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k4marina · 15 days ago

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— xi. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a one handed man comes to join the fight for the realm, a new knight of the seven kingdoms emerges, answers are given, and the dead march closer

warnings: got-cannon themes/violence/and language, angsty, swearing, not proofread, shits getting dangerous.

a/n: decided to add my own twist to planning and tbh idk why they didn't think to do what i said. working on the next episode as we speak as well as a classic "tony starks kid" fic, so if you're interest keep your eyes open.

series masterlist || next part

11.6k word count

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif is mine]

The news spread early in the morning that Jamie Lannister had arrived at Winterfell. He’d came with the many men who also traveled all throughout the long nights from other parts of the continent to fight against the army of the dead. The castle, and its inhabitants, had been thrown into a frenzy as the news spread leaving behind a million other questions.

Was he really here to help or is this another one of the Lannisters lies? Why is he all alone? Where are the other reinforcements? And if he’s here then– what about Cersei?

Three tables were set at the front of the hall. One at the front, one on the left and the other on the right. Jamie Lannister stood in front of us, like a criminal on trial, while a wall of Unsullied and Stark soldiers stood behind him at attention ready for their Queen’s command. He looked tired and disheveled, no doubt from riding North all day and night, and wore modest leather and wool clothes, stripped of any Lannister gold, aside from his hand.

At the head of the room, Daenerys sits in the middle while Jon, Sansa and I are sat at her sides. To the left is another table where Varys, Missandei, and Jorah sit while Tyrion stands to the side, his eyes downcast. And to the right, Ser Davos, Lyanna Mormont, Lord Yohn Royce, Alys Karstark, and Brienne of Tarth sat. The floor is set, the mood is heavy, and everyone’s on edge. Jamie stands there, awaiting whatever was to come towards him.

“When I was a child,” Daenerys’ tone is cold and unwavering. “My brother would tell me a bedtime story about the man who murdered our father.”

Silence hangs in the hall, no one daring to speak. The plethora of guards behind Jamie keep their eyes trained on him, daring him to make a wrong move.

“Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor.” Daenerys keeps her eyes trained on him, completely unwavering. “He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasps.”

She pauses, everyone hanging off of her words.

“Your sister pledged to send her army north.”

Jamie swallows, sneaking a glance towards me. “She did.”

“I don’t see an army. I see one man. With one hand. It appears your sister lied to me.”

Tyrion looks up to his brother and Jamie looks back, both of them powerless and terrified of the ramifications. Jamie swallows down his nerves. “She lied to me as well. She never had any intention of sending her army north.” He then turns to me. “You were right.”

Daenerys turns her glare towards Tyrion for a brief moment, chastising him for the idea in the first place.

“She has Euron Greyjoy’s remaining fleet and 10,000 fresh troops. The Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for. Even if we defeat the dead, she’ll have more than enough to destroy the survivors.”

I leaned forwards, “what do you mean the Golden Company has sent 10,000 troops? We stopped you from looting Highgarden. You’re dirt poor compared to the other houses in Westeros. How did she manage to pay for them?”

Jamie hesitates, “she sold them a dragonskull.”

You could hear a pin drop in the hall. Everyone turns their head in utter shock towards Daenerys, even some of the guards. Anger oozes off of her, fire in her eyes and her hands gripped the arms of the chair.

“Which one?” She’s not asking, she’s demanding.

“I don’t know.” Jamie licks his chapped lips. “It was small, no name, one of the few that were left.” Then he meekly adds, “the big ones wouldn’t fit on the ships.”

I scoffed loudly in utter disbelief and anger. I cross my arms over my chestplate and lean back in my chair. I don’t have to turn to Daenerys to know she was equally, if not more angry. “If you don’t kill her, then I fucking will.”

“I promised to fight for the living.” Jamie double downs. “I intend to keep that promise.”

Quickly, Tyrion jumps in hoping to help ease the tension in the room.“Your Grace,” he walks closer to the table . “I know my brother–”

“Like you knew your sister?” She quickly snapped.

“He came here alone, knowing full well how he’d be received. Why would he do that if he weren’t telling the truth?” He tries to persuade her and show her that Jamie had true intentions.

“Perhaps he trusts his little brother to defend him, right up to the moment he slits my throat.” Daenerys stares down at the Lannister.

Tyrion glanced at Jon and I, hoping one of us would side with him and vouch for his brother.

“You’re right.” Sansa finally speaks, keeping her eyes steady on Jamie. Daenerys turns her head towards the red-head as she speaks further. “We can’t trust him. He attacked my father in the streets. He tried to destroy my house and my family, the same as he did yours.”

“Do you want me to apologize?” Jamie interrupts to defend himself, though I doubt that it was a wise decision. “We were at war. Everything I did, I did for my house and my family. I'd do it all again.”

“The things we do for love,” Bran– who’d be seated to the right of Sansa– repeated.

All eyes fell on him while his remained on Jamie who stared at him wide-eyed, almost scared and ashamed of what those words meant. He subtly takes in a breath, but I could tell that what Bran said had shook him to the core.

“So why have you abandoned your house and family now?” Daenerys draws the attention back to her.

“Because this goes beyond loyalty.” He glances back to Brienne momentarily remembering those words she’d said to him in the Dragon Pit. “This is about survival.”

Tyrion turned to Daenerys who’s still debating what to do with Jamie when Brienna abruptly stands and takes a step towards her friend.

“You don’t know me well, Your Grace.” She moves to stand beside him. “But I know Ser Jamie. He is a man of honor. I was his captor once, but when we were both taken prisoner and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jamie defended me and lost his hand because of it.”

She turns to address Sansa next. “Without him, my lady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armored me, and sent me to find you and bring you home because he’d sworn an oath to your mother.”

Sansa considers Brienne’s word, knowing well that she wouldn’t be saying all of this if she didn’t mean it. Brienne wasn’t the type to just vouch for anyone, she valued honor and integrity the most. “You vouch for him?”

Brienne nods, confident. “I do.”

“You’d fight beside him?”

She holds her head up and stands straighter when she answers. “I would.” Jamie watches, touched, that Brienne held him in such high regard, despite his shortcomings.

Sansa takes a beat to carefully make her decision. “I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay.”

Daenerys turns her gaze towards Sansa, stunned that she’d sided with Jamie despite all he’d done to her and her family. Weren’t they just on the same page?

“What does the Warden of the North say about it?” Daenerys turns to Jon who sighs.

“We need every man we can get.” It’s clear that he doesn’t like him, that’s something Jon has always made note of, but if we’re supposed to fight as one force against the dead then having him stay is the right decision.

She turns to me next. “She’s honorable and she’ll keep him in line. And he’s one of the best, if he’s around then our chances are a lot better.” I leaned in closer, “besides, he was a key figure in all of this the first time and his usefulness still stands. We need him.”

Daenerys gives me a subtle nod and I turn to look at Jamie. “The more the merrier.”

The room falls silent as Daenerys takes each of our words into consideration. It was clear that she would agree– she’d done it before– but her concerns still lingered in her mind. “Very well.”

Tyrion exhaled in relief and Jamie looked grateful. She gives Grey Worm– who’d been standing at the left edge of the table– a nod and he picks up Jamie's sword and roughly hands it to him.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he bows his head, and despite addressing her corectly, there’s still some of his signature sass behind those words.

Daenerys stands up and the rest of the room follows. Sansa leaves first and Daenerys goes to speak to Jon, but he leaves right after, unable to look her in the eyes. I sighed inwards as last night's conversation with Jon was still hanging in my head. Daenerys turns to leave, rounding the table and out through the main doors of the hall with Tyrion, Varys, Missandei, and Jorah behind her. She passed Jamie– who bows his head– without sparing a glance. Brienne’s the next to go and the others soon followed after her, leaving through different exits. Jamie's eyes linger on Bran’s who eventually asks the Maester to help him to the Godswood, leaving just the two of us.

I round the table, stepping towards him. “I told you not to trust her, but you did.”

He nods, looking down. “You did. But-”

“But what? She’s pregnant and she’ll do anything for her child? Is that it?” I say, unimpressed. “Have you forgotten her behavior after Tommen killed himself? Your baby-boy took his life and she had the audacity to blame him for it. That woman isn’t a mother, she’s a murder. She’s killed at least a dozen of Robert's bastard kids just so her own bastard kids wouldn’t be affected.”

I paused knowing that me berating him isn’t going to do much of anything after all, he was a Lannister. “Go,” I waved him away. “There’s armor at the forge, find whatever you can. It’s no Lannister gold, but it’s good enough. We’ll be planning our attacks later today in the library, so if you’ve got any bright ideas, you know where to find us.” I craned my neck side to side, rolling out the knots from all the heavy armor I’d been wearing. “Time is running out, the Night King can be here any moment. There’s no point in going back and forth on useless shit.”

I walked out the room, leaving Jamie standing there. There was too much to do in too little time and I was close to losing my mind. I walked down a hallway when I spotted a maid walking.

“Do you know where Lady Sansa is?”

“She’s in the library with Lord Royce, My Lady.” She replies meekly.

I smiled, though it doesn’t do much to calm her nerves. “Thank you.” I turned and headed for the library. I’d already managed to get one Stark girl on our side (however much that may have been) and now it was time for the other. After Jon, Sansa held the most authority in Winterfell, and it was clear that she wasn’t the biggest fan or Daenerys and I. If I could find a way to get her at least a bit more friendly with us then our future plans would go a lot more smoother. The door was open and I could hear two women speaking inside. I stepped in closer and realized it was Daenerys and Sansa. They’re sitting at the table, Sansa’s hand on top of Daenerys’s clearly having a bonding moment.

“I'm here because I love your brother and I trust him, and I know he's true to his word. He's only the second man in my life I can say that about.”

“Who was the first?” Sansa asks.

Daenery smiles, “someone taller.”

They both giggle with one another, like two ladies gossiping over tea about knights and Lords, and whatever else they did during this time.

“And what happens afterwards? We defeat the dead. We destroy Cersei. What happens then?” Sansa’s tone shifts from happy to something more serious and anxious.

“I take the Iron Throne.” Daenerys says as if it’s set in stone.

“What about the North?” Sansa tries to pry. “It was taken from us, and we took it back. And we said we’d never bow to anyone else again. What about the North?”

Daenerys’ smile fades and her mood shifts to a more serious one, but before she can do anything I made my presence known..

“Well you’ll be Warden of the North and Lady of Winterfell.” Their head snaps towards my direction, surprised. I walked closer to them. “The Stark bloodline will continue through you, my lady.”

“What about Jon? He’s Lord of Winterfell.” Sansa frowns.

“Don’t worry too much about him. He said it himself, he didn’t want any of this. But you, you’re the eldest daughter of Ned Stark. You may look like a Tully, but you’re a Stark through and through.” She doesn’t say anything, clearly confused, but I could tell that she was intrigued– just the slightest, but enough for me to keep going. “After the Great War and after we’ve dealt with Cersei, we’re all going to need each other's help to rebuild the country. Three hundred years ago, the Seven Kingdoms were unified for a reason. This is the reason.”

Sansa looks down at her hand over Daenerys’ thinking when the Maester interrupts us.

“Apologies, my lady, Your Grace. There’s someone waiting for you in the hall.”

––

We’re led back to the hall where none other than Theon Greyjoy is standing, surrounded by many Ironborns. Daenerys looks pleasantly surprised while Sansa looks stunned at his unexpected arrival. Theon glanced towards her with a similar expression. He turns his gaze away from her and walks up to Daenerys and bends the knee.

“My Queen.” He bows his head.

“Your sister?”

“She’s taken the Iron Islands in your name.”

“And Euron?” I ask.

“Yara has him in a cell, awaiting execution, My Lady.”

“Why aren’t you with her?” Daenerys asked.

Theon turns his gaze towards Sansa, who has tears brimming in her eyes. “I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa. If you’ll have me.”

She rushed past Daenerys and I and quickly wrapped her arms around Theon. He carefully wraps his own arms around her and the two share a very touching moment. They savor it, eyes misty and arms tight. The last time either of them had seen each other was after Theon had helped free Sansa from Ramsey Bolton’s sadistic grasp. Sansa’s the first to pull away, tearfully smiling. She doesn’t have to say anything aloud as her answer is already known. The reunion is quick and we exchange some more words. Daenerys and I excused ourselves to give the two some more privacy for them to catch up.

Daenerys decides to go find her advisors and I decided to go walk around the castle grounds to clear my head. Like the past few days, the place is filled with people. A group of children sat huddled together with wooden bowls and spoons in their hands as they quietly ate their meals. Men and women worked hard to dig up trenches and set up traps for the dead.

Time was running out. Each minute that went by was a minute the undead marched closer to us. Despite the impending doom, we were still underprepared and soldiers were still making their way up north to fight alongside us. Hopefully, the added numbers would help us in somehow overpowering the undead. Compared to before, when it was only Dany’s armies and the northern armies, we were better equipped this time. We had the Dornish and the Westerland armies on our side now, allowing us to have an even better chance against the undead than before.

So many died whilst protecting the realm, regardless of how big or small their roles were. The God of Death came for many that night, but ultimately the living had won, but only by the skin of their teeth. If everyone hadn’t played their parts then the dead would have won, no doubt. It was sheer luck and the God’s taking mercy on them that they’d won.

Like the days before, people worked tirelessly in the snow, digging trenches and fortifying the wall. I walked around the dirt path towards the northern part of the castle, where we assumed most of the fighting would take place. Traps were being dug out and tested for their effectiveness and what to improve on.

I glanced around one last time when I spotted Jon talking amongst a group of men. I stepped closer to him once they’d left to carry out their tasks. “You haven’t talked to her.”

He glances at me, but isn’t surprised at my words. After what I’d seen him do in the hall this morning, Jon knew that I would be coming. “I’m busy. I have men to command.” He’s quick with his responses, yet also defensive. It’s clear that what was revealed the night before weighed on his mind and wanted to keep his mind off of it.

“And you can’t leave them for a few minutes to talk?” I walk over and stand in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

“We’re at war with death, time is something that we don’t have.” He brushes past me and helps out a couple of men unloading another wagon of dragonglass.

“We’re always at war.” I leaned against the wagon with my arms crossed. “Jon, we have to do this now. The longer we let this be, the worse the fall out. Trust me, just a couple of minutes and then it’s over. Alright?”

He paused and considered my words. Truthfully, he wanted to tell Daenerys immediately, but feared the fallout. His identity, regardless of how much he denied it, was a threat to her and her claim and whatever they had between each other. He breathes out his nose giving me a glance. “Alright.”

I give him a small smile when out in the crowd a red headed woman catches my eye. “No fucking way.” Jon frowned and followed my sight to find where, or rather who, I was looking at. “Fuck is she doing here?” I asked no one in particular.

Jon spots Melisandre dismounting a horse. “The Red Priestess?”

I nodded, keeping my eyes on her. She hands the reins off towards someone else and walks into another crowd and disappears from view. “She's supposed to come,” right before the battle begins, “later… much later.”

Suddenly, a horn is blown in the distance, signalling that riders from the Wall had arrived. Jon and I brushed past a group of people and into the northern courtyard where more soldiers worked in fortifying the castle. Heavy wooden gates are opened and a group of men– presumably the last of the Nights Watch– walk in. Sam, who’d gotten here before us, pulls a man wearing all black leathers and a heavy black fur cloak into a tight hug. Jon follows after them, smiling to see his friend– Eddison Tollett– the current Lord Commander alive and well. He goes for a hug when someone rushes into him, knocking him a step back.

“My little crow,” Tormund gives Jon a big and probably suffocating hug. The nickname is affectionate and reminiscent of when Jon used to be in the Night’s Watch and lead them.

Jon smiles, holding his friend close. “I thought we lost you.”

The wildling man cocks his head, “almost.” Tormund pats Jon’s back and lets him go, letting him embrace his other friends. Just as I came close, Tormund turned to me, “Lady Dragon!”

Before I can respond, the winds almost knock out of me as Tormund tackles me into a hug of my own. Surprised, I wrap my arms around him, patting his back. He pulls back, allowing me to breathe again, and has a big goofy smile on his face.

“Good to see you too.”

“Is that Dragon Queen here?”

I nodded and his grin grew wider.

“Is she tall?”

I laughed, “no.” What’s up with this guy and being tall?

He frowns, confused. “Do dragons like small riders?”

“Jon’s a dragonrider too,” I pointed out, surprising Sam and the other man.

Unphased, Tormund looks at Jon and then back at me. “He’s short.”

“I’m not short.” Jon argued. “I’m average height.”

“No you’re not. You’re short.”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” I hushed the two before they could go any further.

Beric, who’d been behind the others, steps forwards and shakes Jon and I’s hand. The six of us stood around in a circle, the light-heartedness simmering off a touch as the mood shifted to a more serious one.

“How did you meet?” Jon asked Edd.

“We met up at the Last Hearth.” Edd replied, glancing at the other two men who he’d come with.

“The dead got there first,” Tormund answers.

“The Umbers?” I asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“Fighting for the Night King now,” Beric replied. Jon turns to me, giving me a nod as a thank you for not letting him send any more men out of Winterfell.

“We had to travel around to get here.” Tormund says. His voice drops a pitch lower. “Whoevers not here now is with them.”

They give a few more details. Tormund, Beric, and the other men of the Night’s Watch had just narrowly escaped the collapse of the Wall. They fled Eastwatch with the Night King hot on their trails, all the way to Last Hearth where Edd and the rest of the Night’s Watch had regrouped to gather supplies and help facilitate the evacuation of the castle. However, the undead were far too quick and within a day they were on the horizon of Last Hearth, making steady progress towards Winterfell.

Solemnly, Jon asks, “how long do we have?”

“Before the sun comes up tomorrow.” Tormund replied.

The realization hits Jon and I and a shiver runs down my spine as time ticks down. Jon and Sam share a glance, the pair talking with their minds it seemed. Soon, very soon, death would be at our steps. It was almost time, and yet we weren’t as ready as we hoped.

Tormund looks around behind him, searching. “The big women still here?”

None of the others replied, but I did “Brienne? Yes she is.”

Jon breaths out after taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “We need to get ready.”

––

We’re all standing in the library. The room’s lit with dozens of candles, all emanating an orangy-yellow hue. A hearth is lit for warmth and light as the sun creeps below the horizon and the cold sets in. We huddle around a large square table in the middle of the room with a large drawn aerial map of Winterfell castle and its surrounding lands laid over it. Various markers are laid out by the northern castle walls in battle formations, each respective group representing the various armies that have joined forces together. In front of them are dozens of small rectangular white and gray markers that represent the Army of the Dead. There’s an overwhelming amount laid out, nearly taking up the entire upper fourth of the map, as a way to show just how many there were and how easily outnumbered we were.

“They’re coming.” Jon’s voice is firm as he speaks. “We have dragonglass and Valyrian steel. But there are too many of them. Far too many.” He looks at each and everyone of us in the makeshift war room. “Our enemy doesn’t tire. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t feel.”

At the very front, in two groups, were the Dothraki riders. Behind them, and between the fortified walls, were the Unsullied forces and the catapults that were made that they would operate. To the right, were the mish-mash of northern forces and the handful of Dornish and Westerland armies as well as those who’d traveled North to fight alongside us. And to the left, were the Aryn forces with the remaining Stark combined forces behind them. Within the castle, there were few groups for reinforcements and added protection around the castle crypts. The few– but powerful, Mormont soldiers were stationed inside to help facilitate and protect the castle gates while also making sure that everyone who wasn’t going to fight were all in the crypts.

Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Sam stand by the south side of the castle, by Kings Road, while Daenerys, Jorah, Tyrion, Varys, Grey Worm and I stand by the eastern wall. Theon, Alys Karstark, Brienne, and Jamie stand across from us and Tormund, Ser Davos, Lyanna Mormont, and Lord Royce stand where the undead army is placed. Behind Jon, besides the lit hearth, Bran sits quietly and watches on as the planning is finalized.

Jon stands slightly hunched over the mapped table. “We can't beat them in a straight fight.”

“So, what can we do?” Jamie asks.

“The Night King made them all.” Jon makes a face, recalling his encounter with the entity Beyond the Wall. He glances over to Jamie as he answers. “They follow his command. If he falls,” he pauses, but everyone knows what he’s trying to say. “Getting to him may be our best chance.”

Jamie furrows his brow. “If that’s true, he’ll never expose himself.” He’s not pessimistic, just realistic, his years on the battlefield both as a soldier and strategist behind him. If slaying the Night King was the way to end all of this, he’s not going to be there on the front lines.

“Yes he will.”

Everyone’s head turns to Bran as he speaks up, sure of what he was saying. “He’ll come for me. He’s tried before, many times, with many Three Eyed Ravens.” Something about the way he says it– with no emotions, but total reassurance sets the tone to a more ominous one.

“What’s a Three Eyed Raven?” Alys Karstark asks aloud for most of everyone.

“They’re greenseers,” I explained, recalling back the chapters I’d memorized whilst I was in school. “They hold the memories of past and present; everything that’s ever happened and is currently happening. Three Eyed Ravens date far back to the Children of the Forest, they even share the same powers as them.”

Everyone's attention shifts back to Bran, somewhat– but not quiet– understanding his role.

“Why?” Sam asks the second question. If all Bran could do was see the past and present with his ravens, then why is he such a threat to the Night King? “What does he want?”

“An endless night.” Bran turns his glance towards Sam. “He wants to erase this world, and I am its memory.”

Sam somberly takes a look around the room. “That's what death is, isn't it? Forgetting. Being forgotten. If we forget where we've been and what we've done, we're not men anymore. Just animals.” He turned back to Bran, “Your memories don't come from books. Your stories aren't just stories. If I wanted to erase the world of men, I'd start with you.”

“How will he find you?” Tyrion asks.

“His mark is on me.” Bran pulls back the sleeve on his right arm, revealing four red-ish brown lines on his skin. It looked as if someone had tried to grab and pull him so tight that it left deep bruises all the way to his bones. “He always knows where I am.”

“We’ll put you in the crypt, where it’s safest.” Jon decides.

“No.” Despite his even tone, Bran is firm in his answer. “We need to lure him into the open before his army destroys us all. I’ll wait for him in the Godswood.”

“You want us to use you as bait?” Sansa says angry.

“We’re not leaving you alone out there.” Arya agrees, doubling down. The two sisters stood firm in their resolve. In no way were they going to let their baby brother, regardless of his abilities, come face to face with a being that’s already made a threat to his life before and those who came before him.

“He won’t be.” Theon catches everyone's attention. “I’ll stay with him. With the Ironborn.” He turned to Bran, who'd covered his arm again, “I took this castle from you. Let me defend you now.” Bran doesn’t reply, but gives Theon one nod as a thank you. This was going to be his redemption.

Jon, who’d been quiet for some time, also gave a subtle nod towards Theon– his own thank you for risking his life for his younger brother’s safety.

With that, Ser Davos decided to continue forwards. “We’ll hold off the rest of them for as long as we can.”

“When the time comes, Ser Davos and I will be on the walls, to give you the signal to light the trench.” Tyrion adds on.

Daenerys frowns, against the idea. “Ser Davos is perfectly capable of waving a torch on his own. You’ll be in the crypt.”

Tyrion looks at her determined, ready to protest. “Your Grace, I have fought before, I can do it again. Alongside the men and women risking their lives.”

“There are thousands of them and only one of you.” Daenerys puts her foot down. “You can't fight as well as they can, but you can think better than any of them. You're here because of your mind. If we survive, I'll need it.”

Understanding, Tyrion nods, but I could tell that he was still against it. Something in him wanted to fight alongside everyone, like he’s done before, but despite that, he knows that Daenerys was right.

“The dragons will give us an edge in the field.” Davos said.

“If they're in the field, they're not protecting Bran.” Jon glanced over to his own advisor. “We need to be near him. Not too near, or the Night King won't come. But close enough to pursue him when he does.”

“Dragonfire will stop him?” Arya turned to ask Bran.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “No one's ever tried.” Arya looks back, her expression a mix of worry and disappointment.

“Dragonfire will kill wights, but not the White Walkers or Night King.” I chimed in. “Fire will kill the wights, so use whatever you can to light them up, which I’m sure goes without saying.” I turned to Jon, “do you have what I asked for?”

He nods and motions for the Maester to hand me a cloudy glass bottle. It had a rag, presumably scrapped fabric, shoved halfway down the bottle with about an inch and a half worth of fabric hanging out. The other end was swimming in some unknown liquid.

“This is a molotov, doesn’t look like much, but packs a punch. To use it, you’re going to have to light this end–” I point to the bit of fabric sticking out, “–on fire, but you’ll have to act quick once you do. The fabric will catch on fire and travel all the way down to the bit that’s in oil. So light it and toss it at the dead, preferably when they’re near the castle walls. The bottle will shatter on impact and the fire will go everywhere.”

No one says a thing as they process what I’d just shown and said. Jamie, who had the same confused frown on his face as his brother, opened his mouth to speak. “Where did you even come up with the idea for that?”

This time, it was my turn to frown. Don’t tell me molotov cocktails aren’t a thing yet. “It doesn’t matter, what does is that these things,” I lightly shook the bottle and the oil swished around the, “are going to help us win.”

“How is it going to do that when we can’t even kill the Night King with fire?’ Sansa asks aloud, not fully convinced of the plan.

I glanced towards her. “He’ll die either by dragonglass or Valyrian steel. Someone will have to get close. His generals are the same.”

“Gernerals?” Sam asks surprised, taken aback. How can an undead army have commanding officers?

“The White Walkers. They’re the ones who control the wights. In theory, you get one of them and you knock down a chunk of the undead army.”

“How many are there?” Arya asked.

I gave a half shrug, “I don’t know. Craster's son’s– the ones he sacrificed to the Night King– were most likely turned into White Walkers and the Night King’s generals.”

“And I’m assuming that they won’t show themselves to us like the Night King.” Ser Davos says.

“No.” I replied. “But if we want to make a dent in their forces we need to get to them, and if we want to end it quickly then we need to go against the Night King.”

Silence falls over us as the realization hits that this was it, this was our one shot– our only opportunity to get this right– or else we’d all be marching in the Night King’s army down to King’s Landing and knocking on Cersei’s door.

“We’re all going to die.” Tormund says. He glanced towards his right to Brienne. “But at least we die together.” She says nothing and looks back down at the map, but his earlier words still linger in her mind.

‘Let’s get some rest.” Jon dismissed with a deep breath.

One by one, everyone left to do their own thing, believing it to be their final night alive, wanting to make the most of whatever they could. I turned to leave, leaving behind Jon and Daenerys, and Tyrion and Bran in the room. Unknown to me, Jon comes walking out behind me, clearly still avoiding Daenerys.

I reached out for his arm, halting his steps. “You still haven’t done it?” I couldn’t help the annoyance and surprise in my voice.

“I can't," he doesn’t bother looking me in the eye. “I have to get ready, we have too–”

“No, all you have to do is have one conversation with the woman you love. “ I firmly cut him off of his excuses. “Jon, a dead man marches towards us ready to kill us all. Don’t let this be in the back of your head and pull you away from this. Don’t live with any regrets, not while this could be our final night alive.”

Just as he was going to counter, Daenerys walks out of the room. I give his army one last firm squeeze and then let go of his arm. Jon looked between us and I lightly nudged Daenerys towards him when I walked past her. I don’t have to look back to know that the long awaited and strung out conversation was going to take place.

I retreated to my room to have a moment to myself as the hours dwindled down and everyone began to grow more anxious. Everyone knew their place and what they had to do, it was only a matter of time before the fight for humanity was at our doors. Women, children, the old, and sick all hunkered back down to the crypts while soldiers made up of men and women from all over the continent got ready and lined up in their posts.

I was in my room, having a quiet meal of rabbit stew, bread, and a small apple tart. If this was going to be my last meal then a little bit of dessert wouldn’t hurt, right? The hearth was lit, keeping me warm and a glass of wine in front of me that I’d leisurely sip whenever I’d catch my hands trembling or thoughts spiraling.

Truthfully speaking, I hadn’t thought this through (no shit, right?). When I arrived here and declared to Daenerys that I’d help win her the throne, it was merely out of self preservation and sheer hubris. In all honesty, I was way in over my head (guess hindsight’s 20/20). Riding dragons, fighting in battles, making alliances, changing the course of history with absolutely no care about its ramifications in the future. I thought that I had some sort of invisible plot armor around me leading me to think that I had nothing to fear.

But I’ve survived this long haven’t I?

But this was different. This was actual life or death.

ābrar iā morghon

And I was fucking scared.

My body trembled with fear. Mind racing with a hundred different ‘what-if’s,’ that I couldn’t shake away. What if I actually die here and now? What if Daenerys dies? What if Jon dies? What if the Night King wins? Then it would all be my fault. If I hadn’t gone and stuck my nose into all of this then humanity would’ve lived like before. But then again, I couldn’t take all the blame.

I didn’t choose to come here, I was brought here– dragged through the fabric of time and thrown into one of the most dangerous and tumultuous periods in Westerosi history– all for a reason that I still haven’t figured out. So, if anything does happen, then it wouldn’t be my fault. I was someone in an unimaginable situation who had to do anything that they could to survive.

Bang!

I jump up in my seat and whip my head around to the door slammed open and Daenerys standing in my doorway, fuming and glaring at me.

She knows.

“Did you know?” She demands from me. But there was no point in asking, she already knew my answer. I knew practically everything.

I calmly set my spoon down against the rim of the warm wooden bowl and stood up slowly. The wooden chair screeched against the stone floor and the hearth lightly crackled filling the silence.

“Know what?” I walked past her and over to the door, peeking out and looking both ways to make sure no one was there before closing and locking it shut.

“Jon.” She spits out his name. “About who he really is?” I walk over to the side table and pour a glass of wine for her, but don't give it to her just yet.

I set the cup down and turn to face her. “I did. It’s a major part of Westerosi Studies and Targaryen History.”

Her eye twitches, “is this a joke to you?”

“No it’s not.” A joke? Honey, I’m having a quarter-life crisis over here and you’re asking if I’m joking?

“Why wasn’t I told?”

“You didn’t need to know at the time.”

She scoffs, “always with your ‘you didn’t need to know’. How do you know what I should and shouldn’t know?”

“Because I just do.” I huffed, crossing my arms. “If I told you within a week of meeting me that your allies would die one by one, your dragons would die one by one, you would have spiraled. Yes, Jon is Lyanna and Rhaegar’s son. Yes, he has a better claim than you. Yes, if the people knew his true identity then they would champion him. If I had told you his real identity– that he just found out yesterday may I add– that’s what would’ve gone through your mind.”

I let out a shaky breath and reached over for my own glass of wine, gulping down the red liquid while I calmed myself. She stays silent and watches me set the glass down, but her anger is still there.

“Be honest with me, swear to your dragons and your people, if you knew who he was would you have welcomed him like an ally or would you have sent the dogs on him? Would you have given Jon a chance?” There’s no sarcasm in my tone, no bite or defensiveness, just me calmly asking her a simple question.

Daenerys stares at me, her anger slowly dissipating. She’s stuck between her stubbornness and my reasoning. She clenched her jaw and sighed, letting go of her pent up anger. She knew I was right. If Daenerys knew who Jon was before meeting at Dragonstone she would have dealt with him like he was the enemy and not like an ally. She would have lost the North and ultimately we would have lost the Great War.

“Daenerys,” I said her name softly. “Do you know how long I’ve been here?”

She lightly furrowed her brows. “No.”

“Almost eight months.” My answer weighs heavily. “In eight months I haven’t gotten one lead as to how I can get back home or why I was brought here. Frankly speaking, I’m stuck here. So why would I try to do anything hurtful towards you, knowing what you’re capable of. I have no lies, no false narratives or hidden agenda’s– all I have is the truth. Why would I risk it all to lie to you?”

Her face contorts between guilt and sadness as my words sink deeper into her consciousness. She’d been so caught up in her campaign that she’d overlooked my own footing in this world. She lets out a deep sigh and walks over to sit on the foot of my bed while I reach over grabbing her glass of wine.

“You’re right,” she says, face buried in her hands. “I shouldn’t have any reason to doubt you. It’s just.. I’m so close, so close. And it seems every time I take a step forward something gets in the way.” She takes the glass from me and I go to sit next to her. “And the way everyone looks towards Jon, it just makes me second guess myself.. if I’ll be accepted by the people here.”

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, bringing her in close. “You are and you will be a great leader. Don’t ever doubt yourself, you’ve come a long way and have done great things. Do you have any idea how loved you are throughout Essos? The Dothraki named you their Great Khaleesi, only recognizing you as their leader, so many years later. The former slave cities have raised statues in your honor and hail you as their savior. You’ve grown so much from where you started, don’t give up now.”

Daenerys’ face softens around the edges at my reassurance, but a sliver of self-doubt still lingers.

“Trust me, people still praise you. They still remember you as a liberator and a great leader who did the impossible. Don’t ever doubt yourself, okay? The people of Westeros will come around, you just have to give them some time.”

She sighs out a breath she’d been holding since her talk with Jon. “What do I do then?”

“Turst.” I squeeze her arm gently. “Don’t overwhelm yourself and trust in those around you. It’s tough, but you’ve gone through the worst already. Just one more hill to climb over and then you’ve done it.”

Daenerys sits silently, but listens closely. All her life she’d fought for survival, she’s had to jump over hurdles to get to where she was now. It wasn’t totally out of left field for her to feel how she did. This wasn’t supposed to happen, the dead were just a story that parents would tell their kids– not a real threat to all of humanity.

“Alright. I will.”

It wasn’t an ideal relationship. This all started as a difficult deal; I helped her and she gave me protection. But slowly, it grew into something more familial and authentic. We had only one common ancestor and hundreds of years in between us, but we were the closest family either of us had right now. Maybe if I really was from this time and truly born as Daenerys’s sister I could have helped and protected her from the cruelty of the world.

“Go to him.” I quietly said.

“To who?”

“To Jon.”

She frowned, “but what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” I stood up, bringing her up with me and walked the two of us to the door. “It’s our final night alive,” I opened the door, “go be with him.”

She waits for what feels like minutes, but what was only a few seconds and just stares at me. Then, she wordlessly warps her arms around me, pulling me in. I sighed and embraced her back before letting her go. With a final look, she quickly walks down the hallway and back towards Jon. I sighed out once she turned the corner and turned back into the room. Quietly, I grabbed Dark Sister and fastened her across my hip and then I slipped Aegon’s Dagger, that Daenerys had let me hold onto, into its place.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Visenya’s armor glimmered red from the candlelight and fire from the hearth. I stared at myself, taking in my appearance. Eight months ago, if I were to be wearing anything remotely similar I’d look out of place, but now, it looked natural. My face, that used to have some roundness, was slimmer and had harsher shadows thanks to the environment around me. I tried to picture myself from before all of this, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t picture who I was before all of this– a University student in King’s Landing from the modern world.

I peeled away from the mirror and left the room, closing the door behind me. I mindlessly walked down the halls hoping to clear my head when I ran across someone who could give me an actual answer.

“Melisandre.”

The Red Woman stops walking, turning towards me. “Lady Vellarys.”

“We need to talk.”

Understanding, but albeit confused, she quietly leads me to her room. The door closes behind me and she stands in front of the lit fireplace.

“What do we need to talk about?”

I take in a deep breath. “Eight months ago I traveled to Dragonstone for a school project.” She frowns at my words. “I walked into the Dragonglass caves and passed out. When I woke up I was alone in the cave. I stepped out of the cave and was brought here, in the past.”

“Lady Vellarys, what are you trying to say?” She asked, sounding very skeptical of what I was saying.

“I am from the future. I’ve read– no, I’ve studied all of this. The Great War, the Long Night. I know who dies and who lives and what happens afterwards. I even know what you’re going to do tonight. You’re going to enchant the Dothraki’s swords and then you’re going to walk out into the freezing snow and take that off,” I point at her necklace, “and you’ll be your true age and wither away in the snow.”

“How do you know this?” Her body shifts to a more protective stance, shielding herself from what I was saying

“Because I’m from the future, I know what happens. And I want to know why I was brought here in the first place.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’ve looked everywhere I could. Every goddamn scroll, book, ancient text and I’ve found nothing. And now you’re my only hope before you have to leave.” I let out a shaky breath, “please, Meslisandre.”

She stares at me, taking in my wild story, that she somehow found believable. Maybe it was how adamant I sounded or my behavior towards what was taking place that she’d noticed since our first meeting. She knew there was a reason why she felt something different about me, but she was never able to put her finger on it.

“Why?” I ask. “I need to know why… please.” Melisandre looks down for a brief moment and I feel like ripping the hair out of my head. “And don’t tell me that this is all the ‘Lord of Lights’ doing. I need answers, Melisandre, and we both know only you can give them to me.”

“I can, but I don’t think they will be the answers you are looking for.”

I swallow, nervously, “I don’t care. I need to know.”

She’s silent and I start to think that she doesn’t believe me. “Very well.”

She reaches into the open chest at the foot of her bed, pulling out a knife decorated in silver and jewels, its Valyrian Steel glows in the candle light. She then reached over to me, her ice cold hands sending goosebumps up my arm, and led me to the lit fireplace.

Her grasp loosens and travels down to my hand, turning it palm side up. Her eyes find mine, determined to do what I’d asked. She’s searching for something, doubt, uncertainty, but finds nothing. I had thought that her eyes were a deep amber color, but the light from the fire shows that they’re a deep red.

“I must warn you, you may be left with more questions than answers.” Her voice is firm and lower in pitch.

“I know.” I nod, firm in my decision

She gives my hand a squeeze before she starts chanting in Valyrian under her breath. Her left hand brings up the blade and places its sharp edge horizontally against my palm. I suck in a breath as she swiftly cuts into my hand. Beads of blood start to pool out of my hand and she moves my hand to the fire, tipping it and letting the blood flow from my cut and into the fire.

The room grows hotter and I could swear that the flames get deeper. My eyes shift to Melisandre who’s staring deep into the flames in some sort of incantation. The longer she stared the more on the edge I got.

What was she seeing? Was it something bad? Good? Why is it taking so long? Am I going to die?

Her grip on my hand tightened for a moment– as if she was seeing something she couldn’t believe– before she broke out of her trance. The room got cooler, back to his regular temperature, and the flames died down to their original hues.The silence in the room was palpable. No one said a word. Mellisandre kept her hold on my hand, though more relaxed now, her eyes stayed on the burning flames. My heartbeat thumped loudly in my ears and my breathing grew shallow as I waited for my answers.

“You were brought here for a reason, a reason you already know.” She began. “The Lord chose you to help the Prince Who Was Promised.”

“I figured that.”

She pauses before speaking again, careful with her words. “I don’t know if you can go back.”

“What?” I pulled my hand away from hers, not caring about the cut and the blood dripping down. “What do you mean? You said that the Lord shows you things– Melisandre– what did you see?”

She furrows her brows, thinking back at what she was shown. “I saw you, brief moments of you in the future. I saw you marry, have children, age. Y/n, you live the rest of your life here. Not once did I see you go back or if you could go back.”

I felt my chest tighten and I stepped back, anxiety filling my veins.

“No.”

My body moved on its own, walking out of Melisandre’s room and down the halls and then outside. Tunnel vision kicked in, my eyesight narrowed and everything became muffled as if my head was underwater. The winter cold and my bleeding hand were all forgotten as my feet carried me until they couldn’t. I collapsed onto the snow covered ground, feet aching and heart thumping loudly in my ears.

I could feel its eyes on me, looking down mockingly. Leaves fell down around me, my hands fisting the snow below me. There's a pounding in my head and an ache in my palm. My vision slowly clears and my hearing returns. I could hear the wind rolling past me and its leaves rustling.

I lifted my tear rimmed eyes up and to its eyes.

“You brought me here and it’s your responsibility to bring me back.” I spat just loud enough for it to hear. “Do you enjoy it? Messing with people's lives? Using them as pawns for your own enjoyment?”

Hot tears streamed down my face and my dried bloody hand came up to wipe them away.

“Bring me back. I’m doing what you want me to do– I’m helping her– just like I’m supposed to. You have to bring me back home. You owe it to me.”

The red leaves on the Weirwood tree swayed as the cold wind picked up again. Its carved face only looked down on me, almost as if it were belittling me even further. This wasn’t how this would end, it couldn’t. I had to go home.

––

The hearth is lit, along with dozens of candelabra's, in the castle's Great Hall. The room is dim despite the amount of candles burning. The tables from before have been cleared away and pushed up to the sides against the walls and the chairs have been shoved into a corner. Two, though, are pulled out in front of the hearth, basking in its heat and warmth. Tyrion Lannister sits on the right and his elder brother, Jamie Lannister sits on the left chair. They each have a goblet of wine in their hands, casually taking sip after sip.

Out of the blue Tyrion speaks almost reminiscing, “I wish father were here.”

Jamie blinks back, surprised at what his brother had just said and if he was hearing him right. Tyrion– the man who killed their father– wants him here? Tyrion catches the confused expression on Jamie’s face and talks further to explain himself. “I would love to see the look on his face when he realizes his two sons are about to die defending Winterfell.”

Jamie takes a beat, but snorts out a chuckleand lightly swishes the wine in his goblet in circles. “That would be something to see.”

The old wooden chair creeks when Tyrion shifts to look behind him into the dark and empty hall. “I remember the first time we were here. First time I saw this all.” Jamie cranes his neck back to see what his brother was looking at.

Tyiron turned his head to Jamie, “you were a Golden Lion.” He subtly puts on a voice as he says the ‘title’ aloud. But then he shifts, “and I was a drunken whoremongerer. It was all so simple.”

Jamie glances from his lap to Tyrion, giving a quick shake of the head. “It wasn’t all so simple. I was sleeping with my sister, and you had one friend in the world.. that was sleeping with his sister.”

“I was speaking in relative terms.”

“Do you miss it?” Jamie asks.

“Of course I miss it.” Tyrion replied quickly, thinking fondly to back then– before all of this.

“Well my Golden Lion days are done, but whoremongering is still an option for you.”

Tyrion shakes his head, “it’s not.” There’s a weight towards his words and memories he doesn’t want to remember, “things would be easier if they were.”

Jamie watches his little brother raise his goblet. “The perils of self-betterment.” Tyrion says. Jamie raises his own glass and the two drink.

Behind them, the heavy doors open and then shut. The two Lannisters turn their heads to see Brienne and Podrick enter the hall. Jamie’s quick to his feet, “My Lady.”

Brienne walks closer with a hand resting on her sword and Podrick to her right. “Oh, we didn’t mean to interrupt. We were just looking for somewhere warm to–”

“To contemplate your imminent death.” Tyrion stands up from his chair, “you’ve come to the right place.” He then moves to the right where a table with extra goblets and a pitcher of wine were placed. “You want some of this piss? It’s not bad, it’s not good either.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Podrick moves towards Tyrion, but Brienne stops him.

“I don’t think that’s wise. The battle might start at any moment.” Podrick looks a bit down, as if he’d just been caught with his hands in the cookie jar, but then she speaks again. “Half cup.”

Tyrion pours a glass for Podrick, but overfills it causing it to spill onto the floor. The two glanced at one another, stifling their laughs like two students in the back of the classroom. Podrick takes the goblet and takes a hefty sip while Tyrion moves to fill his own glass. “And you?”

“No, thank you. I should try to get some sleep.” She replied.

“You really think any of us are going to sleep tonight?” Jamie asked, pulling up the extra chairs. “Join us,” he motioned towards the new seating arrangement.

“Alright,” she glanced towards Podrick, “just a bit.” She sits down on the left hand side of Jamie. Tyrion walks to her, pouring another glass, and hands it to her right when another person walks into the hall.

“Well what do we have here.”

“Ser Davos,” Tyrion calls, “join us.”

“No, not for me, thanks.” The older man briskly walked past them and towards the lit hearth. “Came here for this.” He turns around so that his back faces the fire and takes in the much needed heat after being out in the snow for so long. “Figured I could wait to die freezing my balls off out there,” Brienne backs stiffens as she feels someone approaching with their eyes on her, “or wait to die nice and warm in here.”

Tormund, who’d been right behind Ser Davos, comes up to the left side of Brienne, staring at her. He waits to speak when she looks at him. “This could be our last night in this world, you know.”

Jamie silently watches the exchange, sipping on his wine.

“Yes, well I’m glad you’re here.” Brienne replied, but quickly corrected herself. “Here– fighting with us– glad you survived Eastwatch.”

“Would you like a drink?” Tyrion asks, now standing by the tale.

Tormund raises what looks to be the end of a mammoth husk, hollowed out and full of whatever he’d been drinking. “Brought my own.” He then shifts his attention towards Jamie, who’d been silently watching, and sizes him up with his head tilted towards the side.

“They call you King-Killer.”

Jamie, who had to look up to look into Tormund's eyes, squinted his eyes. “I’m sure someone does.”

“They call me Giants-Bane. Want to know why?”

Jamie glanced at Tyrion while Tormund reached over to an empty chair and dragged it over to the smi-circle of occupied chairs. He sits down, eyes locked onto Jamie. “I killed a giant when I was ten. Then I climbed right into bed with his wife.”

Ser Davos glanced towards the Wildling, curious to see where the story would go.

“When she woke up, you know what she did?”

Jamie tilts his head, telling him to go on.Tomund leans in for added dramatic effect, “suckled me at her teat for three months, thought I was her baby. That's how I got so strong– giant’s milk.” He brings the horn up to his mouth and loudly starts to drink from it. Brienne eyebrows drew together in a surprised and disgusted expression as she watched the liquor spill out of the horn and down Tormund's chin and clothes and to the floor.

Jamie glanced at Tyrion as to say, what is this guy doing? Tyrion gives him an ‘I don’t know face’ and turns back to the Wildling. The gulping and occasional groaning was echoed by the hollowness of the horn, adding to the awkwardness of the whole ordeal.

Ser Davos peeled his eyes away from the horrid scene and moved away from the hearth, “maybe I will have that drink.”

Eventually it stops and everyone settles down into their seats. Tormund sits a little closer to the fire with Brienne to his right who has Jamie to her own right. Tyrion sits in between Podrick on his right and Ser Davos to his left, who’s sitting next to Jamie. Everyone’s cups are filled as they stare into the open flames of the hearth. There’s an oddly comfortable silence as they all sit there, sharing their final moments alive with one another. There’s an air of tension and fear in each and everyone of them, but also a sense of relief that at least they weren’t alone.

Tyrion’s first to break the silence. “It’s strange isn’t it? Almost everyone here’s fought the Starks, at one time or another. And here we are in their castle, ready to defend it. Together.”

“At least we’ll die with honor.” Brienne comments.

“I think we might live.” Tyrion replied, honestly. Davos and Podrick share a glance and then they both start laughing.

“I-I do.” Tyrion replied, quickly. “How many battles have we survived between us? Ser Davos Seaworth; Survivor of both the Blackwater and the Battle of the Bastards.”

“All without a shred of combat ability.” Ser Davos adds.

“Mm.” Tyrion turns to his brother. “Ser Jamie Lannister, fable hero of the Siege of Pyke.”

“Fabled loser of the Battle of Whispering Wood.” Jamie stands up to pour himself another cup of wine.

“Hear, hear!” Tyrion shouts. “Ser Brianne of Tarth. Defeated the Hound in-” He pauses, correcting himself. “Pardon me, Lady Brienne.”

“She’s not the Ser?” Tormund says, confused. He turned around to Brienne. “You’re not the knight?”

Brienne’s face slightly hardens and she turns to him to give a curt reply. “Women can’t be knights.”

“Why not?” He frowned.

“Tradition.” She replied.

“Fuck tradition.” Tromund stated bluntly.

She keeps her expression firm and just shakes her head, “I don’t even want to be a knight.” She catches Podrick staring at her, the both of them knowing that she’d just lied then. Throughout their journey together he could see how much she’d wanted to be a knight. She was good– very good, and so very deserving of that title.

“I’m no king. But if I were, I’d knight you ten times over.” Ser Davos smirked at the Wildling’s' wholesome declaration.

There’s a beat of silence and then Jamie looks at Brienne as if he’d just realized something important. “You don’t need a King. Any knight can make another knight.”

Jamie places his cup on the table, next to the pitch of wine. “I’ll prove it.” He unsheathed his sword and walked to the middle of the room, holding his sword out. Everyone watches carefully, and he turns to Brienne.

“Kneel, Lady Brienne.”

Brienne scoffs, not believing the one handed Lannister afterall, he’d been drinking for however long there was no way he was being serious.

“Do you want to be a knight or not? Kneel.” He asked, seriously. He doesn't sound drunk, far from it actually. He knows what he’s doing, he’s resolute in it.

She glanced back at Jamie who tells her to come over and kneel again. Everyone’s eyes are on her, eagerly waiting for her to get up. She looks over to Podrick who reassures her to go one. She doesn't move right then, she only gets up when she looks back at Jamie who gives her a reassuring nod. Slowly, she walks to the middle of the room, opposite of Jamie and kneels before him. Wordlessly, the others slowly stand to watch.

Brienne, now growing misty-eyed, stares at Jamie as he begins.

His grip on his sword– Widow’s Wail– tightens in his flesh hand. He lifts the sword and places the sword on her right shoulder. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.”

He raises the sword and places it on her left shoulder. “ In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.”

He places the sword on her right shoulder again. “In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.”

He lowers the sword to his side. Slowly, Brienne raises her head up and locks eyes with Jamie.

“Arise, Brienne of Tarth, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Terry-eyed, Brienne stands up, and the two share a small moment together before the room bursts into applause and cheers. Tormund claps his hands loudly and Tyrion raises his glass in a toast.

“Ser Brienne of Tarth! Knight of the Seven Kingdoms!”

She smiles, tears of joy in her eyes. Wordlessly, she thanks Jamie who nods, smiling at her. The applause continues on and another round of drinks are poured in celebration. Once settled down, everyone sat back down in their chairs and conversations started to flow again. Eventually, though, people get tired.

Jamie lets out a groan. “We’d better get some rest.”

“No,” Tyrion almost whines. “Let’s stay a bit longer.”

“We’re out of wine.” Davos gruffs, placing the pitcher down and sitting back down.

“How about a song?” Tyrion suggests. “You must know one.” He looks to his left, “Ser Davos?”

“You’ll pray for a quick death.”

Tyrion chuckles and turns his attention to the newly knighted Brienne. “Ser Brienne?” She shakes her head prompting Tyrion to turn to Tormund who also shakes his head with an almost animalistic growl.

Suddenly, Podrick starts singing ‘Jenny of Oldstones’.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts. The ones she had lost and the ones she had found, and the ones who had loved her the most,”

Somewhere in Winterfell's quarters Sam and Gilly lay in bed together with Little Sam between them. The two lay awake, staring at each other, sharing a brief moment before its ripped away.

“The ones who'd been gone for so very long,”

Out in the crowded courtyard, Sansa and Theon sit opposite to each other, sharing a brief moment before it all began. There’s a lit candle between them and two bowls of stew and a plate of bread. A quiet dinner with the person who’d saved them when they needed it the most.

“She couldn't remember their names. They spun her around on the damp old stones,”

In the hallways closest to the forge and smitheries, Gendry peacefully sleeps on a pile of rags with Arya laying next to him with her back turned. While he sleeps, she lays awake after the two had shared a rather intimate moment.

“Spun away all her sorrow and pain. And she never wanted to leave,”

Outside, the Unsullied start walking out of the courtyard. Missandei and Grey Worm walk together before he stops her, turns, and kisses her. It’s meaningful, both of them pouring out their love to one another, but also desperate, wanting to take as much as they could from the other person in such a brief moment. Grey Worm pulls away, and Missandei hands him his helmet. He grips it tight as he slips it over his head. Missandei pressed her forehead against Grey Worm’s helmet, savoring this last final moment. He then turns to leave and marches with the Unsullied, Missandei watching as he leaves.

Near the front gates of the castle everyone gathers for battle. Jorah rides on his horse and gazes at the horizon to only see darkness and the treeline. The Dothaki riders rode into position behind him. His hand tightens around Heartsbane, House Tarly’s ancestral sword, that was gifted to him by Sam only a few hours ago.

“Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave,”

Down at the crypts Jon and Daenerys stand together, admiring his mothers statue. Jon looks down at her, holding her close to his chest. Daenerys brings her hand to rest by his heart, but Jon grabs ahold of it. He says something to her, and she smiles slightly. She looks back at Lyanna's statue and says a few words that prompts Jon to lean down and capture her lips in a kiss.

“Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave,”

I walked out of the Godswood forest, the cut on my hand now scabbed over and the blood around it now dried. Just as I reached the gates, the horns that would signal the dead approaching were blown. I rushed over to the already designated spot to meet the others. When I had arrived Jon, Daenerys, and Tyrion were there, looking over the ramparts into the darkness.

Orders were being yelled out as soldiers quickly got their positions for the oncoming battle. Jon breathes heavily, and shifts his gaze to Daenerys. She looks equally as determined as him, ready to fight for the realm and face off the dead. She shifts her eyes to me and then wordlessly walks past us with the two of us following after her towards where the dragons were waiting for us. Tyrion watched the three of us depart and then turned his attention back to what was in front of him.

Up ahead, along the path to Winterfell an icy haze covers the ground, growing ticker even more. The mangled legs of a dead horse trot forwards. At the top the dead stallion was a White Walker, staring off to where Winterfell stood. Another White Walker mounted on a dead horse falls into line beside him, and a line of them emerge, all of them being Craster's sons and, more importantly, generals in the Night King’s army. Behind him, the Army of the Dead slowly comes forwards. It stretches far and wide, hundreds of thousands of undead wights. Slowly, but surely, they marched closer and closer to Winterfell.

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