.
They'd lain together, exhausted themselves with each other and he pitied Lady Melisandre and others whose tents were close to their own. Yet he felt no shame that they'd heard their cries of passion during the night. There was and would be no blush on his face when he faced them as they broke their fast. The days when he was a green boy who'd not speak of such things or wish people knew he did them, were days that were long since gone. Now he wished the world to know just how much he loved his wife, just how much they both enjoyed laying together. Life was too damn short to worry about what others may think, not when the only one it truly mattered to was the woman lying beside him.
Seeing the light begin to shine through a small gap in the tent, he rose from their bed and chuckled at the frown that then appeared on Dany's face. Be it from the loss of his body beside her or the coldness of the air as it briefly hit her body, it mattered not to him. Forgoing his own cold and his nakedness, he moved the fur so it covered her more truly and smiled as that contented look he so enjoyed, now returned to her face. Dressing quickly, he bent down and placed a kiss upon her forehead, before then moving to the opening of the tent.
"Baelon, come back to bed," Dany said sleepily.
"Rest my love, I'll return when it's time to break our fast."
Jaime Lannister looked at him oddly as they walked, Baelon's laughter was as true as it had ever been as he did so and confused the other man greatly it seemed.
"My wife bemoaned the fact I left her alone in our bed, Ser Jaime, it seems I'm some sort of spoilsport in her eyes."
"Better to be missed than wished to be gone, your grace," Jaime said and Baelon laughed once more.
They were less than twenty miles from the Wall, inside Brandon's Gift itself and he'd thought it best to not make camp at Queenscrown, much to the annoyance of some of the men with him. Baelon though felt these men needed to get used to the harshness of winter nights in the North. To allow them the comfort of a keep, even one in disrepair such as Queenscrown would be to coddle them somewhat.
The war they were to face would allow them no respite, so it was better they suffered and got used to that now than were forced to do so while facing the dead too. With Ser Jaime at his back, he toured the camp, offering warm words to any he passed as he did so. He was glad to see the fires burned and men took comfort from them. The lessons that he'd sought to impart and that the Free Folk, Northmen, and others had helped do so, were taken on board much to his relief.
Later after she broke her fast, Dany would do as he did now. She'd speak to her own men and to those who'd knelt and offered her their fealty. Her words would be even more welcomed than his, for they'd see her withstand the same conditions that they did and expect it not. Or those who knew her least would. Those who knew her best had already taken the mettle of his wife. As for his own mettle, this they expected of him, the truth of him would be more revealed to them when the battles themselves commenced.
"She kick you out of bed again, King Crow?" Tormund shouted out loudly when he saw him.
"I see I'm not the only one that has been," he answered to a laugh from Jaime behind him and a glare from Tormund.
"I overdone it on the mare's milk with the Dothraki last night, my maid was not best pleased," Tormund said sheepishly.
"Well, a cold night alone will make sure you leave the mare's milk to those who should be drinking it won't it?"
"Aye, it will King Crow, it will for sure, Har."
Two hours later they were breaking their fast, Dany sitting beside him and looking as if she'd spent the night in a bed inside a keep and had been bathed by handmaidens, rather than a cold tent with none. They laughed, japed, enjoyed their meal, and talked of things that mattered little or much depending on your point of view. The calm before the storm he liked to think of these mornings as and though he wished they'd continue for days or even weeks, he knew they'd not. This one spoiled sooner than most.
"Men ride, your grace. Lots of men." Artos one of the Northern guards he'd brought with him shouted as he ran into the tent.
"Be at peace. The dead don't ride fast," he shouted as around him lords, knights, and men at arms began to make ready for a battle that wasn't yet upon them.
"You're sure, Baelon?" Dany asked and he nodded.
"Aye, I'd wager it's the men of the Watch and not dead men that come our way."
He was right and wrong. It was men of the Watch and to see Edd again brought a smile to his face. Though the words he spoke when he greeted him very much did not. Even though he'd known they were there and had believed the words that the raven's scroll contained, to hear them spoken by Edd felt different somehow. It made it more real, brought the fight ever closer, and the small moments of peace he'd felt that morning were now a thing of the past.
"How many, Edd?" he asked when they reached his tent.
"Many, Jon, I know not how to count that many," Edd said and Baelon raised his hand when someone went to correct Edd's use of his name.
"I'll need to see them for myself. They are lined up at the Haunted Forest?" he asked and Edd nodded.
"Aye, they didn't attack though, seemed to be waiting for something."
"Mayhap it's us, King Crow?" Tormund asked and Baelon looked from him to Dany who seemed concerned, his wife knew what he was about to suggest and then do, already he believed.
"See that Edd and the men of the Watch are given something warm to eat and assigned tents, for now, I'd like to be alone with my wife. I'll go over our plans in a few moments."
He nodded to Edd and looked to Tormund who he knew would see him settled. Then with a look to Jaime and to Ned Dayne, he waited until the tent was clear and turned to Dany once it was.
"No, Baelon," she said firmly before he could speak.
"I need to see them, Dany. I need to firm up our plans and to do that I must see them," he said moving his hands to her shoulders.
"Then we go, together." she pleaded.
"We cannot. Drogon and Viserion must stay close by, we can't bring all three dragons to bear in case it's a trap of some sorts," he said and he knew the moment he did so that he'd said the wrong thing.
"Yet you can go and place your head in this trap? You can go and risk yourself so?" Dany argued.
"I'm not…"
"Don't tell me that's not what you're doing, Baelon, don't you dare lie to me."
"Dany.."
She moved from him and he swore he saw some tears in her eyes as she did so. When he took her in his arms, she fought against him and he had to hold her tight so she didn't break free from his embrace.
"It's not just you that you risk so, Baelon. If something was to happen to you….were you to fall… it's not just you…"
"I know, my love. I know it's not just my heart that would be at risk, which is why I promise I'll take no more than needed. I'm going to look, Dany, not to fight, not even if a fight is brought to me."
"You'll run?" she asked hopefully, the tears he'd seen in her eye now rolling down her cheeks and he brushed them away with his fingers.
"I was thinking, I'd fly, but Aye, I'll run.." he said glad to hear her small giggle.
"Promise me you'll not risk yourself and that all you're going for is to look, Baelon, promise me on your mother," she said looking deeply into his eyes.
"I promise, Dany. I go to look and that's all, nothing will change my mind on that. I'll not break a promise to you, not now, not ever."
The kiss they shared wasn't passionate, it was needy. Neither of them wished to break away from it until that need was sated. She made him agree to bring Jaime and Tormund with her and he only did so if she agreed to keep Ned Dayne, Jorah, and Grey Worm by her side. Both of them were more fearful for the other than for themselves.
He left orders with Thoros and Beric to ready the men, Qhono to have the Dothraki mounted and Daven Lannister to be ready to lead the reserve if it was more than himself he brought back with him from the Wall. When they reached the dragons, he bid Dany to stay with them, to be ready to take to the sky if the need arose and she agreed. His wife then went to speak to Rhaegal while he spoke to the men he'd leave with her and to Lady Melisandre.
"I feel the need to see them, my lady. A call of sorts and it's one I must answer."
"I could join you, my prince, offer my…"
"I'd see you do so to my wife, my lady," he said and she nodded.
"Be safe, my prince, for we are lost without you."
After speaking to Ned Dayne, he moved to his wife and they kissed for true this time. This one was a kiss of passion and not need, though mayhap there was a need there too.
"Don't break your promise to me, Baelon, I'll not forgive you for it," she said when they'd moved apart.
"I'd not forgive myself, Dany, look and that's all, I swear it on my mother," he said and she nodded as he moved to Rhaegal and as he, Tormund, and Jaime climbed upon the Green Dragon's back.
Looking at her before he took to the sky, he wished that Missandei was here to offer her the reassurances that she needed. He hoped that she believed him and that there was nothing that would force him to break his promise, for he meant each and every word and had no intent of fighting a fight that was not on his terms.
"Sōvegon Rhaīgal, sōvegon adere se Drēje." (Fly Rhaegal, fly fast and true.).
The flight to the Wall took no time at all, or at least it felt that way. Tormund grinned like a fool behind him while he knew that Jaime Lannister was anything but smiling. He'd wager that the man never even looked at the ground once and when they reached Castle Black, he was unsurprised to see just how quickly the man climbed down off Rhaegal's back. Baelon hadn't tried to get Rhaegal to fly too close to the Wall, instead, he dismissed the suggestion that Dany had made about him flying high and looking over the top from on Rhaegal's back.
He needed to see and to judge and not be concerned about the dragon's unwillingness to cross the Wall. To focus his attention on the army that was on the other side and not on the dragon beneath him. As Tormund looked around and Jaime got some color back in his cheeks, Baelon walked to Rhaegal's head and pressed his own down upon it. Eyes closed he spoke to the Green Dragon and told him that they'd not be staying long and that he'd be back with his mother and brothers again soon. He could feel Rhaegal's worries and concerns and so he did his best to alleviate them. Feeling he'd succeeded as much as he could without climbing back onto his back and flying away from here, he then turned and began to walk to the gates of Castle Black.
"You served here," Jaime said in disgust when they walked through the gates and reached the open yard.
"Aye, the tales of this place had both been told to me in truth and in lies and I believed the lies, Ser Jaime. I had some of the best times of my life here, despite how terrible it looks. Made and lost some true friends." he said thinking of Grenn and Pyp, and of Sam, the true Sam and not the one who'd tried to kill him on Dragonstone "I had some of the worst times of my life here too." he said a moment later as he looked to the spot where he'd bled out all those years ago.
"You never belonged here, King Crow. It was with my people that you found the truth of that." Tormund said and Baelon offered him his warmest smile.
"Aye, that I did," he said as they made their way to the ice tunnel.
He was relieved when he saw it, the tunnel had been made impassable and though he knew that Edd would make it so, it still meant much to see it with his own two eyes. Moving from it to the lift, he set the winch to work and they were soon on their journey to the top of the Wall.
"I hope heights bother you not, Ser Jaime," he said with a chuckle, looking to see him standing as far back from the edge of the lift as could be.
"More so here than on a dragon, your grace," Jaime replied making both he and Tormund laugh.
It felt like it took an age to reach the top, the lift shaking and stuttering and making even Baelon nervous as it continued on its rise. Eventually, they were there and he stepped out onto the ice for mayhap the last time he'd ever do so. The thoughts of which made him pause for a moment before he then moved and led the way to the flattened ice and small platform. He felt them before he saw them, swore he heard a voice in his head the closer he got to the edge. A plea to join and fight on the right side, a warning not to stand against them or to stop what must be done. Ignoring it as best he could, he, Tormund, and Jaime looked over the edge of the Wall and into the land below.
"By the Old Gods," Tormund said shakily.
"I'd not… I… I'd hoped it was a lie." Jaime said.
"It's not a lie, Ser Jaime, far from it."
Were he to name a number he'd say the army that stretched out before them was more than 40,000 strong. There were giants, men, White Walkers, and things he could see and yet not. Animals that he could name and yet not. To see them lined out as they were brought back memories of Mance's army to him and no doubt to Tormund too. Baelon moved to place a hand on Tormund's arm to offer what comfort he could.
"There are more in the trees, King Crow," Tormund said and Baelon knew he was right.
"How many more?" Jaime asked and before he could answer, he saw them ride out, the White Walkers rose on undead horses and he knew what was to come before it came.
"We need to leave, now!" he said and as Jaime and Tormund moved away, the attack began.
He'd scaled the Wall before, so he knew how difficult it was to climb it, and yet the dead seemed to do so with ease. Taking one last look at them as they did so, the questions came to mind.
If it was so easy, then why wait?
If it hadn't been the Wall as an obstacle that held them back? What had?
They were questions for another day, ones that would find their answers when he had more time to think about them. Hurrying to the lift, they were soon on their way back down to the ground, and yet all three sets of eyes looked to the top of the Wall and almost expected to see dead men there long before they reached safe ground. The gods, fate, or simple luck seemed to be on their side though and they stepped off the lift to find they'd done so with time to spare.
By the time they reached the gate, the first of the dead men had found their way to the top of the Wall and so they moved quickly to where Rhaegal awaited them. Less than a few moments later and they were in the air, the Wall fading behind them and the war he'd been preparing for was now finally upon them. He didn't notice the smile on his face, the eager look in his eyes, and had he seen it, he'd have named himself a fool. Yet he felt it in his heart, deep within himself he felt the fire as it grew and it would be that fire that he'd bring to bear and would see him win this war.
Brandon's Gift 304 AC.
Meera Reed.
She loved her family. She respected them a lot. Never said a word against them and always looked out to protect from any harm and defend them until her last breath. Yet as she was setting camp in the cold hard night with the few crannogmen who came with her on their journey to the Wall, she wished she could hate them.
She didn't want to go back there. She didn't want to walk back to the road she'd taken in another life and reminisce over her past. Most of all she didn't wish to see the army of the dead, to be faced with her worst nightmares once again. She had lost so much because of them, so many people she cared about and most of her cheerful self, she didn't want to lose more as she felt she had no more to give up.
Meera wanted to live, which was why she was there.
Why she'd listened to her father, she didn't know. He'd seemed so convinced that Jojen had come to him to warn him that in order for her to survive, she would need to go back to the Wall, that she'd wanted to believe him too. The thought that Jojen was watching over them still, that his spirit was tied to the Weirwoods and that he was willing to see her live despite her inability to save him from his fate was somewhat comforting. Yet she felt put out by his demand. The last place she would think to be safe would be in the eye of the storm.
" Jojen has been clear, Meera. You have to go." her father said.
" I…"
" I know, child. I wish I could send you back to Greywater Watch to be with your Mother. I wish I could come with you too, but I have to stay and train King Rickon."
" Train him?"
" He's a greenseer too and he has the gods' favor. He needs to understand his gift and to use it as his brother does."
This sent a chill into Meera's spine and she immediately worried.
" Is that wise, Father? Look what happened to Bran, look what he became… I don't want this to happen to Rickon too."
" I'm certain this won't happen." her father said emphatically.
" But you do not know for sure! You do not even know it was Jojen who truly spoke to you! What if it was a trap?"
" Do you not trust me to recognize my own son?" Howland said, visibly hurt, and she shook her head.
" I didn't mean it that way, Father."
" I know it appears strange, but I can feel it, Meera. I can feel this is what I'm supposed to do and I feel you have to go too. Have faith, my daughter. If not in the Old Gods, if not in me, have faith in your brother as you always did."
She couldn't voice her disagreement, not without hurting her father's feelings, so she swallowed her worries and resolved to spend the rest of her moments with him in relative peace.
This was of course not counting on Bran and his tendency to exacerbate her worse feelings. Before she left Winterfell, she had gone to the Godswood with her father to pray for a safe journey, shivering when she came face to face with her former friend.
" You're leaving."
" I am," she answered, crossing her arms as if they could protect her from him.
" You weren't going to say your farewells this time."
" Does it matter?"
" It does, especially when I cannot see your future."
" You've never been able to -"
" Remember what you told me before leaving Winterfell the last time? That Hodor, Summer, and Jojen weren't the only ones who died in that cave." Bran asked and she nodded, shivering as he stared at the Heart Tree. "You were right. And it was all for nothing."
" Bran…"
" I know what your father is about to do with my brother. I know the Old Gods plan to do with him what they did to me. I know he hopes that Rickon will be able to defeat the Night King, to succeed where I have failed."
" But you think it won't work, don't you?" she deduced, frowning when he nodded.
" I've dedicated all my time, my efforts, to find answers that could help us. They know. The Old Gods know how to defeat him. They were the ones who created him in the first place. Don't you find it strange that they couldn't show me anything? That they couldn't give me a straight answer while they kept showing me things about my family that I didn't want to know? Things about a possible future in which the Starks would be no more because of the dragons?" his monotonous voice made the young woman's heart clench in sympathy before she shook her head and took a step back to distance herself.
" You want something from me," she said accusatorily. "Each time you speak to someone, it's because you want something from them."
" I don't want Rickon to die as I did in that cave. I know I have cost your family a lot and I don't think I could live with myself if my family took more from yours because of the Old Gods' treachery."
" I thought you were serving the Old Gods?"
" And look where it gets me. My family hates me, my friends fear me. You do not trust me and I haven't been able to find anything of import for the Great War. They lead Jojen to die, they lead us all to die in that cave for nothing."
Bran's words resonated with her more than she wanted to. She managed to hold back her tears, as she didn't want to show her how affected she was, but the little twitch of his lips showed her he already knew. It was all it took to put her defenses back up and he seemed to notice it too, as a shadow passed on his gaze before he recovered quickly.
" I see. I guess I will have to do this myself."
" Do what?"
" Sorry for bothering you. I wish you good fortune for the war to come."
" What will you do, Bran?"
" I'll let you say your farewells to the gods and your father."
" If something happens to Rickon or my father, I swear to the Gods…"
" I will watch over them like I always do so that nothing happens. You can leave with your heart at peace."
Dread filled Meera as she watched Bran being wheeled away from the Godswood. She immediately went to her father who was praying, not caring about how she looked while interrupting his prayer, and proceeded to retell her encounter with the Three-Eyed Raven. Howland's calm demeanor at the end unnerved her greatly.
" How can you be so calm when he threatens you and Rickon?" she almost yelled.
" He does so because he's afraid. Him being afraid is good, it means that we're on the right path."
" But father…"
" Do not worry about my fate, child. I will join our ancestors when the time will come for me to do so. Be it by the Three-Eyed Raven's hand or anything else's, if it is the path I must walk I do so willingly but do not think I will not fight for my right to see you grow old." he ended, caressing her cheek tenderly and making her tear up once again.
" Father…"
" Moreover, do you think young Rickon will let his brother harm me if he has the power to prevent it?" he boasted and she chuckled at his statement.
" No, you're right. Rickon wouldn't."
" Then it's settled. Now come pray with me before you leave."
She knelt with her father, never letting go of his hand as she prayed to the Old Gods for protection for her, Rickon, and all those she held dear.
As the days went by, the journey, the harsh condition they were living in as well as the separation from her father weighed heavily on her morale. The time when they could see the sun was growing shorter, but Meera and the others could enjoy the few hours of light until they arrived near Last Hearth. There the light dimmed significantly as the cold was stronger, reminding her of the time she had spent fleeing the dead with Bran when they left the accursed cave. Thinking about that made her worry much about what Bran could do. She did not want to underestimate her former friend, and even the words of the King didn't assuage her fears when he came to check on her and the other Northmen before leaving for the Wall.
"Rickon and your father are fine, Meera. I can feel it. I would feel if something was wrong and so would you." Baelon said offering her a smile and touching her shoulder
"That's the thing, Your Grace. I feel that something is not quite right, but I do not know what it is."
"If anything, I can assure you that it is not in Winterfell. I know you've faced the dead more than once, as I have. Could it be this weighing on your mind? Because I too have this same worry, especially knowing that they are not so very far from us now."
"Mayhaps. I apologize for disturbing you needlessly, Your Grace."
"Never apologize for that, Meera, and do not stop yourself from coming to me should you feel the need to. I'd rather have to worry more and stay vigilant than be too confident and miss something important." he retorted, smiling warmly at her, making her feel as he was talking to her not as a subject but as a member of his family.
"What do you want us to do now, King Crow?" one of the spearwives asked.
"Make sure everyone in your ranks has two Dragonglass weapons. give a dagger to anyone you can and chose another depending on your skills. A spear and a dagger for you and the other spearwives. For the others, a dagger and an ax. Gather those who are more at ease with a bow and arrows so they can get their supplies near the Dothraki. Gather the ironwood too. Place them in front of everything so we can set it aflame as soon as we would need them. If you need help, don't hesitate to go to my wife and ask for it." Baelon's voice was now that of a commander and a king.
"Aye, it will be done as you say, King Crow."
They set out to work as soon as King Baelon left their side, not wanting to risk being caught by the dead while still preparing. That night Meera barely slept, the absence of the king weighing into her worry. She felt the unease grow inside of her when the sun didn't rise the next day and she could hear the sound of the storm nearby.
"Eat," Nessa said as she plopped down near her with a bowl of stew. "Get some strength, I believe we will need it sooner than we think."
"I would kill for some of this southern meat they made us taste. What's its name, woman?" Tormund asked Lady Brienne, who shrugged while enjoying her meal.
"You will have to be more specific than that if you want a specific answer," Brienne said exasperated as if this was a regular thing between them.
"The meat is really good. Much tender than rabbit meat." Nessa said as she ate hungrily.
"Anything is more tender than rabbit." Meera pointed out. "Except maybe for lizard-lion, but you need to know how to cook it properly. Mother makes a very good stew with it."
"You truly eat lizard-lion?" Hugo Wull asked. "I heard those beasts are fierce and dangerous."
"These crannogmen are fearless, so that doesn't surprise me." Tormund boasted and Meera smiled proudly. "It's still doesn't make me remember the southern meat. It was not this lizard thing."
"What does it look like, Tormund?" Brienne sighed, visibly annoyed at her lover's antics.
"Methinks it's a bird. I remember it has wings, but it doesn't taste like any bird I had before. Come to think of it, I remember finding it strange because I hear some Southern men say it couldn't fly."
"Chicken." Meera's words echoed Brienne as Tormund shouted the name in recognition. "I had tasted it a few times, some of our guards stole them from the Freys and you're right, it is truly delicious."
"I wish I could have eaten chicken before the battle. I guess that tasting it again will give me another reason to see another day…" He sighed pensively, probably thinking about his future meal.
"Because you need more incentive to stay alive?" Lady Brienne asked, arching a brow while Nessa and the others chuckled.
"Sounds like someone will get no dessert tonight…" the spearwife teased a blushing Tormund, who finally realized his mistake.
It was amusing to see him scramble to find a way to apologize, and for a moment his antics diverted Meera from the reality they would soon face. Tormund's departure with the King a few hours later led her and the rest of the Northern contingency to quicken the pace of the preparations. She focused on it and tried forgetting the feeling of dread inside of her, fighting her troubled thoughts with things that should be done. The Queen came to them and left some men to help them out, which she was grateful for, especially when she heard the dragon roar coming from the skies. She couldn't see him, because of the lack of light, but she knew Baelon was back, and as she was about to sigh with relief, the sound of an ominous horn shook her and the ground beneath her to the core.
The Battle of the Gift 304 AC.
Baelon Targaryen .
Their landing was overshadowed somewhat by the sound of a horn ringing out. Dany's hurried run to him one cut short by his own movements towards her. Though he knew he should be shouting out orders and readying the men for what was coming their way, he saw only her concern and knew he needed to alleviate it some. Not that the words he'd speak would truly do so. Yet still, they were the best he had and so he hoped they would.
"I'm well, Dany, we fought no fight," he said as he took her in his arms.
"I worried, the dark, Baelon, the night, the horn…"
"The battle is upon us, I wish we had more time to speak. I need you armored and upon Drogon's back as quickly as you can manage it. I'll speak to the men."
"You….you'll be on Rhaegal?" she asked worriedly.
"Aye. Together Dany, we'll beat him together."
"Together," she said, and then she and Ser Jorah were racing away from him and he wished he was by her side once more.
"Gather the commanders, Ser Jaime, Tormund the Free Folk," he said and both men moved from him.
Once they had, he moved back to Rhaegal and leaned his head against the green dragoon's own.
"Se vīlībagon iksis bē bē īlva, ñuha raqiros. Nyke gīmigon daor zūgagon kirimvose naejot ao. Hēnkirī, Rhaīgal, hēnkirī īlon'll maghagon zirȳ Perzys Ānogār!." (The fight is almost upon us, my friend. I know no fear thanks to you. Together, Rhaegal, together we'll bring them Fire and Blood!)
The roar that Rhaegal let out was one he was sure was heard by the dead themselves, one that would strike fear even into a heart that didn't beat for true. It was a roar of challenge, of fearlessness, a roar that promised only a fiery end.
Leaving the Green Dragon, for now, he hurried to his tent to find that Jaime had gathered the men he needed to speak to. There was no time for speeches, for fancy words, instead, he simply told them what he wished for them to do and that they had no time to dally for the war was upon them and the dead would be here soon.
"Fight well and be safe old friend," he said to Edd as he bid the man farewell for what he hoped was only now.
"My king," Jaime said turning to him.
"Your sword, Jaime, yours, Edd's Brienne's, should you see a White Walker, concentrate on him for your sword can bring about his end."
"I…"
"Keep your words for the victory feast, for I've no intent for this to be our end," he said and Jaime nodded before hurrying from the tent.
He bid Ned Dayne to lead the Dornish and to keep his eyes on Dany in the sky, should the worst happen he was to go to her. Then he turned to Tormund.
"I had not thought I'd live this long, Jon Snow. Had I not met you then I'd not."
"Then I'm fucking glad you did." he said to a laugh from his truest friend "Today is not our day to die, Tormund Giantsbane. Today we have but one thing to say to the man who wishes to be king and rule over our corpses. We do not kneel, Tormund, we do not kneel."
"Aye, King Crow, not to him I don't."
They embraced as brothers, neither of them wishing to see the other leave and both knowing that they must. As he watched Tormund walk from his tent, Baelon prayed to the gods who'd shown him favor. To the Old Gods, the Red God, to any who'd listen.
"Not today," he said simply, and as he walked from the tent he saw Melisandre standing there with Thoros before noticing him and walking his way.
"This day feels wrong, my prince. I know not…."
"It is the day it is, my lady. Be safe, be well, may you walk in R'hllor's favor and I look forward to seeing you when this war is won. You'd not let me down by doing something foolish now would you?" he asked smiling when Melisandre smiled back at him.
"I'd not dare to do so, my prince. Be safe, return for the world needs you for more than simply the Bringing of the Dawn."
He ran through the camps, watching as men mounted up, formed up, and hearing as commands were shouted out. Qhono and Daven Lannister would lead their horses in a charge, but only when they were given leave to ride. The Unsullied lined up with Dornish spearmen and men readied to form a shield wall. It would be a strange one to see, as the land they were in would require them to form a circle so they weren't taken from the rear.
When he reached the dragons it was to see Dany saying her goodbyes to Ser Jorah and with a nod to the knight, he moved to his wife.
"We stay in the air, Dany, we bring the dragons to bear and we stay in the air," he said and he swore she looked relieved at his words.
"I love you, Baelon, I love you."
"I love you, my love. With all I am, I love you and we will beat him on that I've no doubt," he said seeing her nod and then feeling her lips on his.
A few moments later they were on the dragon's back and then with a look at her and a look back at their army, the three dragons roared and took to the sky.
Dany.
Never had she felt the worry she did as they took to the sky. Not even facing the Lannisters and after Drogon had been injured had her heart beat this fast. It threatened to burst from her chest and she at first knew not why that was. Only when her head turned and she saw Baelon on Rhaegal's back did the answer become clear to her. She risked far more in this battle than she had in any she'd ever fought before. Not just those who followed her and placed themselves at risk, like her Unsullied, Dothraki, Ser Jorah, and Grey Worm. Or those far from battle like Missandei. It wasn't even that she risked her own life, for she'd done so countless times before.
Her heart worried for the man who flew beside her. The thoughts of losing him were ones that threatened to take away all her resolve. Beneath her, Drogon could feel her fear and let out a roar to tell her that he'd not allow it to come to pass. To the left of her, Viserion roared to show he too was of the same mind. Turning to look at her other son, she found Rhaegal's bronze eyes were on her own violet ones. The resolve that had threatened to leave her was there in those eyes. Words that went unspoken but that gave her all she needed to do what she must.
"I'll not let him be harmed, mother, not him, nor you."
When her eyes caught Baelon's own, she saw his own worries and concerns most clearly. Yet she saw the same resolve that she had in Rhaegal's eyes reflected in Baelon's dark grey ones. It brought a smile to her face, one she wore right up until she saw the dead army race across the lands below. How many of them there was, she knew not, but she feared it was more than their own army had brought to bear. With a look to Baelon, she saw his nod, and then, Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal, all dropped lower and with passion and determination, she shouted out a single word.
"Dracarys."
Three arcs of flame cut a swathe through the dead. Never before had she seen the likes of it. Not when she'd attacked the master's ships at Meereen, nor the Lannister army in the Reach. It felt different to her, looked different, almost as if this is how the dragons were supposed to be used. She wondered if that was because having Baelon ride Rhaegal allowed for more control. That Viserion despite being riderless was better able to do as both his brothers did, rather than simply try to copy what Rhaegal alone did.
Drogon's flames to her eye had always been the truest of her children's. the fiercest, hottest, and most devastating of them all. Looking to her other sons, watching as they matched their oldest brother, she almost reveled in the destruction they wrought. Had it not been for Rhaegal's cry of warning, then she would have. Her eyes turned to her son and to the man upon his back, Dany breathed relievedly when she saw that both were unharmed. Yet Baelon was pointing up and then Rhaegal began to rise, Viserion and finally upon her bidding, Drogon, doing likewise.
"SPEARS!" Baelon shouted as he flew close to her "ICE SPEARS!" he shouted and she looked at him worriedly "BEWARE THE WHITEWALKERS!"
She looked on as he dropped down low and though she wished to follow, for some reason she did not. Instead, she had Drogon and Viserion keep their height, and then she saw what the warning was for. The spears were made of ice and looked so very much like the bolt that had injured Drogon that she immediately feared for Rhaegal and Baelon. Yet they dodged them easily and then she watched with interest as her son laid down his flames on the White Walker who'd thrown the first spear. To her dismay, those flames had no effect and as Rhaegal rose again, another spear was thrown which thankfully he dodged. Soon enough her son was flying close to her once more and she caught the look that Baelon was aiming in her direction.
"AVOID THEM! DO NOT ATTACK THEM!" Baelon shouted and she nodded her head.
They dropped low once more, her eyes seeking out the White Walkers and finding them easily which she was most grateful for. Once again the three dragons brought their flames to bear and then she cried out as Viserion broke off to attack one of the White Walkers when a spear flew his way. Before she could react, Baelon had bid Rhaegal to follow after his brother and she heard the loud roar of warning that was aimed Viserion's way.
She held her breath as her two children flew too low and too close to the White Walker for her liking. Shouting out for Baelon to be wary, though she knew her words would not carry and her warning would be in vain. To her relief, they soon were higher in the sky once again and then they were back by her side. Her eyes turned to see a nod of Baelon's head and she wondered if it had simply been Rhaegal or had her husband warged her son once more.
In the end, it mattered not. They brought the fire to as many of the dead as they could before they needed to allow the dragons to rest. Baelon decided when the time for that was. It was behind them that they flew, near a stream so they could get some water for themselves. Upon landing, she moved to Drogon and thanked her son, seeing the weariness in his eyes. She then moved to Viserion and noticed that Baelon was speaking softly to Rhaegal.
"He listened to me, Dany." she heard Baelon say as she moved from Viserion "I bid him do as his brothers were and to forget about the man wielding the spears and he listened."
"You warged him?" she asked and Baelon nodded.
"We should eat, drink. We can't stay on the ground for long." Baelon said and she sighed.
"They need to rest, Baelon."
"As do we, but we cannot do so for too long. We took many from them, but not enough, not yet."
She ate the bread and cheese, drank the cool water, and all too soon they climbed back upon the dragon's backs and took to the sky once more. Beneath her she could feel how tried Drogon was, looking at her other two sons she could see it was the same, yet Baelon was right. The time to rest was not upon them, not yet.
Ned Dayne.
Watching the dragons unleash their flames showed both the true power they possessed and the folly of any who'd ever thought of standing in their way. Dorne may have taken comfort from the fact they'd taken down a dragon once before, but he, as his father had always said, knew full well that it had been luck that brought Meraxes to the ground. Looking at the three of them in the sky now, he prayed that those they faced would find no such luck here today.
For what felt like an age, the fight was off in the distance. The only sign that it was here at all was the flames that the dragons loosed. Around him, he could feel the confidence that the men felt. A belief held by them that the dragons alone would be enough to win this day. He saw it in not just the Dornishmen he'd brought with him, but the men of the Reach and West too. If he could still see those on horseback then mayhap they too would wear the same expressions as well.
The Unsullied did not. Instead, it was a resolve and resoluteness that he could see in their features. As for the men of the North and the Wildlings, they bore looks that he'd only seen once before in his life for true. Long ago, he'd rode out with Beric and Thoros and others to bring the Mountain to justice. At the Mummer's Ford, they'd found out that it was not to be them to do so. He'd watched as they'd barely escaped with their lives, and had then stood guard as Beric lay dying by the side of the Red Fork. Ned had pulled him to what he'd hoped to be safety, only to be forced to look on as Beric breathed his last.
Even after Thoros had given Beric the Last Kiss and R'hllor had brought him back, it had done little to raise their spirits. The fights that came afterward, the victories, losses, successes, and failures, all did nothing to remove a certain look from each of their eyes. He could see that look in the men of the North and in the Wildlings and as it had when he'd seen it in Beric, Thoros, and the men of the Brotherhood's faces, it sent a shiver down his spine. One that only grew when they first sighted the dead racing towards them.
"Fear not, for the dead are facing Jon Snow upon a mighty beast's back. They're facing the Dragonqueen, who though small is as mighty as King Crow himself." a voice that it took him some time to identify called out "So I say fuck these dead fuckers. Let's take our Dragonglass and fuck them right in their fucking arses. For Hardhome, For the Dragonqueen, For Jon Snow, The King Beyond the Wall."
"For King Crow."
"For King Crow."
"For Hardhome."
"For the North."
"For the West."
"For the Reach."
The voices all rang around and then he moved forward, Dawn raised in his hand.
"For Dorne!" he shouted as loudly as he could.
Spears were pointed forward and shields interlocked. Ned found himself in a circle of sorts and then the dead were upon them. Seeing them and watching them as they attacked would have threatened the courage of better men than he. Yet it was seeing the men of Dorne, looking around and seeing the realm united from the southern tip of Sunspear to Beyond the Wall and lands he'd never traveled. It was that and knowing that was his courage to falter here today, then he and they would see no tomorrow. Closing his eyes, he thought of Allyria, of Starfall, of Wylla back in Winterfell and then he bid Dawn sing her song.
The Unsullied were unmoving, while around them men fell and some to their shame abandoned their post, they were resolute. Baelon had told him the tale of the three thousand of Qohor back at Winterfell during one of their talks. Looking at them now, he could see why so many Dothraki had fallen that day. Their spears moved in unison, no wasted movement, and their Dragonglass tips ended dead man after dead man. Turning to his own spearmen, he could only wish they were as disciplined.
"LOOK TO THE UNSULLIED!" he shouted "MATCH THEIR MOVEMENTS!"
His words were heard and answered and where before their lines were ragged, now they were anything but. The Northmen and the Wildings fought like men who were possessed. Both sets of men showed savagery that even the dead were unable to match. Men of the West and Reach used their shield wall and held the dead back as they went about their work. As for him, Dawn was a blur as she cut down any who came close enough to her white blade. The star forged steel proving itself just as true as the Valyrian that Ser Jaime, Edd Tollet, or Brienne of Tarth wielded. Never was this more so than when he saw the first of them.
Its white skin was not skin at all, that was his first thought when the White Walker began to cut through their lines. It was ice, its armor was ice, its sword was ice. That was his second. His third was that it was unmatched by any who stood in its way. The ice of the sword the White Walker wielded broke any steel it came against and the man who had wielded that steel, was soon meeting his end. His fourth thought was that it was fast, impossibly so. This then led to his fifth and most important thought, it was up to him to stop it.
"Let it pass, let it pass." he called out to shocked looks and the shaking of heads "Dawn cries out to be swung," he added and then the White Walker was no more than a few feet ahead of him.
It looked at him curiously, or so he thought. Ned only realized after a moment that it was actually Dawn that raised the White Walker's curiosity. When he moved towards it, he swore he saw a smile on its face, though given that face was carved out of ice, mayhap it was just a reflection of his own smile that he saw. As the two blades clashed, his own smile only grew. The icy white of the White Walker's sword may look beautiful to some, compared to the milky white of Dawn, it very much did not.
Other than Baelon, he'd fought none as quick as the White Walker. Yet his own movements, the speed with which he wielded Dawn, and the years he'd spent proving himself worthy of such a blade, all combined to make this an even enough match. He feinted left and was followed, thrust, and was parried. His powerful swings were matched as easily as his more skillful ones were. The end came when he reached for the Dragonglass dagger by his side. Ned throwing it underhanded and yet not to try and end the White Walker as it thought, but simply to distract him.
As it shrugged the blade away, he brought Dawn down in an arc. The White Walker's move to parry came far too late and then he felt it when it hit against the icy shoulder and cut through it as if it was butter. There was an explosion of ice, which forced him to cover his face, then a loud cheer rang out and Ned opened his eyes to see no White Walker in front of him. It wasn't simply the death of the White Walker at his hands that had been the reason for that cheer, but its death had relieved the front of their lines somewhat. A large number of dead men had fallen as it had, which proved what Baelon, Tormund, and others had said was true.
"Archers, seek out the Walkers," he shouted as his own eyes sought them out too.
The sounds that rang out a moment later took his good cheer and almost robbed the men of their will as they saw what seemed to be dead animals race their way. Ned looked to the sky and prayed he'd see a dragon or three only to find no sight of them and so it was to the front of the line and his place in it that he went.
Jaime.
How many battles had he fought in?
How many times had he risked his life against someone who wished him dead?
How many times did he face that fight without fear in his heart?
The answer to all those questions was the same, many. Each and every time he'd wielded his sword in anger, he'd done so without fear, fought against someone who wished him dead and had come out of the battle or fight, victorious. True he'd lost at the Whispering Wood, but given the odds he'd faced, it was a fight that no man, not even Arthur Dayne himself, could have withstood. He feared this was another.
Like the men of the West he fought amongst, he cheered when the dragons laid down their flames. Had even for a moment believed that there would be no need for them to fight here today. A forlorn hope and one that was being proved untrue right at this very moment. The dead were relentless. They fought not like men, for they feared not losing a life that they no longer had. No matter how many you cut down, they still came and so it was tiredness that he felt was to bring about their ends here today.
The sword in his hand felt heavy, he'd swung it more in the last few hours than he truly had in the last few years. Not even when he was trying to retrain himself after he'd lost his hand did he use it as much as he had today. He'd cut down countless dead men, none of them a match for Widow's Wail and yet he knew it was the sword and not the man who wielded it that was the true threat they faced. At one time, he'd have fought twice the time against twice the number of foes. Was he still the man he used to be, then he'd relish the fight he faced today. That man was long dead and the one he was now, was a lesser one in most respects. Though not all.
At Winterfell, he'd found a reason for living. An answer to a question that had plagued him for more years than he cared to remember. Baelon Targaryen had sought to make him what he once was, or more truly what he'd once wished to be. Not simply a Kingsguard, nor a man who wore the white cloak, but a man who was worthy of it and of the king and queen he served. Swinging his sword, taking down yet another of the dead men who pushed against their shield wall, Jaime ignored his tiredness and looked to the sky.
"By R'hllor's grace." he heard a voice call out and after taking down yet another dead man, he saw the Lady Melisandre looking at hands that somehow seemed to be alight.
He watched in stunned fascination as the red priestess moved to where the Free Folk stood and touched one of the blades they were holding, then did the same to men of the West, Reach, North, and finally Dorne. Jaime believed not in the gods, for he'd seen enough of the shit in the world to know they cared not or helped not. He'd heard and seen proof that Baelon and his brother had been brought back by the red god, yet even that would not be enough to make him believe in R'hllor being different from others as Lady Melisandre had said. What he saw now, however, may make a believer even out of him.
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