章 2402: 37
37.
Dawn at Winterfell
Winterfell
The rising sun cast a rosy hue across the snowy landscape, a golden wake of sun dappled through the trees, creating mysterious shadows. Brienne found herself wandering around the outskirts clad in only two cottes, feeling somewhat like a stranger out of her armor.
She closed her eyes to allow herself to enjoy the fresh winter air, the scent of pine trees, and the freshly burnt wood coming out of the hearths. But when she sensed a shadow abruptly cast upon her, she blinked twice and craned her neck around to see not a cloud covering the sun in the sky but the dragons coming back home.
Brienne approached cautiously, knowing that Jon Snow and the Dragon Queen were supposed to come with them. As she ascended a hill, she watched in bewilderment as men clad all in black dismounted the back of the jade beast. So did Jon Snow, with the young queen slumped in his arms. Her crossed arms unfolded and Brienne urged herself to haste to go and help them, but then one of the men turned around, and she halted her steps with her heart upturn.
Jaime was here.
***
Turmoil broke out at dawn's first light.
Sansa's usual reserved demeanor had turned into a rush to bring aid as she and the serfs ran hastily through the corridors, with their skirts dusting off the cold floor, and their expressions pestered with dread. They tried and kept certain tranquility, otherwise, they ran the risk to add to the commotion. But as the sun rose and the inhabitants of the castle started to wake up, the news spread out like fire: the Night King and his army were coming.
Maester Wolkan commanded the young maidservants and Sansa herself stopped with bowls of hot water and medicinal herbs to tend the men rescued from Castle Black. She did not stop in her arduous task until she came upon a litter, where the yet unmistakable figure of Tyrion Lannister lay.
Oh good Gods, she muttered within herself.
"Oh, Lady wife," he noticed her, breathing in and out with a hollow whistle. "These are not the conditions I wished I'd found myself in the time we see again..."
His head was completely bandaged on one side, covering his left eye, where the gauze was stained russet red. Her gaze wandered over the side of his body that had been scorched by fire.
"Half of my body got trapped in a fire I started myself to save us from one of those white walkers. Quite the hero, am I? But do you know what happened next? The icy son of a bitch was still alive, walking through the fire, without any injuries. He came up to me and tried to seize me..." With a finger of his healthy hand, he pointed to his eye now bandaged. "My eye, they said it is dead. Frozen. They'll have to cut it out," he explained as Sansa winced. "Not only a dwarf I'll be; a one-eyed dwarf."
Sansa dragged a tumbledown stool beside him, her legs weak from the relentless effort. She hadn't had a break since their return from the Wall. From what had happened there, as always, she had been kept in the shadows.
"At least the monsters spared you your sense of humor, which is unscathed, I see. You are alive. That's what matters. Daenerys and Jon reached the Wall in time to save you."
"Yeah," he said softly, pensive, "Daenerys and Jon...and Jon on dragonback. When did that happen? How that happened?" Tyrion didn't give her time to dwell on it too long, "Daenerys...Daenerys is well?" he asked, suddenly remembering. His one healthy eye glistened with concern.
"Yes, I have been told," Sansa reassured him. She was able to obtain information only from Maester Wolkan, who confirmed that it was only a concussion. Jon became feral about it, forbidding anyone from her chambers but himself while she was unconscious.
Tyrion nodded.
In a moment of silence that passed, she looked at him with concern.
"The dead have crossed the wall," Sansa said, the gravity in her voice betraying dismay, "The North will fall..."
Tyrion started to cough, so Sansa rushed a cup of tepid water which he drank with difficulty. Once sated, he looked at her full of sorrow. There was a time when he would have tried to soothe the reality of matters for her, like in old times when he had been the only true kindness she'd met at King's Landing. But that was the past, so long ago. Both of them have undergone so much pain since then...and now it was the end of the world.
"Your brother, he's a stubborn one. He'll fight...we will fight until the end and luckily, we stand a chance now that he has met the one who could match his prowess. She's to be your good sister soon, I take."
He chuckled a bit when he noticed that she tensed.
"So you knew there was an affair going on."
"The word affair would have been too bold a label back then," he tried to brush it off.
"And never did it occurred you that alliance through marriage was a solution? I thought you a bright man."
Tyrion stretched his lips into a line.
"Sometimes a man's pride, especially if wounded, can corrupt strongly his notions of good and bad," he replied. "I became jealous of Jon's influence over my queen and wanted to put an end to it."
"His influence over her?" scoffed Sansa. "I am more inclined to believe she exerts a greater sway over his will."
"Different perceptions on the same matter. Together they are an unstoppable force, don't they?"
Sansa stared at him quietly.
"Why her?" she asked him after a moment, "How are you certain that she's the right one?"
Tyrion made an unpleasant sound as he tried to rearrange himself.
"Numerous reasons. Some, I witnessed myself. Some, are widely known. But, as our history has taught us, even the best among us are not spared from mistakes and flaws. She's been proven, Sansa. Many a time. And no matter what, you can't ignore that."
At seeing her shift uncomfortably, Tyrion caught the hint that something was still keeping her restless.
"What is it so great that troubles you about her?"
"She wants me to bend the knee," she said adamantly.
"As any monarch would," he answered. "Look, do you understand that the North cannot stand alone? That even if it does...you are not their Queen. Is that what this is about? You wanting to be Queen?"
She hesitated but then blurted out compulsively, "What if there's another person? Better than her?"
"You?"
"Jon," she quickly corrected.
Tyrion squinted his eyes at her.
"Jon, who loves her? Jon, who would tear off his own arm before laying a hand on her or committing high treason..."
Jon, who has the highest claim, Sansa thought, and to a certain extent, she thought she'd dare to say it out loud. But the words high treason resonated within her. They made her recoil inwardly.
"You need to pull yourself together. The war has just begun," Sansa said, rising and smoothing her skirt. There was still so much to do, and little time to waste. "It makes me happy to see you alive," she told him with complete sincerity, placing a hand on his healthy hand and smiling at him.
***
He was greeted at the entrance by two of the greenest lads that had ever carried the duty to guard the way into Winterfell. Jorah quickly lost them and made its way into the courtyard where he hadn't set foot in thirty years or so. Everything was changed.
A voice, young but startling, pulled him out of his stupor.
"Are ya' lost, my Lord?"
Jorah turned around to meet the source of the voice. A girl was standing a distance away, her face all the tough northerner.
He bowed in acknowledgment.
"I'm after Queen Daenerys Targaryen. First of the name. Queen of the Roynars, the Andals, and the First Men."
"Who's looking after her?"
"I'm Ser Jorah Mormont, my Lady. I'm Hand of the Queen."
She frowned harshly.
"Mormont? Son of Jeor Mormont?"
It struck Jorah to hear the name of his father in reference to him. He quivered a little but stood his ground.
"Aye," he replied.
The little girl wrinkled her nose in overt annoyance.
"You were supposed to be dead," she said, "A traitor and slaver. You brought shame upon our house."
Now Jorah understood who he was talking to. In other circumstances, it would have been a cause for amusement. But at the face of this little woman whose poise seemed stronger than her years.
"Lyanna, daughter of Maege," he ascertained.
"Causin," she responded.
Jorah was amazed at the encounter that for a moment he let go of the reason for which he rode day and night till here. Before any of the two could continue as where they left it, a tall woman approached by the side, where the outer galleries met the ground. She looked serious, and beautiful but stern as all the other northerners. The red hair gave away who she was.
***
She was lying on something very soft — so soft that she felt herself soaring. Dany squinted, shivered, and pulled herself up. Took her bearings. She looked around and realized she was in her bedchamber again, at Winterfell. The lighting creeping through the windows told her it was daylight. For a moment she wondered, had it all been just a bad dream?
As Dany thought about this, reality dawned slowly but forcefully with pangs of pain coursing through her body.
"My Queen," a maid approached her bed, her young face troubled. "Are you feeling well, your grace?"
Dany arranged herself on the pillows, looking around for assessment. One by one the images of the night before began to fall, the haze, the smoke, the fire, the ice...Jon.
Where was Jon?
The creaking sound of the door opening in the antechamber made the maid whip her head around.
***
The guards Jon left stationed at the entrance to the Dragon Queen's chamber hesitated, glancing at each other before stepping aside. Sansa continued on with Ser Jorah Mormont following behind. No sooner had they set foot inside than one of the maids at the Queen's service appeared to protest her presence. According to her, Jon had strictly forbidden entry to anyone other than himself.
Meantime in the bedchamber, Dany tried to catch snatches of conversation but heard only muffled voices. Before she knew it, a familiar sight crossed the threshold, accompanied by the maid, who seemed quite distraught.
***
His body was exhausted and aching but he could think of nothing else but seeing his brother well. Jon was not surprised to find Bran in a state of complete self-absorption and calm, betraying nothing of the days of desperate waiting for him to return to himself. Still, he couldn't help but feel relieved and happy at the sight of him, sitting in his wheelchair, close to the warmth of the fireplace.
Jon knelt in front of him, placing a kiss on his brow. Bran gave him the faintest of smiles.
"What happened to you?" Jon asked him upfront, his voice gruff and barely dragged out of fatigue and exhaustion.
"He trapped me," Bran replied, "The Night King."
Jon stood up with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was so much anger inside him that the burden of it all made his knees tremble. Staring at the stone wall he began to remember the terrible night, watching Daenerys fall as though lifeless to the ground, again and again.
"He's born out of the same magic that courses through me, Jon. We are connected," Bran finally unveiled. He was being careful with his words, trying to take Jon to the path that would lead him to the truth of it all.
"Daenerys wanted to face him. She almost dies..." Jon told him, trailing off painfully at the words.
Seeing her fall unconscious brought forth a strength within him that could only compare to the bubbling rage he felt at seeing Rickon maimed by the Boltons' arrows. It was not his own strength that answered for him, but that of Rhaegal, venturing forth to attack the Night King.
Nevertheless, the walkers crossed the burning field Dany had created, besieging them with spears poised for attack. Jon took Daenerys in his arms and carried her away as quickly as he could, knowing that any conscience left of her would have done the same to protect her children.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it happen. But I thought she needed to see—"
"What do you mean?" Jon cut him off with a sharp stare.
"It was me, The Raven that attacked the Night King," Bran explained.
Jon suddenly remembered it. Of course, it was him, the black bird.
"There's something you need to know," Bran took up, his words carefully arranged, "You are confused right now, I know, but the sooner you find out, the better it will be for you. For all of us."
Jon frowned deeply.
"What is it now?"
But the doors burst open with the rushing entrance of the maid who was in charge of Dany's care.
"I'm sorry, my King, m'Lord," she said, speaking hurriedly, "The Queen has awakened and her Lord Hand has arrived. Lady Sansa has permitted him to see her."
Jon's hands curled into fists unconsciously.
At that moment he wanted to take his anger out on the young woman but he held back and looked at Bran as if undetermined in his course of action. He wanted to stay and listen to whatever he had to tell him, but he was pressed to see that Dany, as well as to make sure that it was truly Jorah Mormont by her side, and not someone who posed a danger.
He cursed Sansa's name gods knew how many times.
Seeing him in his distressed state, Bran reassured him with a nod.
"You can go," he said, "What I need to tell you, is best if she's with us when I tell you."
Jon agreed but remained uneasy. As much as he saw Bran in apparent calm since he had become a seer all he had to reveal had been a burden to his conscious. Jon only hoped that this time it would not be an life changing truth and instead something that would give them a chance against the Night King.
***
"You shall keep resting for your sake, your Grace," Sansa warned shortly, with that ever-present patronizing edge. Daenerys was too engrossed in putting on a robe that didn't give much importance.
Sansa heaved a sigh and glanced at Jorah before turning around, leaving them both alone. Although Daenerys had her back turned on him, Jorah could guess her stern expression.
"If I have fallen out of your grace again, I ask you at least now not to take me away from your side again," he said, not pleadingly but bluntly. Jorah sensed more than he did see. What happened with Missandei, that was not the Daenerys he knew. Neither were the risks and dangers she was so gratuitously throwing herself into.
"Why?" She asked him, turning around, "Why disobey your Queen's orders and abandon your post? Was not being the Queen's Hand the greatest honor bestowed upon you?"
Jorah stepped forward.
"The Gods have bestowed upon me a far greater duty and I mean to serve it with my dying breath, if necessary," he stated.
"Jorah, I needed you there," she insisted.
"Then, let's go back, Khaleesi. The dragons and you. You shall return to the people who trust you and respects you. The people that need you."
She shook her head adamantly.
"That's not the advice you would have given me at King's Landing."
"And you are not the same person anymore, Daenerys..." he allowed himself to be honest. "Lady Sansa, she told me everything about your plight here."
She got stiff.
"She should keep her tongue tucked in."
Daenerys paced the room, aimlessly, feeling a slight headache taking over but everything was clearer now. She had failed to bring down the Night King before he could invade Westeros. She had failed, and now Jorah's untimely arrival only added to that sense of defeat. Here and now, her loyal protector and friend drew his last breaths, into her arms.
"Have you reunited with your cousin?" she questioned him.
"I did."
"Have thought about claiming Bear Island as yours?"
Jorah squinted his eyes at her.
"You know I don't wish that."
Of course, she knew that. She was bloody well acquainted with Jorah's true desire.
If it wasn't what he truly wanted, Dany knew he would have more than settle with a life of service. The problem with that was that she was no longer willing to take their sacrifices for her selfish desires. The Iron Throne be damned.
"Jorah," she walked toward him with intent, raising a hand to hold his arm, "Can you fathom how lost I'll be without your guidance? If anything were to happen to you, my heart would feel your loss in the rawest and cruelest way."
Though his heart rejoiced in such a statement, Jorah sensed the fear her voice conveyed. There, he saw clearer than water that Daenerys was hiding something from him that kept her distant and insincere. This could be the reason for her strange behavior and the reason why she sent Missandei away.
"Khaleesi," Jorah softly whispered, holding her hands between his, "Death has always been a companion on our journey together. But we had a goal worth fighting for. Have you forgotten what take us this far?"
"Yes, but now it has taken a face and come to our door and I fear that—" she tried to argue despairingly until someone stormed into her chamber.
Jon Snow strode forth right into them.
He stopped abruptly, looking first between them and then at their joined hands.
"Your Grace, you should be resting," he said, his voice containing a reproach. "You should be resting," he repeated almost unconsciously.
Dany sighed wearily.
"I am well rested, your Grace," she returned. "My Hand has come to bring news. We shall have a reunion as soon as possible."
Jon frowned deeply, a torrent of emotions and unspeakable words crossing his mind. It did bother him enough that Sansa disavowed him. But that he couldn't be the first to be here when she woke up stung at him too profoundly. They both needed to acknowledge what had happened. Now she was revived in her unexplainable and reckless resolution to put herself in danger.
He could only assume Ser Jorah, the exiled and disgraced son of his Lord Commander, was there to provide her with further reasons to act on that line.
"My brother needs to see us. Both of us," Jon told her, upfront.
***
Jaime was struggling with bandaging his one hand in the manner the healer instructed so that the wound from the ice burn would not rot, holding some of the linen with his mouth for lack of another hand. It was then that he felt someone's gaze on him. He looked up and found the same perplexed, almost horrified face of Brienne of Tarth.
Jaime abandoned the task at hand for a moment.
"It's been a time," he said, avoiding her eyes. The stables offered a refuge from the cutting glances the Northerners threw at him. He never thought Brienne would find him there but should've known better.
"I thought you long dead," Brienne stated harshly, commenting on the fact itself and not on her impression.
Jaime laughed softly. Women are seldom given the chance to be as bold and direct as men. Brienne shat on womanly manners.
"Weeds are unlikely killed by a little frost," Jaime responded finally lifting his eyes. He shrugged his shoulders and acted unaffected, continuing the futile task of fending for himself.
A grimace of frustration on his face and Brienne rushed to his aid, gaining a hiss of disapproval from him.
The warmth of her hands, which were still the hands of a soldier, somehow brought a calmness to him that he had not felt since...since when really? he asked himself. His own wretchedness became real and repulsive to him. So much so that he wanted to push Brienne away from him, so that she would not have to endure it. No amount of service would give Jaime back everything he lost.
Suddenly, he felt a strange, warm wetness on his face. Without realizing it, tears had welled up in his eyes and fallen mercilessly and shamefully uncalled. His shoulders shook violently and it became unstoppable now.
His limp form bent forward as if bent in two by unbearable pain, his face falling into Brienne's shoulder. While Jaime thought this was as low as a man could go, Brienne, who first stood stiffly, threw her arms around him and, without saying a word, let him cry.
***
She left Jorah behind, unrest in his expression well too telling. As they marched away to Bran's chambers, Jon took a quick look at her and could see also the unhappiness that filled his questioning eyes.
She sensed immediately there was a shift uncomfortably creeping in. Unconsciously, her hand reached up to touch the Night King's marks on her neck.
You are not the same person anymore, Daenerys...
A weight settled in her heart; If Jorah could only know what Daenerys truly was, perhaps all that love and admiration would dissipate. She even considered revealing the truth to Jorah but what purpose would serve that but only deepen that sense of servitude he believed to owe her? Dany couldn't admit it yet but she was afraid too, afraid of what would be of them once she opened that possibility.
She remembered that Brandon had warned her about the abrupt changes in the course of time. If she wanted Jorah safe and alive she must act wisely and not be swayed by her feelings.
They reached Bran's chamber door and Dany tensed with apprehension. What could he want with her? she wondered. The warning against the Night King was already futile. Any other revelation that he might want to share with Jon or the other Starks would have been done so already. So she couldn't know what to expect.
The moment they entered, her eyes locked on Brandon's knowing gaze.
"You come from facing the Night King. You failed," Bran pointed out matter-of-factly, not exactly unkind. "You have seen now that he's coming with a different intent."
Jon looked between them; Bran was addressing her.
"What has changed?" Daenerys stepped forward.
"What do you know about the Night King, Bran?" Jon interrupted them. "What is that you saw that could help us to defeat him?"
"Defeat him? He's already defeated. That's what he knows now," Bran said cynically.
Daenerys shivered as a chill traveled down her spine. So that was it. The Night King knew it all as well.
"What does that mean?" Jon asked furiously.
A moment of silence. Bran looked with a slight grin at Dany. That's how she knew that he was looking beyond her.
"This needn't be dragged on," Daenerys mustered the courage to admit. "Your brother knows that before you had come to me with you wight and your message, I had long known about the dead," Dany declared.
Jon's expression turned grimly.
"And now that Night King knows too. He knows who you are, Daenerys," Bran — Brandon said almost too contentedly.
"And who are you exactly?" Jon turned around to make that dreary question. Dany softly breathed out. Her heart pounded heavily.
"A dreamer," Bran answered before she could manage it. Both Jon and her stared at him bewildered. "Targaryens can see the future in dreams. It's the magic running through their blood. Is it not, Daenerys?"
She was shaking now, uneasy with the uncertainty of his words. Her breathing became ragged, her eyes veering nervously to Jon.
"Yes," Dany admitted.
From feeling the whole world come crashing down with Daenerys' body collapsing at the Night King's feet to this new intransigence on her part, Jon began to lose the grip of his patience and his reason.
Advancing toward her with his gaze fixed and dark, he asked her one last time:
"Daenerys, what are you talking about?"
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