章 45: 44-Breath of Frost, Hammer of Gold
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the Harry Potter and A Song of Ice and Fire universes. All recognisable characters, plots, and settings are the exclusive property of Joanne K. Rowling and George R.R. Martin, respectively. I make no claim to ownership.
Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Void Uzumaki. I also want to thank my beta reader Bub3loka, for helping me bounce ideas around.
If you're feeling generous and want to support me, you can find me on P*T*E*N under the same name for up to read three chapters ahead of discord.
Author's Note: This has been my longest chapter to date (6700 words) and even exceeded my limit of 6k words. Without further ado, enjoy!
*
Shireen Stark
The cold air burned her throat with every breath she took, and the icy wind dug into the uncovered parts of her face like daggers. Not only did it get even colder, but the snowfall had increased drastically over the last two days. Shireen could scarcely see more than a few dozen yards through the thick white veil of falling snow. The sun had not been seen for nearly ten days now, and the only reason they could differentiate day and night was that night was a period of nearly utter darkness. While the days themselves were dim.
She steered Stormstrider as he spewed a torrent of purple fire, melting a small strip of ice below. It was slow to melt, unlike the wights, who quickly burned out like an oiled torch. Even Stormstrider seemed to dislike this fierce winter storm and tired more quickly than usual. Due to the poor visibility, she even had to stick close to the shore lest she got lost. It wouldn't do to be forced to land on the ice and sink into the freezing water while her drake was tired or to get lost around the frozen shore and be surrounded by wights when Stormstrider was too worn out to fly.
Shireen had no idea if her incursions over the Bay were of any effect, but she did hope they would be.
The moment she felt her drake slow down, she wheeled Stormstrider to return. It was time for him to rest and for her to get back to her relatively warm bed near the hearth.
*
Arianne Martell
Arianne, Tyene, and Nymeria were trying to keep even expressions but failing miserably. A sombre conversation took place after Jon Stark's departure, and now they stared at the dragon head mounted on the wall with trepidation. They were far from the only ones; some Northerners and even the Lannister delegation were crowding the section where the draconic trophies were placed. Most of the people around them were chattering excitedly, but Arianne did not feel like uttering a word as she gazed at the dragon's head.
At first, for a short moment, she had thought this to be some kind of sham, a mummer's farce, but the thing in front of her looked undeniably real.
Its maw was easily large enough to bite off at least half the body of a woman grown, and its teeth were as big and as sharp as a well-made dagger. The crimson horns and crest contrasted devilishly with the pitch-black scales and made for an eerie and terrifying sight. Its expression was forever frozen in a savage grimace of pain and fury, just like the other dragon. The cut was impossibly clean, and scales and spikes were seamlessly severed with unnatural precision in what appeared to be a single slash. Before coming here, neither she nor any of her cousins had even seen a dragon, just heard distant tales about them. Even when it was confirmed that Daenerys truly had brought the fire-breathing creatures of myth and legend back into the world, it felt like a distant thing, happening far, far away. But here, in Winterfell, everything had become terrifyingly real.
The red drake, whose name she had learned to be Bloodfyre, looked small and harmless enough at the distance, mayhaps due to the fact that it was almost always sleeping. The enormous dark-blue monstrosity was anything but. She still remembered its terrifying dark eyes that chilled her blood with just a glance. The wicked spikes that generously covered almost every inch of its spine and its barbed and bony tail that looked like it could smash a person into meat paste.
It made her feel small, incredibly small, and incredibly powerless. She was to be the next ruler of Dorne and could command thousands of men with nary a word, yet that meant nothing. Nothing in the face of absolute power like a dragon. And even without the dragon, Jon Stark radiated danger. She remembered that his cold, merciless eyes glanced in her direction and made her blood freeze. It did not escape her notice that the Northern king had no trouble lifting something that made four burly men struggle to carry. In her seven and twenty years, Arianne thought she had met all kinds of men possible; cruel, dangerous, craven, brave; she had seen it all and had no fear. As an Heiress of Dorne, she had nothing to fear from any of them. Arianne felt incredibly foolish now, as even the most terrifying of them seemed tame in comparison to this Dragonlord.
Arianne had seen enough; she turned around and headed back to her quarters in the Guest Hall, followed by Tyene and Nymeria. She pulled up her fur-lined hood to ward off some of the bone-chilling air outside, but she still couldn't help but shiver, despite preparing herself.
They quickly trudged through the snowy courtyard, not paying any attention to the silver-haired heads impaled on two long spears that stood like watchful sentinels a few yards in front of the Great Hall's entrance. She just hoped her great-uncle Manfrey was not harmed in the process. He had always been kind to her.
A small sigh of relief slipped out of her mouth as soon as she and her cousins entered her chambers. Arianne threw her cloak on the hanger and crumpled on the bed tiredly. She had not done anything, yet her whole body felt sluggish for some reason.
"It seems that Rella is still stuck with her dusty books in that library tower," Nym said lightly as she huddled right next to the burning hearth next to her sister and tossed a large log in the flames.
"Or maybe she's stuck with that rugged captain of the guards," Tyenne replied half-heartedly as she brought her palms closer to the flames to warm them up. "I wonder if she'd be willing to share?"
Despite their outwardly cheerful words, Arianne could tell that the earlier events still heavily weighted on their mind.
"She never was one for sharing," her elder cousin chuckled weakly before turning to look at her. "What has you so quiet, Arianne? Got your sights set on the Northern Dragonlord?"
For a short moment, she imagined herself in bed with the man.
"He's more than comely and definitely very dangerous," Tyene added thoughtfully as she tapped her red lip with her index finger while throwing her a wink. "Your favourite type."
Her cousin was right; he most definitely was her type. The idea of bedding such a ruthless and vicious dragonrider did get her very excited. But she quickly shoved all those feelings down.
"Jon Stark is a tad too dangerous for me, I think," she replied slowly with a poorly hidden grimace as she sat up. "And, the rumours of his wife being a dragonrider are probably… true. If the Northern king is half as honourable as his father, attempting to seduce him would only incite the ire of not one but two Dragonlords."
"Ah, but he was a bastard, just like us. Eddard Stark did not necessarily keep to the trout's bed; otherwise, he would not have been born," Nym observed.
"Nobody living actually knows when he was born, though," Arianne countered. "For all we know, he could have easily been conceived before Eddard Stark's marriage. But it matters little; as much as I'd love to entertain that particular fantasy of mine, the risk is too high."
"Arianne is right, Ty," her eldest cousin agreed after a few moments of silent contemplation. "I heard an interesting rumour from a gaggle of maids in the kitchen yesterday. The Lannister chit, no, not Myrcella. That Ceranna girl with the delegation from Casterly Rock tried to seduce the King, yet he paid her no heed at all. And her beauty is no lesser than ours."
"What would a Westerlander prude know about seduction," Tyene snorted. "The girl has probably never lain with a man before."
There was not a single doubt in her mind that if Jon Stark wanted to, Arianne's and her cousin's heads would join the decoration of the facade of the Great Hall with no hesitation. Being the Princess of Dorne would not make him stay his hand. After all, the man had slaughtered the last two Targaryens and their dragons for a simple threat. When House Bolton was defeated, even their men-at-arms were not spared. Jon Stark had personally executed two hundred men in public. The first House to defy him, the Ryswells, were ruthlessly attainted. The one that dared to speak back to the King got slaughtered in a trial by combat by his own hand, and the rest of the House was attainted, all men and boys sent to the Wall, and women and daughters to the Silent Sisters in White Harbour.
Jon Stark was too ruthless! Being a Dornish Princess would not stay his hand for more than a moment.
Mayhaps she shouldn't have come here at all. As the heir of Dorne, she made for a fine hostage against her father.
"I think we should return to Sunspear," she hesitantly stated while grimacing inwardly.
"I don't think that's possible anymore," Nym said gloomily, and she felt her blood freeze. "No, not for the reason you think. You haven't been outside of Winterfell, but I have. Here inside, the guardsmen clear the snow and stack it in piles, but outside, there's nobody to clear it up. The snows are as high as I am, and all the roads are buried underneath. Unless you're willing to risk a journey on those infernal contraptions called bear-paws, there's no way south."
"You mean we're stuck in this cold hell?" Tyene looked peeved. "What about that river nearby?"
"You mean the White Knife? I heard it's frozen and buried under a significant amount of snow too."
"Nym, why didn't you say anything about this before?!" It took all of Arianne's composure not to scream in frustration.
"I thought you knew?" Her eldest cousin innocently shrugged her shoulders, and the dornish princess groaned tiredly. "You certainly did see the snow falling without any abandon for a sennight. Did you think it would just disappear?"
"Do you have any idea when the roads would be fit for travel?" She found herself asking, despite dreading the answer.
"Unless there's a warm month or two to melt some of the snow, probably spring..."
Which could be years from now...they had no way to leave unless they could fly. Arianne rubbed her brow tiredly.
Gods, what if her father, who was quickly wasting away, died while she was stuck here?
Dread welled up inside her, and her insides twisted into painful knots. They might not have always seen eye to eye, but the last time she had seen him, she threw ugly accusations at him in the heat of the moment. Did Arianne want the last memory of her father to be throwing an angry tantrum over a now dead person?
No, she did not! She regretted saying those things greatly. And what if the Dornish Lords and Ladies thought her dead and crowned her brother instead? She could send a raven, true, but there was no guarantee that it would even manage to travel the more than two thousand miles to Sunspear in this harsh weather.
She had only two options. To somehow try and sneak around all the guards and bond with the red drake. Something that was quite implausible and filled with far too many risks and peril for her taste. Even if she somehow succeeded in avoiding all the guards and avoided getting savaged brutally by the dragon, unlike her brother Quentyn, she would still have to deal with a wroth Jon Stark who has just ended two dragonriders singlehandedly, and Arianne most definitely was not going to provoke him.
Or, she could ask the Northern King for a ride. At least to White Harbour, if not all the way to Dorne. The problem was that he had no reason to accept.
*
Jaime Lannister, Casterly Rock
Casterly Rock quickly approached in the distance as he spurred his new steed Duty. He had ridden hard with little rest since that fateful day in the Golden Tooth. Tyrion was left behind to be escorted to Casterly Rock by two hundred redcloaks, but Jaime could simply not afford to waste a single precious second. A raven had been sent ahead of him, detailing some of the events he had witnessed, but Jaime doubted anyone would truly believe it.
He himself felt ridiculous while he penned the letter and would not have believed a single word he had written had he not seen things play out with his eyes. That's why he had gotten all the other men that had witnessed the second field of fire also to sign their names on that letter. He inwardly wondered what was so… urgent to force a monster of the calibre of Jon Stark to hurry back home? Maybe the dragonlord was just putting on a strong front and bluffing shamelessly, but Jaime would rather not take the risk.
The given deadline of fifty days seemed plenty, but the weather was becoming more and more vicious, and he had seen plenty of snowfall and blizzards in the last five days. The ride to Casterly Rock should have taken around three days with his spare horses, yet he was only arriving on the evening of the fifth day. Jaime could only imagine how much worse the weather was in the North, where it snowed even in the summer. The roads to the Rock were either a slop of cold mud or covered with knee-deep snow. Honour had died from exhaustion, and Glory was barely alive when he finally reached Sarsfield. He had gotten three good horses from House Sarsfield and named them Duty, Valour, and Justice and continued riding back home after only three hours of sleep and a quick meal.
It seemed like ages had passed since he had left King's Landing. He had been conflicted about his sister back then, but as time passed as he led the campaign in the Riverlands, Jaime had forced himself to stop thinking about Cersei. Only anger burned within him when he realised that he had been masterfully played for a fool by his own sister all these years. Now, Jon Stark's words had rekindled those unpleasant thoughts and memories. Simply ignoring his twin for the rest of his life would no longer be an option. Not when she had become the ruling lady of the Westerlands and the regent of Tommen.
He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his brow tiredly before sighing. Jaime had no plan, not that his plans ever went well.
The Lion's Mouth was finally approaching. After a short climb of the great stone stairway, he was finally face to face with the closed gate.
"Lord Commander Jaime Lannister," one of the Redcloaks greeted as the gate and portcullis were being opened with a mighty groan. A pleasant surprise; he had not visited Casterly Rock in quite some time, yet the men-at-arms recognised him instantly. "The small council has been expecting you."
Jaime handed his horses to the stableboy nearby and turned to the knight. "Lead the way, Ser…?"
"Ser Timmos of Abrington," the man introduced himself as they entered one of the hallways and guided him towards one of the large meeting chambers.
Usually, he would have asked to take a bath and wash away the stench of horse and travel before presenting himself, yet he found himself caring little about any of that right now. He briefly wondered why the council members were the ones to demand his presence and not his sister, but his mind simply blanked out. As a Regent, his sister could definitely sit on the council. Seven hells, he had no idea who the other members of Tommen's council were beyond Daven being Hand and Lord Ellard Crane becoming the Master of Laws.
After ten minutes of climbing stairs and crossing hallways, the red cloak finally stopped at a thick oaken door guarded by a sombre red cloak. With a nod, the man-at-arms let him in.
In the middle of the large chamber stood a long table made of dark varnished wood. At its head sat Tommen, who, instead of being his usual meek and scared self, was now sitting straight and looking with not a small degree of confidence. A golden kitten of unnaturally large size was curled on his lap. Not even a yard behind him stood two large men clad in white close to the size of the Hound. He was quick to recognise them-Sers Lyle Crakehall and Tytan Brax. At least they were leagues better than what Robert had picked for his kingsguard, so that was a relief.
Cersei was not here. And it seems that his qualms about the Small Council were in vain, seeing there were only two members aside from the king.
He ceremonially knelt before Tommen, affirming his allegiance.
"Rise, uncle, and come sit with us. After all, the Lord Commander is a member of the small council, " his son's voice cracked slightly at the end.
Gods, Tommen had begun growing and would soon become a man!
"Shouldn't the Queen Regent be here on the council?" Jaime asked carefully after taking a seat.
"I have dismissed my Lady Mother from the position of Regent," Tommen replied simply, and Jaime couldn't help but gape like a fish at his son. "She had stopped attending the meetings beforehand either way. It seemed that my mother had managed to have misplaced nearly eight million golden dragons somehow and break the laws of hospitality with a Northern envoy who turned out to be a dragonrider."
Jaime felt numb at the news. There was a small spark of hope inside of him that Jon Stark had lied, but alas, he seemed to have inherited his father's honest bluntness. For good or for bad, he seemed to lack even a shred of Ned Stark's mercy.
"Lord Commander, we received your letter earlier, but you must understand that it was rather hard to believe…" Lord Crane seemed to have trouble finishing his sentence. "Even with the signatures of Addam Marbrand and half a hundred knights of renown, it seems like a tall tale."
"I wouldn't believe it if I had not seen it with my own two eyes instead. That's why I had everyone single highborn that was there with me sign the letter," Jaime swallowed heavily and started recalling what happened at the second Field of Fire. He did not know how long he was speaking for, but at the end, his throat had gone dry. "And we have forty-five days to return the second half of Ice to Winterfell and to acknowledge the sovereignty of the North publicly."
Daven, Tommen, and Lord Crane had listened to his tale with trepidation without interrupting even once, and Jaime could see the wariness in their eyes now.
"At least that would mean that the Targaryen threat is over," the Master of Laws sighed tiredly as he rubbed his stubbed chin. "But they are now replaced with a far more vicious and dangerous dragonlord. Ser Jaime, do you think this Northern King would try to conquer the Seven Kingdoms as Aegon did? There is nothing to stop him now, after all."
Relief flooded him as he saw that they were taking his words seriously.
"From what I saw, I don't think Jon Stark cares about anything south of the Neck," Jaime stated hesitantly. "I think the only reason he bothered going to the Golden Tooth was to slaughter House Targaryen after they threatened him in his home."
At that moment, the golden kitten in Tommen's lap woke up and stretched adorably. The feline agilely climbed on the table, and Jaime could finally take a good look at his son's new pet. As it was yawning, Jaime realised why it seemed familiar, much to his distraught. The only young cat with this kind of size and colouring was the lion. It was harmless enough as a kitten, but there was a good reason why adult lions were kept in a cage in the bowels of Casterly Rock.
The small lion probably escaped from there anyway. He knew it would be prudent to inform the others and place the pet back in the cages. But could he bring himself to ruin Tommen's innocent smile as he petted the cat's neck and made it mewl in satisfaction? He shook his head; this could wait for now. It would be a while before the cat grew up.
"Princess Myrcella is in Winterfell, and we have no way of even taking the Neck regardless of the size of our army, even if the North did not have a dragonlord," Daven summarised with a sigh and broke Jaime out of his thoughts. "The North is already independent in all but name."
Tommen's brow was scrunched up in thought as he scratched the cat's neck.
"We will return Widow's Wail to House Stark," his son finally declared, and relief flooded Jaime. "Ser Balon Swann shall bring it to Winterfell with an escort of two dozen men. It was theirs anyway, and I do not want anything to happen to my sister. Lord Crane, pen letters to all the Lords Paramount acknowledging the North's sovereignty henceforth; I will sign them all personally."
"It shall be done, Your Grace. But what is to stop the other kingdoms from declaring independence and rebelling?" Lord Crane asked cautiously.
"We'll deal with the new problems as they come," Tommen answered simply with a shrug and picked up his cat, no, his lion.
Jaime realised that his son was right not to worry. It was not like there would be much fighting until the harsh winter ended. But one thing still worried him.
"Can this Ser Balon be trusted with such an important task?" Jaime couldn't help but ask.
The man was from the Stormlands, and Jon Stark's wife was supposedly a Baratheon. Why not send some of the faithful kingsguard from the Westerlands, like the Strongboar or Tytan Brax?
"Yes, Lord Commander," his son nodded. "The knight hunted down Darkstar, the man who tried to kill my sister but scarred her through the deserts of Dorne and brought me his head. I have complete faith in Ser Balon that he would accomplish this task just as admirably. If there is nothing else, the meeting is dismissed."
The kingslayer couldn't help but feel a small amount of satisfaction at the news. It seemed that Tommen's kingsguard was shaping to have the potential to rival the one of the Mad King. The only thing that was left was for the Lord Commander to be worthy of the title. Jaime looked at his left hand critically. He had a lot of sweat, blood, and tears to shed in order to regain his skills from scratch. But he would do it, no matter what.
Jaime shook his head, looked around, and realised that everyone else had left the chamber while he was lost in thought. He stood up in a hurry and rushed out of the room as well.
Thankfully, It took him only a few moments to reach Daven in the hallway.
"Do you have a few moments to talk?" Jaime asked quietly.
"Sure, Jaime, follow me."
His cousin quickly led him into an empty storage room nearby. Every part of his body ached from pushing himself to travel the last five days with little rest, so he decided to get straight to the point.
"Do you know where Cersei is right now?"
His cousin sighed heavily and rubbed his thick yellow beard, and looked at him sadly.
"Yes, Jaime. I probably shouldn't tell you, but she is your sister, after all. Cersei is confined to her quarters by Tommen's orders," Daven explained with a grimace.
"Thank you, cousin!"
"Jaime," Daven's voice stopped him just as he was about to leave the storage room. "Please don't do anything foolish. And she might not be as you remembered her."
With the ominous warning, he headed towards his sister's quarters. Devan's words rang in his head, but Jaime couldn't help but wonder if he ever knew his sister at all and was only seeing her true face recently.
There were two red cloaks posted at the door to her chambers. It didn't take much effort to make them let him in for a visit, probably because he was her brother.
As soon as he entered, he saw an unpleasant sight. Most of the chamber was tidy, but a large portion of it was in complete squalor. Clothes were scattered chaotically, and even cutlery and food were littered all over the floor. In the middle of all that, Cersei was sprawled on a large tapered sofa and drinking a cup of what was probably wine.
He couldn't help but do a double take; she had grown plumper. Her body was no longer lithe but rounded in all the wrong places. Even her breasts were sagging, and her flawless pale skin had reddened. But it was not the beautiful rosy colour of a fair maiden but the angry red splotches of a drunkard. Empty chalices and wine casks adorned the table nearby.
Cersei… had grown ugly.
"Jaime!" she finally noticed him and, with some effort, stood up and rushed towards him. Or, at least, attempted to do so but failed because she slipped on a half-torn gown that was thrown on the floor.
He winced as she crashed on the floor with a loud thud but hastily helped her up.
"Jaime, you must help me!" she cried out as she hugged him for a moment. She suddenly recoiled. "You stink!"
Her scrunched-up, reddened face made her look like an ugly hag, and Jaime wondered what he had seen in her before.
"Five days on the road do that to you. I just arrived and came to see you first thing," he found himself lying.
Her grimace turned into half a smile, and she grabbed his good hand and clumsily led him to the balcony.
He thought many times about what he would do when he saw her again. A dozen scenarios had played out in his mind, but now that he was faced with Cersei in person, his mind had gone blank.
As they were out on the balcony, his sister grabbed his belt and began to undo it. He quickly grabbed her hand, unwilling to test whether he could resist her touch or not.
"Cersei, this can wait. Tell me, how did you end up confined in your own quarters?"
Anger flashed in her emerald eyes.
"Those traitorous bastards! They managed to set my own son against me!" His sister all but screeched, making his head pulse with pain. "Jaime, you must speak with Tommen and help me get rid of all the traitors!"
Why was he not surprised that every single word out of her mouth was a lie or an attempt to manipulate him?
"What about that Northern envoy?" He found himself asking.
"That brute attacked me and tried to force himself on me!" Cersei wailed pitifully and was about to cling to him but scrunched up her nose and kept her distance. "But once I regain my position as regent, I will deal with him too. As long as you're on my side, nothing can stop us, Jaime! Not the Northern barbarian, not the damned Roses, nor the foolish Dragons!"
His heart froze at that moment. Once his sister set her mind on something, it would never change, no matter what. He had no doubts that sooner or later, she'd manage to escape this confinement or maybe get Tommen's ear. And she wanted to provoke the calamity in human form that was Jon Stark?! Did she want to kill them all?!
The memory of the raging purple inferno was imprinted in his mind forever. He closed his eyes and saw tens of thousands of lives snuffed out in a few heartbeats. A pair of cold amethyst eyes were looking at him mercilessly with the promise of doom.
"Jaime?" her hopeful voice brought him out of his musing, and he looked at Cersei.
He really looked at his sister. A vapid shell of her former self, angry at everyone and everything. Or mayhaps she had always been a shell, but a pretty one. At that moment, he vaguely became aware that every single problem in his life could be traced to one source. His sister.
Fury, unbridled fury, began to rise within him. How long until Cersei managed to fuck things up enough to kill them all?
He had long ago abandoned any notion of decency. Could he do it? Why was he hesitating after all the vile deeds he committed and all the oaths he had broken?
"Jaime, what ar-" her sentence was interrupted as he found his hands around her throat. He did not even remember reaching to grab her…
Cersei attempted to scream for help, and since his golden hand could not truly squeeze, she would have succeeded. Just as she opened her mouth, he found himself smashing his right hand on her temple like a hammer, and she grew limp and fell on the tiled floor.
His heart was pounding like a drum as he looked at Cersei's prone form. He warily placed a finger under her nose and, much to his relief and terror, realised that she was still breathing. He had only knocked her out, not killed her.
Jaime froze as his mind blanked once again, unsure what to do. Leaving her here was not an option, and he had already attacked his sister. But could he kill her? Could he become a kinslayer just like his brother? He wiped the sweat trickling down his brow as he hesitated.
But… why was he even hesitating? He attacked her already and was an oathbreaker many times over; kinslaying would just be another notch on the belt.
He clumsily hauled his sister's body up, smashed her head on the rocky surface outside for good measure, and tossed her over the railing towards the rocky waters of the Sunset Sea. Jaime morbidly watched as she hit a few of the rock protrusions on her way down before being swallowed by the churning waters.
He gulped heavily at the realisation that he had just killed his sister and fell on the floor as the last vestiges of his strength left him. All of his limbs were weighted as if they were made of lead. Jaime wanted to remain here forever. He felt bone-deep exhaustion. Or maybe, maybe, he could throw himself into the waters below and end it now.
Yet he couldn't muster the strength to get up.
A few moments later, Jaime furiously shook his head and banished the thought. Tommen needed him. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard gritted his teeth and, with enormous effort, forced his legs to listen to him as he slowly managed to get back on his feet by grasping a nearby tapered chair and dragging himself upwards.
"Guards, guards!" he croaked out with whatever little strength his voice had. "My sister fell into the sea!"
*
Shireen Stark
"YOUR GRACE!"
She groggily opened her tired eyes, only to see the worried face of Jorelle Mormont. Couldn't they let her sleep more than a handful of hours for once? The last few days had been more than tiring. Shireen became aware that something warm but sharp poked her cheek. She grabbed it and brought it in front of her eyes, only to see the howling direwolf necklace Jon had gifted her and couldn't help but smile fondly.
"What's happening?" Shireen asked sleepily as her hand absentmindedly tucked the golden pendant back under her clothing.
"The dead are coming through the Bay of Ice!"
The vestiges of her drowsiness disappeared immediately, and she swore inwardly.
"Help me," the Queen said slowly as she got out of her furs and stretched her arms. The cold air made her shiver despite her thick nightgown. She hid a wince as her sore legs groaned in protest when she stood up. Spending all of her time on dragonback had turned out to be painful for her untrained limbs. Jorelle quickly brought her woollen riding gown, arming doublet, and brigandine. "How long was I asleep?"
"Four hours, Your Grace," answered the Mormont maiden as she helped her into her armour.
It was not enough rest for her and her dragon, but it would have to do for now.
Three days had passed since she had begun her attempts to melt down parts of the freezing Bay of Ice. Poor visibility, heavy snow, and the ever-increasing cold made her feel that her effort was futile. And maybe it was.
Still, it looked like she had managed to delay the inevitable by a day or two. But it didn't matter anymore. Only a few hundred metres of makeshift walls were built to the west. The shore was far too long to fully defend with a simple wall. Even if they closed themselves off in a walled fort, the dead would simply swarm around them and spill into the Gift. Shireen had received a few tactical lessons personally from her father, and from what she understood, the situation was… not good at all. By the grim faces of the lords and chieftains in the last meeting, they had reached a similar conclusion. The moment when the wights could cross through the frozen Bay was the moment the battle would be irrevocably lost unless the snow stopped falling all of a sudden or a miracle happened.
Shireen could set some on fire and melt part of the ice now, but the weather was against them. Eventually, after an hour or two, Stormstrider would tire. The Bay of Ice was by no means small, and while she could patrol the closer parts where the Milkwater flowed into the sea, the rest was too wide, expansive, and difficult to navigate through the thick veil of falling snow.
Jorelle finished helping her get into her armour and handed her a heavy woollen tunic and the fur-lined cloak. Shireen clasped her belt above the tunic and secured her bronze dagger on it. With so many layers of clothing, she felt as clumsy as a bear. She snorted inwardly, shook her head, and left the tent.
The freezing air outside lashed fiercely against the bare parts of her face and hands. It felt even colder than before. She quickly pulled up her fur hood and hid her fingers inside her sleeves, but even the layers of wool, linen, and fur scarcely warded the cold off anymore. Lord Umber, looking completely unbothered by the frigid air, was waiting for her outside the tent, his cloak completely covered by a layer of white, courtesy of the still unending snowfall. Thankfully it looked like it had slowed down quite a bit, at least compared to before. Jyanna, Morna, and the spearwives followed her closely like a retinue. No, she realised that they had, in fact, become her retinue. A few dozen men were furiously shovelling all the newly fallen snow on large piles, white puffs of breath visible everywhere, while everyone else was scrambling chaotically.
She looked around, but couldn't see Ghost anywhere. Though, unless he wanted to be seen, he was impossible to spot in the snow anyway. The direwolf was surely lurking somewhere nearby.
"Your Grace," the Lord of Last Hearth's voice was grim, and his face filled with an odd yet peaceful acceptance. "Wull is organising the defence of our Southern flank. We have yet to build a palisade there. Mallister commands the northern wall, and Lord Commander Tollett and Maege the western side. It was an honour knowing you, and I am glad His Grace chose you for his Queen. If the battle cannot be won, you must flee south!"
Shireen stood there dazzled for a moment while he bowed his head deeply and strode southward through the snow steadily. A cold realisation struck her. Greatjon was knowingly going to the thick of the fighting, still wounded, fully expecting to die.
It was only logical to have her retreat as a Queen. Not only that, but she was a dragonrider and was supposed to be more valuable than all of them.
A sharp pain in her palm made her realise that she had angrily balled her fists so hard that her nails were drawing blood.
To run away and leave all those brave men and women to die a gruesome death? When they willingly went to fight, knowing that the chance of victory was slim to none?! The Mountain Clansmen, the Free Folk tribes, the Northern Lords, and the Night's Watchmen all had been kind and loyal to her.
At that moment, wetness appeared in her eyes. She furiously wiped her face with her sleeve and gritted her teeth.
She was no carven! If Westwatch fell today, Shireen Stark would fall with it. She would either win this or die trying!
Shireen couldn't help but furiously curse the gods for turning even the weather against them. And the damned power-hungry Targaryens who forced her husband to go south when he was needed the most. In the distance, something rumbled, and Stormstirder rose from one of the nearby large mounds of snow before spewing a purple streak of fire in the sky angrily. Thankfully, he was not all the way to the Wall. She forcefully calmed herself down and walked to the purple drake, who quickly settled down as she neared. Shireen rubbed his snout lovingly while Jyanna rigidly secured Stormstrider's saddle with the steel chains. It seemed that even she was struggling with this cold.
Once the job was done, she quickly donned her leather gloves, climbed up, and turned to her sworn shields.
"Join the Lady Mormont in defence of the western wall," Shireen ordered grimly before nudging the dragon to the skies.
The bone-chilling wind sliced into her face painfully, but she did her best to ignore it and looked around.
For the first time in a while, the veil of falling snow was thinned considerably, and she was greeted by the sight of a sea of corpses slowly shambling over the ice towards their fortifications as far as her eye could see. At the north-western part of the wall, the wights had already begun assaulting their defences. In the southwest, the tide of corpses was approaching the undefended parts of the shoreline. The shore was covered by only a thin, newly fallen layer of snow and ice, as the army had used it as a pathway towards the nearby forest. And for fishing before the thick ice had gripped the waters of the Bay. A perfect place to make a big difference. Shireen wheeled the purple drake in that direction.
"Dracarys!" The Northern Queen cried out as soon as they were right above the approaching army of the dead.
Just as a stream of purplish flame shot out, she heard an increasingly stronger whistling sound. Stormstrider seemed to be annoyed at the noise and shuffled in agitation.
At that moment, she saw a flash of ice, and the clinking sound of steel breaking followed. The drake stopped spewing fire and roared in pain while the saddle shook dangerously.
Unbeknownst to Shireen Stark, Stormstrider's uneasy movement had saved him. The icy spear that would have impaled her dragon's skull had only slid over the side of his neck and severed the chains that were holding her saddle securely.
The purple dragon, bleeding slightly from the neck, frantically wheeled towards the shore in an attempt to fly away from the danger. Nearly a mile away, the Night King raised another spear, aimed, and hurled it with inhuman strength.
As Stormstrider was flying eastwards in panic, the now unbound saddle finally slipped from his back, and Shireen Stark found herself falling rapidly towards the rocky shore from nearly a hundred feet in the air. Her dragon, unnerved by the loss of his rider, tried to turn around and dive. The action saved him once again as an icy projectile tore through the membrane of his left wing instead of his torso. Unable to stay airborne, he crashed down towards a few hills further south.
The rocky shore seemed to speed towards Shireen, and she didn't even have time to cry out.
クリエイターの想い 
Gladiusx
Gladiusx Arianne is not dumb when she uses her head. But now she's faced with a dilemma and realised that coming North might have been a grave mistake.
Jaime is a sad sob.
Balon Swann hunts the D*ckstar offscreen. I wanted to write a segment specifically for him, but it turned out far too small and did not fit anywhere.
The number of kinslayers in House Lannister rises by one as Cersei meets an ignoble end at the hands of her Valonqar.
The weather has been getting colder and more merciless at Westwatch. The bay of ice finally freezes thickly enough for a whole army to pass.
The Night King finally shows his face in the worst way possible for the defenders.
Will Shireen survive the fall or die after a painful crash on the rocky shore?
I update a chapter every Sunday! You can find me on my discord(dgj93pNeAD), where a chapter is posted two weeks in advance.
I'd love to hear your thoughts and ideas in the comments below!
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