Chapitre 1404: 37
Davos
"Right lads," Davos called out as he tightened his grip on the rope with the other men and boys with him, "altogether on three! One! Two! Three!" Twenty men pulled all at once to hoist up the large piece of the trebuchet. The crane was holding together well after the repairs they had to make when it broke trying to build the last trebuchet.
The bones and muscles under Davos' skin ached but he refused to let his strength wither at a time like this. He wasn't going to be just another of the old men too frail to put in some hard labor.
"Keep going!" One of the men standing atop a scaffold shouted as he and three others reached out and grabbed the arm. "Now lower slowly!"
Easier said than done. The weight was already pulling them forward and the grass underneath their feet decided to be wet and slippery.
The scaffold teams maneuvered the arm into position and then quickly jammed the axle into place, locking the trebuchet together. "Let go!"
The rope team released their hold and held still for a few seconds, all of them waiting to see if their creation held together. Designing and building such weaponry without the use of large forges and good steel was damn near impossible. But this should be just as good as any that would be on a castle's wall.
The moment of truth had passed and all cheered at the success. They had finished the last of the twenty trebuchets. Not many against the dead should that army come marching, but it was going to give them all the extra time if they did.
A collective of cheers went around, men raised their fists up in victory. Davos let out a breath of exhaust and leaned over. His back was aching now and the headache was starting to follow. The building was done, now came the testing and seeing which of the trebuchet truly held together.
But the celebrations went still when a horn was blown in the far distance. Everyone looked out to the mountain pass and could see a group of figures coming through. The following silence gave relief, it was the scouting party.
King Auric stood with his men, speaking to them in their foreign language and gesturing the effectiveness and range of the trebuchets with his arms.
"A bit late for notes, ain't it?" Davos said flatly to him.
A misunderstood look came Davos' way from the King. "I am explaining to my men the purpose of these weapons. Our people do use such as we have no castles to siege against in my homeland."
Davos shrugged as he looked at their work. "Neither do we anymore, but load a barrel of pitch and set it alight, I'd say about twenty wights will burn on impact alone."
"That is the other thing," Auric continued, walking close to Davos and towering over him but not purposefully or demeaningly. "In my home, we do not believe in weapons like these on the battlefield. There is no honor or strength earned. If you seek to take the life of another, you owe it to that man to face him so that you may see the life in his eyes when you take it."
"There is merit, I won't deny. So it's a good thing our enemies are already dead."
King Auric let out a deep laugh and patted Davos on the shoulder which felt more like getting swatted with an oar. "I would have liked to know you in our younger days, Onion Knight.
Work continued on the trebuchet for another hour before they finally were ready to test fire. Targets had been set up in the morning, waiting for the men hard at work to try and destroy them.
"Loose!" The order was given by Reach Knight, and a heavy stone was hurled far into the distance, overshooting the target by a good twenty yards. "Too far and bring in from the left!"
Davos sighed as he imagined the night if the dead ever found them. Millions of corpses sweeping up the hills, all that would be seen is a sea of death unimaginable. It made him wish he still had his knuckle bones. Everyone knew they needed all the luck they could get these days.
A commotion took his attention away from the trebuchets and over to the camps where the supply wagons had just been received. Grunting under his breath, Davos marched as fast as he could to the mess being made.
"Fuck off!" A man shouted as a circle formed around him to avoid being cut by the wild swinging of his sword. "I'm not giving this up. It's mine, damn you all!"
"It's not allowed!" One of the soldiers hissed at him with a sword drawn. "You wasted time and space for something we don't need!"
Davos finally pushed his way forward and saw one of the scouts was backed up against the wagon, sword in hand pointing frantically at everyone giving him eyes. But clutched in his free arm was something Davos didn't expect.
"You found a lute?" Davos asked. Pleasures and commodities were considered contraband now, a waste of time and resources that they could not spare even to the last minute. Looking at the desperate men waving blades at each other, Davos sighed. It was a draconian rule, one very fair in regards to things like wine, prostitution, and other frivolities but this?
"Aye, found it in the ruins of Castle Black." Trembling, clearly exhausted, the sword slipped from the scout's fingers, thudding in the grass. "Gods, I'm tired…" he murmured as he fell to his knees and hugged the lute.
Immediately, the three men that had brandished weapons at the poor lad charged at him, one taking the sword away and the other two beginning to seize the scout.
"Stop!"
All three halted and peered at Davos. "Ser?"
"Do not lay a hand on the lad," he barked, voice leaving no room for disagreement.
"He broke the rules. No expectations, that's what Jon Snow said."
"That was before he went on his journey and left us in charge. So back off the man for fuck's sake!" He didn't want to yell, but the application of familiar discipline caused the men to jump back. All edgy, hands trembling about their swords. Gods, they were all so on edge. Working to calm himself, Davos approached the shaking scout. Kneeling down. "You know how to play?"
The scout shivered a nod. "Aye."
"That's why you took the lute, lad?"
Shaking, the scout sniffled a bit. "I want to hear music again. I can't take how quiet the world has become!" tears began streaking from his eyes. "I don't want to die like this. Not without something beautiful again."
Davos nodded back to him. "With all that's been goin' on, perhaps we haven't taken appreciation of what we're fightin' for." He looked at the other men, their desperate anger changing to weariness and all of them running on quarter bellies at this point. "You'll pull double duty for this," he addressed the poor lad. "But you go on and play someone a song." The scout's face brightened when he asked. "But don't shirk your duties, understood?"
"Understood, Ser." The scout sniffed and wiped his tears before quietly plucking each of the strings, listening to see if it was in tune, but even just that was enough that several people around had gasped and sighed out.
In truth, Davos wanted to hear some music just as much as this man before him did. The world was just about dying, and all that was left was becoming all who were gathered together at the Great Weirwood, a last breath. It would be a much happier end if that breath was a voice in song instead of a scream.
But no music was heard, for the noise that broke through the air before the scout could strum at the lute was of a child awakening from a nightmare.
Sansa
Years ago, in the crypts of Winterfell, Sansa had hidden from the corpses of her ancestors and listened to the terrible noises made through the killings of the women and children with them. And now, a noise so similar had come from Pebble, a furious scream that made Sansa shiver into the corner, too afraid to say or do anything.
The Child was angry at first, then miserable. She had broken into tears and curled her knees to her head on the opposite side of the cave. Through her whimpers were muddled whispers, perhaps a prayer or just talking to herself.
Soon after, many people came from the caverns, some with weapons drawn and others filled with fright.
"What happened?" Gendry demanded with his hammer raised. He locked eyes with Sansa but she could only shake her head and shrug. She hadn't the words.
Kinvara pushed through forward and knelt down to Pebble. "What is it?" She leaned her head down and listened to the mutters. Her eyes suddenly widened and her jaw clenched. "Sansa, Arya, Davos, and Tyrion may remain. The rest of you must leave."
"Horseshit!" Gendry hissed. "No secrets, that's the rule."
"Not this time," Kinvara shook her head. "If you were to ever believe anything I asked of you, let it be now. Or else let the people reap from their anger and sorrow what truth will sow."
Gendry glared and nodded sardonically. "We're fucked then, I suppose." He stormed off back into the tunnels with his men behind him while others reluctantly followed.
"That's enough to cause a stir." Tyrion commented.
"We'll see," Arya said, keeping her hand on Needle's hilt as she walked in and took a seat next to Jon's body. "What is it then?"
"The Night King has made his move," Pebble said coldly.
"Which one?" Arya asked, "ours or Jon's?"
Pebble only pointed over to Jon.
For the briefest of moments, Sansa felt the gentle wave of relief.Unlike here, Jon had resources. He had options and strategies. He had the entire Seven Kingdoms at his back with twice the force with true warriors at the ready for war.
But the relief changed to worry. They had much of the same in their own world, and Sansa was one of the few to live long enough to see it all fall apart. Regardless of Jon's experience, there was always the certainty that even with the odds in their favor it could all end in disaster. "What happened?" She finally croaked, dreading the answer.
Pebble took a deep breath to steady herself. "The Dark One gave power unto Euron Greyjoy and hid him from the Raven all this time until now." All winced, long since seen as their collective failure in their own time. "Daenerys Targaryen is under his magic and two of her dragons are his…" The words sank in like an anchor being dropped on their chests, but Pebble's empty gaze into the distance and her next words are what made tears streak from the eyes of some. "We have lost."
The first emotion she felt was a positive one. Sansa wished to be glad. Even after that incredible moment she had with her new past, the bitterness she held for Daenerys lingered too strong. Daenerys Targaryen was properly the enemy of Westeros, and now there was reason plain as day to get rid of her again in case she would turn mad as she had…
But then the moment had passed and the reality and truth of their situation befell upon her. Daenerys Targaryen with her dragons against Westeros. King's Landing burned just by Drogon's fire in a day. How long for the entire country? Would the Wall have anything to protect this time when the Night King came?
The memory and weight of Jon's words crashed down into her chest.
"How would we have survived without her? How could we have stood up against an unstoppable force without her?"
They couldn't have. They would have all been wiped out long before their current plight. First Winterfell, then the North, then all of Westeros. Everything that happened four years ago would have been much sooner if Daenerys had not given them everything she had to protect Westeros and the North.
Few here allowed themselves to think on that inconvenient truth until their own mistakes came crashing down upon them. At least the dead ones didn't have to endure such pain anymore. They were dead, their souls long since gone to whatever afterlife was due them. Sansa considered her own fate far worse, forced to live with the consequences of her own failure.
Now she couldn't even defend her actions in her own mind. He was right.
And now in the one field of battle that mattered, Daenerys Targaryen was a hostage of Euron Greyjoy. If he could, he would be able to turn her armies to his side and sweep Westeros in a mighty strike, plundering everything he could like no pirate in the history of the world could have dreamed of doing.
This was it then, Pebble was right.
They were all fucked.
"Isn't there anything that can be done?" She finally asked.
Kinvara looked at Pebble before looking at Sansa. "Not from us. We are only the observers and the protectors at this point. It befalls onto all those in our second now. Daenerys Stormborn is the other part of the prophecy. Without her, all is lost."
Clearing his throat, Tyrion eased himself to his stubby legs. "You said two of the dragons? Where is the third?"
Pebble shifted her gaze to him. "Rhaegal escaped. He flies to Jon Snow now."
Arya's expression perked up. "Then all is not lost! Jon still can bring everything right…"
"Two against one, Arya," Sansa breathed, hanging her head. "How can he…"
"The Night King was able to stand firm against Jon and Daenerys in the Battle of Winterfell outnumbered the same, and we're dealing with some Ironborn pirate and Daenerys Targaryen. I'd give the edge to Jon on this one."
"No," said Pebble. "The dark magic Euron has is the Night King's, it has bound both Daenerys and her two dragons to him."
Pebble was silent, while Kinvara sighed. "I cannot give the answers any of you seek except that the scales are at a tipping point. A single grain of wheat can collapse the balance."
Even as they continued to talk and argue, Sansa began to ignore the discussion. Merely slipping from her place until she was right at Jon's side. Reaching out to hold his hand covered by the pulsing moss. Conspicuous enough to draw all attention to her. "Sansa?" she heard Arya ask.
Sansa didn't look back even as she addressed the others, eyes focused on Jon. The man she loved, and would never be able to tell her feelings to. In this she envied her younger self, who might still have a chance to speak her feelings. "This argument is pointless. All is in the hands of Jon now, whether he can defeat Euron."
"I'm not sure if he can do it," Pebble said, clearly the most pessimistic of the lot of them.
Considering the fate of the Children of the Forest, Sansa didn't blame her. "Do we not believe that he's the only one who can? That we trust him to give it his all?" No response.
In this they were all united. Jon was their only hope, and they knew that if it could be done, he would do it.
Tyrion
He didn't want to breathe. His lungs heaved enough of the ice-cold air that felt as if his throat was pricked by a hundred knives, but Tyrion felt as if he still couldn't catch his breath.
Only that the walls of the cave felt like they were closing in on him. Echoing with the same shrieks of the damned when he and Sansa and Lady Missandei were trapped with the dead in the crypts. Filled with the same fire he used to destroy Stannis' fleet. But there was no heat.
Only cold.
Leaving Sansa and Arya to stand vigil over their brother, what optimism their discussion had engendered faded as he left their King's resting chamber. A lifetime of pain and suffering - from birth - hadn't made him the most optimistic of men, and faced alone with his thoughts brought back the feeling of impending doom that followed Tyrion like a shadow.
Ambling through the darkness, not for the first time cursing his appearance and affliction, Tyrion finally made it to the entrance of the cave. An overhang of earth shaded him from the sun, but it remained bright and open enough to allow his battered mind refuge from the feeling of entombment. He simply collapsed on his arse, wrapping his hands around himself and just sitting there. The same thoughts returning and echoing over and over again in his mind.
It was over. It was all over.
Tyrion didn't hear the pattering boots in the grass until it was right next to him. Till the ruffle of furs brought that person sitting beside him. "Mind some company?"
It was Podrick. His voice was tired, without the impish innocence he always carried even into knighthood and countless battles against men and monsters. Tyrion found he missed it. "No one's stopping you," he managed to murmur, breathing starting to even out.
They were quiet for what seemed to be the longest time, watching the snowflakes fall outside. "Are things that bad, Lord Tyrion?" he heard his former squire finally ask, being ever deferential and formal even if Tyrion was long proven not to deserve it. "It isn't often that you are speechless."
Tyrion wasn't in the mood to acknowledge it. "You knew me as I was before… turned out the gods had been holding back in their beating down of me." He almost raised his hand to drink from his goblet, stopping himself when he realized he wasn't holding one. Old habits die hard.
Keeping his voice, he relayed the devastating news that had been just learned and just ordered to be kept secret. What was the point now? "We are doomed without her."
Podrick was the epitome of knightly values. While he wasn't aggressive to the point of savagery like many, he was always ready to pick up arms and leap into the fray when honor demanded it. But with a far cry from his optimistic personality, there was a resignation about him that dwarfed anything he had seen before. "It looks that way."
There was no chivalrous bravery left in him anymore. No words of valor to inspire others. As was Tyrion, after he killed Shae and then his own father. "Ironic." He smacked his dry lips, whetting them as best as he could. "We forgot about Euron Greyjoy in our past. At least this time it wasn't because we were careless."
"What do you think Jon Snow will do now?"
Tyrion shook his head. "What's the point in trying to guess? The odds are too stacked against him this time and my mind has dulled too much over the years to try anymore."
"You used to tell me that books were the whetstone for the mind. Books are just people's stories and learnings. Maybe you should go around and talk to others. Or maybe you should tell your story to others."
Tyrion finally managed something of a smile. "Since when did you become a philosopher?"
"We've all become wise, I suppose. Too little, too late." Podrick hung his head, only to gaze at Tyrion with curious eyes. Eyes wrinkled long past the chronological youth. They had all aged. "There's something I've always wanted to know, but didn't bother to ask till now."
Tyrion shrugged. "I'm an open book now. No secrets left, no reason for holding it in."
He nodded. "Euron's presence was noted during that last war council, after we supposedly defeated the Night King. I was foolishly glad that the Dragon Queen lost her dragon." It was still hard to fathom. Jon Snow being Aegon Targaryen, the Hidden King.
"I should've caught it… I was her damn Hand." Hand to three monarchs. He saved one of the worst Kings of history, failed his duty for his family who hated him, and didn't notice as the final one transformed into the Night King. "The Greatest Hand indeed."
"You were a great Hand, Lord Tyrion." Podrick insisted. "It was best when you were yourself, the witty man of Casterly Rock who could convince cutthroats to be his most loyal followers, who made whores laugh and happy that he came to see them, someone who didn't let his need to prove himself get in the way."
Tyrion looked at him. This was the first time that Podrick gave him cold honesty.
"The day your father took his station back, that's all you did, everything you could to show that you deserved your name and his respect. You didn't need it to be great, my lord. We didn't need the Imp of Casterly Rock, we needed Tyrion Lannister. Maybe we still do."
An urge to laugh almost overtook Tyrion. For what possible reason could that be true? No one needed him, especially not now… did they?
"I still have quite a bit of wine left. Do you want to open a bottle?"
Podrick smirked. "I have warriors to train. Maybe tonight." He stood up and took two steps but then paused, looking back. "But don't let that stop you."
The way Podrick said his words was choice, trying to say something more, and Tyrion heard it, smiling back and finally understanding when he got up and made for his hidden stash.
Under the rock that hid the treasures of drunkards, the wine was chilled, and that was what Tyrion was glad for. He only had four full bottles and the last of his mead. He tucked each away in a bag and didn't bother covering the hole. It's duty was fulfilled to the last day.
Sounds of music filled his ears. That… was different alright. Music was not a common sound here, and the last time he heard it was… so long ago. Before the second fateful battle. Now that had been a truly grim time. Tyrion ambled towards it.
It turned out to be a group of men and women gathered around a fire. One had a lute in his hand, playing the strings in sad tones without singing himself. Was it a song without singing, or just leading up to it? A question Tyrion would have to wait to find out, for the small group noticed him. "Ah, it's The Broken's half-man. Come to fuck the dogs before you fuck our peace?" It came off bitingly, with quite a lot of resentment.
Tyrion didn't wince. Such hate for him was why he didn't associate outside of the little highborn circle, but at this point it didn't matter. It always started with the insults before the laughter they could all join together. "I just want to listen to something comforting."
The minstrel glared at him, but sighed. "Right, this one's been taught to me by the Wildlin's a long time ago. Wouldn't've thought I'd love one of their compositions." He strummed at the strings, a slow and melodic tune Tyrion recognized immediately.
In the twilight's glow, where the shadows play,
A story unfolds, where hearts betray,
We're the forgotten souls, lost in the fray,
But we rise up strong, in the dark we'll stay.
Oh, we're the lowborn, we're the broken,
In the night, we'll find our token,
Through the storms, we'll stand unshaken,
In the depths, our strength will awaken.
Fly high, like stars in the night,
We'll take flight, embrace the light,
In the darkness, we'll unite,
Lowborn hearts burning bright.
With scars unseen, we soldier on,
In the realm of dreams, where we belong,
Through the tears and screams, we'll carry on,
With a whispered hope, our love is strong.
Oh, we're the lowborn, we're the broken,
In the night, we'll find our token,
Through the storms, we'll stand unshaken,
In the depths, our strength will awaken.
Fly high, like stars in the night,
We'll take flight, embrace the light,
In the darkness, we'll unite,
Lowborn hearts burning bright.
Fly high, like stars in the night,
We'll take flight, embrace the light,
In the darkness, we'll unite,
Lowborn hearts burning bright.
In the end, we'll stand as one,
The lowborn rise, a new day's sun,
Our journey's long, but we've just begun,
Lowborn hearts, forever young.
The minstrel looked puzzled. He was searching his mind for the rest of the song but could not remember it. Luckily for him, Tyrion did. He sang and it halted the minstrel in his tune.
Through the trials we face, we'll defy,
In this world of grace, we'll touch the sky,
With every tear that falls, we'll never die,
In the echoes of our hearts, we'll reach so high.
Almost as though the minstrel's fingers were acting on their own, he picked up the song in the chords of the lute and joined Tyrion's voice.
Fly high, like stars in the night,
We'll take flight, embrace the light,
In the darkness, we'll unite,
Lowborn hearts burning bright.
In the end, we'll stand as one,
The lowborn rise, a new day's sun,
Our journey's long, but we've just begun,
Lowborn hearts, forever young.
A low round of applause went around and the minstrel set the lute at his side. "How in the cold hells do you know that song?"
Tyrion smirked amusingly at him, at all of them. Because he was the one who wrote it of course. After all his failures, it was the best he could do to apologize however he could. "The answer's obvious, isn't it? I am the Imp of Casterly Rock, the Hand who spends more time in taverns and whores than his own office."
A few chuckles came around.
"Now I must declare to you," he said as he pulled his bag forward, "If you even think of playing the Rains of Castamere, I shall dump out every drop and have you gelded by the Wildings who burn balls for luck," he said as he pointed over to one of the larger men gathered. He took out his wine bottles and many around gasped when they realized what it was.
"Is that it?" Someone asked when Tyrion presented the five bottles.
"Unless someone's willing to run south for more. I heard that the Last Hearth brewed the best beer in the North. Although if you have another bottle I can take a piss in it. Dwarf Urine has magical properties, didn't you know?"
"That's the cocks!" Someone else argued. "Grind them into power and you get as big as a mule." The man's crass churned some laughter from his friends.
Tyrion took one of the bottles and held it up. "There's maybe enough for just a drink each, and for bringing some life to us all, first drink to our savior." He tossed it over it the musician who caught it quickly. He looked at Tyrion questionably before smirking and uncorking it. He honored the amount and only took a sip of it, and it was enough for him to cheer out for the flavor before passing it along.
"Right!" The lute player stood up. "This one's for the White Walkers, so that they can go fuck themselves in the Ice! Get it? Arse, Ice?" Many groans stirred around before people laughed at how bad the joke was. "Beneath the moon's pale glow, the darkness loomed," he continued his song and just about everyone joined in singing with him, all except Tyrion.
The last Lannister watched as moments ago, every single person around was ready to give up if someone asked them to have now become a people happy to be alive despite all the terrible things in their world.
He finally remembered that this was his gift. Not ruling, or being Hand or Master of Coin. It was making people happy.
Before the next song started, Tyrion looked up to the evening sky and how clear it was. There was no sign of winter or foul force at all, only the echoes of people happy to be alive… and what looked like a flock of ravens in the sky. He blinked his eyes, finding the wine already playing tricks on him. He almost thought he saw the faint glowings of the dead in the eyes of the ravens, but it was just the stars beginning to appear.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone