9

Chapter 9: Chapter 8Notes:

Loads of OG content in this one!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Tyrion (Future)

Looking both left and right cautiously, Tyrion focused every bit of his attention to see if anyone was watching him. If someone found where he had kept it hidden, he would be ruined and sentenced to be nothing but a dancing fool for the children. Seven Hells, he might even get killed for hiding this and in these times it was better to have a killer than a man with secrets.

He moved the rock out of place and found his treasures perfectly untouched where he left them last. He smiled and picked out the black cherry wine. There was very little left. Might as well finish it tonight. He put the rock back and covered the rest of his wine and ale, keeping his stash a continued secret.

He hid the wine under his cloak and proceeded to walk back to finish the last of his rest before he had to rejoin the men in fashioning dragonglass to the inner defenses.

Despite the joy of having his wine, he hated the constant gazes of the hundreds of faces of the weirwood tree. No matter where he went, where anyone went, the eyes were always watching. But better just a hundred or two instead of the entire thousand.

The Great Weirwood tree loomed just as tall as the Wall once did before its melt after the Long Night. Even with the vast magic shielding all the survivors from the Night King's sight, he hated these trees. Always watching without ever blinking. Always judging. But then again it wasn't just the tree's faces that judged him when he walked by. Many of the people held him to blame for the world's predicament with such little hope left and he didn't disagree.

He came back in sight of some of the young boys and Wildlings going through drills with Ser Erek Egan. The former Captain of the Bloody Gate wasn't as fun to be around as Bronn was, but he was enjoyable enough. Whenever the man tried to say something witty or clever it was easy to turn things around on him and let everyone laugh at his expense. Tyrion wasn't without mercy for the man though. Ser Erek was one of the few men to ever share in Tyrion's stash of wine, only now Ser Erek believed that it was all gone and Tyrion hoped it stayed that way.

Ser Erek finished demonstrating a set of moves with a spear to his students and they repeated it but not as fine as their teacher. They needed more unity and discipline, not to mention a few extra stones of muscle wouldn't hurt.

"Every afternoon you go over that hill to brood and every time you come back you have this little skip in your step. You got a brothel back there or something?" Ser Erek asked.

"You know the rules as well as I, good Ser, that not a wonderful thing as that exists anymore. It's driven me mad so I fuck the very earth itself and find her to be such a firm fit over yonder."

Many of the Wildlings laughed while some of the boys looked at him like everyone always did his entire life. Like a damn Imp. Their looks wouldn't bring his spirits down, he couldn't let them. And everyone needed to be kept high for the inevitable storm once it came.

He quickly forgot about all that when the favorite part of his walk came up. Over the small hill turned into an overlook of the entire valley. Everyone and everything was in sight. He needed an extra pair of hands to count all the trenches and barricades each. All of it to protect their last hope when the Night King comes. Had these defenses been in place at Winterfell the first time, who knows, maybe the dead never could have reached the walls. If only they had a fraction of what they actually had when the dead came from the south. Twice the force but not prepared. Very little dragonglass and no defense that could have withstood half a million wights. Were it not for Jon and Drogon giving them the window they needed to escape to the Fist, they would all be dead.

The Fist. Such a natural fortress paled in comparison to the lands around the Great Weirwood. To their south was a range of Mountains acting as a natural wall that can be treacherous to all without a guide. And then came the rise in the lands, keeping all attackers downhill in the open for volleys of arrows. Underneath the Weirwood through one of the many caverns was a dragonglass mine with enough to arm everyone ten times over. But given their numbers, there was going to be far too much that went unused.

No matter how green the land was, no matter how many good things happened in the day, no one in all of their numbers could find it to keep a smile at the end of the day. They all knew that it was only a matter of time, they knew that if one mistake was made it could mean absolute death.

He found the main entrance to the tunnel system. No one bothered standing guard because it would just be a waste of time. He passed some men preparing a new trap to project dragonglass and continued deeper. Where it was cold outside it was as warm as Winterfell here. The moss and the roots trapped the heat so well.

He made it to the center of the tunnel system and came upon the regular sight. Pebble was crushing moss in a mortar with a pestle for elixir while Kinvara was performing a religious ritual that always ended with a kiss of fire. Sansa was asleep on her cloak with her fur mantle as her pillow. She took the night shift as caretaker and had much deserved rest.

In the center of the chamber was their last hope. Jon Snow lay under a blanket of moss and gray roots as he had been for the past few months. Tyrion understood little of this entire concept of time travel but then again no one could because it hadn't been done enough to understand it. But shouldn't the basic principle have been that once Jon traveled then things should have immediately changed? Why did events in the past run at the same pace as the present? Nonsense but Tyrion didn't bother to try and understand because if Jon succeeds then everything would change without anyone remembering anything and if he fails then they would all die and no one would be left alive to care about such deep understandings.

Tyrion revealed his black cherry wine and uncorked it just as Kinvara leaned down and kissed Jon, filling his mouth with the Lord of Light's flames. The blessings of the Lord of Light and the Old Gods were kind enough to help sustain Jon's body so this journey could happen. But they all had their cost. The once beautiful women Kinvara had aged for these blessings. After mere months her age had progressed ten years than how she first appeared. Her crimson hair nearly streaked with silver, wrinkles and spots populated her skin.

With her kiss done, Kinvara breathed deeply and sat up. "What brand is it today, Lord Lannister?"

"The last of the black cherry." He took the first sip and savored the taste for as long as it stayed on his tongue before handing the bottle off to the priestess. "How is he doing?"

Pebble looked up from her work with those yellow eyes that fazed everything they looked at. "Riverrun is free of the Freys once again."

"Good." Tyrion received the bottle back from Kinvara. There was only enough wine left for one last sip. He offered the bottle to Pebble but she shook her head and resumed making the tea for Jon. "Any change in the rest of the world yet?" He took the last drink and tried to etch the memory of the flavor in his mind. The last bottle of Black Cherry Wine within reach of the world, gone.

"Not that we have seen," Kinvara told him, "aside from what we planned and predicted. The changes have not rippled across the world enough yet. It is only a matter of time."

Tyrion set the bottle down. "If our plans go accordingly. I feel we've been using our luck too much and will be out when we need it most." When Daenerys comes to Westeros.

"Luck is just a word for coincidence that benefits," Pebble ranted, "or an excuse when it's out of favor."

"Yes," Tyrion said, "thank you for that clarification." He sat back against the moss on the walls and looked at Jon Snow as he rested. He aged terribly. The white hairs were rampant, a few more years and he'd finally have better resemblance to his father's line rather than his mother's. "Do you ever think about what you would have done, you in the moss and roots with your mind in the past instead?"

"Once or twice," Kinvara replied, "Nothing as intricate as we planned. I would have rallied our forces to join in the coming fight."

"Why didn't you?" Tyrion asked. "It was you lot who kept telling us of the coming darkness after all. And when it came, only one priestess was there with us."

"In Volantis we came to the decision to stay in Essos because we saw ourselves as a second chance for the world had Westeros fallen. Looking back I think it was our way of convincing ourselves it was alright to hide away while others faced the monsters that scared us."

It was hard to believe those that preached the loudest of the terrors in the night were the ones who were most afraid of it when it came, but at the same time it made perfect sense. "No one wants to face the monsters once they know they're real. Even Jon Snow considered leaving where the dead couldn't follow."

Kinvara chuckled dryly. "Most take comfort in the divine… except for those that think they know better."

He looked up. "I take it you are referring to me above all, my lady." To be honest, Tyrion didn't begrudge her for it. However, even with things as they were, he wasn't praying to the flames every morning and evening. "My witness to the divine is as real as the flesh on my fingers and toes, but my faith is where it always has been. In people."

"For all our sakes, I hope you're right, my lord." Kinvara said, looking at Jon Snow.

Wanting a better tone in the room, Tyrion changed subjects. "My father probably would've had the most wonderful time commanding our last refuge here. Apart from building our House, The one thing he most enjoyed was a good challenge when it mattered. It was the only time I saw him in any manner of contentment."

"From what I know, Lord Tyrion, you considered yourself his equal in terms of schemes and plans."

A snort from the Imp. "I thought the same once. And how did that turn out?" There was some spite in his voice. "Missandei, make a deal with the backhanded masters for peace. Daenerys, attack Casterly Rock where my sister and brother are not. Jon Snow, go north and catch a wight out of the thousands there. Daenerys, try and convince my sister to switch sides despite how much of a liar she is." Tyrion looked at her incredulously. "Shall I go on?" Kinvara sighed in understanding his point.

"You never were this foolish according to what I've heard. Your plan at Blackwater Bay was terrifying and devastating, but ingenious." Kinvara raised an eyebrow. "Do you think your downfall is all because you hated yourself for killing the whore you loved?"

Blinking, Tyrion gazed up at the roof of the cave. "I barely remember what she looked like, what her skin felt like, and what her voice sounded like." He laughed mirthlessly. "It's ironic that all the rulers I served didn't kill me and I ended up stronger than I ever thought I would get… all on the worst sort of advice. How pathetic is that?"

Kinvara stared at him. "While your guilt is warranted, it wasn't just you that caused the downfall of the Princess that was Promised, or her Prince."

He drank the last of the wine, savoring the taste for as long as he could. "A fool once said 'Wherever she goes, bad men die.' If Daenerys had burned us all and all the rest as she did Varys, perhaps we would've avoided… this." Tyrion gestured towards the outside before he grunted and tossed the bottle at one of the walls. Watching as the colored glass thunked against the mossed and rolled onto the dirt ground.

Kinvara, for her part, shrugged. "It was always the destiny for the Others to become more of a threat than the first conflict at the Castle of the Starks." She looked at Jon. "Just as it was his to bring the dawn."

"So Arya with her sword can't be counted on to save everyone again." He snorted, giggling. "Such a damn shame."

"Nothing worth doing is ever that easy."

"I suppose that was our biggest mistake… assuming the greater danger was less than our own squabbles." Tyrion fell back on the rock he sat against. "Let's hope Jon can make us less stupid, though I won't hold my breath for such a miracle."

Smiling, the wrinkles tightened on Kinvara's face. "Now is when hope and faith truly matter, that is what I believe."

Tyrion had no response to that except one. "A foolish man also once said that you should never believe something simply because you want to believe it."

Kinvara raised an eyebrow. "And which man was this?"

He snorted as he got to his feet. "The biggest fool of them all, of course."

Sansa (Future)

Tyrion left the strange company under the weirwood to return to his duties just as Sansa's grogginess of sleep was shaken from her head. She pushed herself up and stretched her arms up, feeling a few pops in her ligaments. "Anything new?" She asked for the sake of asking rather than real interest. If there had been she would have been woken up.

"Things are still going well for him," Pebble told her as she was handed a steaming stone cup of moss tea. Sansa hated the taste but greatly appreciated how the drink could quickly energize her out of weariness. "But it seems your youngest brother is in great reluctance to take charge."

No surprise there. Rickon had his chance to become King in the North but threw that honor aside for the same reason Jon refused his birthright. "They don't have the privilege to refuse simply because they don't want something." She downed the rest of the tea and got to her feet, brushing off any bits of dirt, bark, and moss that was on her dress. She needed a quick morning walk before she got to her duties. She had time anyways so why not?

Leaving the underbelly of the tree, Sansa left the warm, dark caves and came out to the blinding light of midday. Even though there were clouds all over the sky covering the sun, she had to shield her eyes as they adjusted.

From the very top of the hill at the roots of the tree, she could gaze around at the whole valley. Though it reminded her of the North, she didn't care to keep her eyes on anything in particular. She was no fighter so she had no interest in watching the young ones drilling and looking out to the mountains far away only gave her a sense of dread that any day now the snows will start to cover the tops and the dead shall be coming soon after.

Striding down to do a lap around the hill's base, she passed by and greeted a few people she knew from home, rare as they were, and looked ahead when people of other kingdoms, especially the Ironborn, scowled at her.

To her joy, she came across a more than familiar face. Gilly wasn't usually acting as cook for this section of the survivors, but then again Sansa didn't see much of the outside lately so her knowledge of the survivors' movements was lacking.

"Afternoon, Gilly," Sansa greeted pleasantly but without a smile.

"Hello Sansa," Gilly nodded and served a bowl of porridge to an older man in Stormlands armor. "You just wake up?"

"How can you tell?"

"Just a guess is all, but if I look closer I can see you still blinking the last of sleep out of your eyes." She served her last patron, a younger man also from the Stormlands, before those with her began to gather and clean. Gilly brushed her hands together and then picked up a bowl of raw carrots, offering it to Sansa "Need something to eat?"

She would have liked them cooked but when a cook had the right of delivery, she could not be a chooser. Sansa took two medium sized carrots and followed Gilly over to a soft spot of grass to sit down on.

"Are Little Sam and Jon still drilling?"

"For another few hours before they get something to eat." She bit into her carrot while staring off at the areas where the men were drilling. "Jon's learning better than Little Sam is, but that's alright. They don't fight about it at all." she sighed out and looked at the grass in dismay. "Jon looks more and more like his father as the days pass on, but not as big of course. I used to really think that if Sam was skinny he'd look just like our friend Jon. They might have been thought to be twins."

Sansa smiled. "They were certainly close enough to be."

They both shared a light giggle together before Gilly turned sullen and sniffed away her now forming tears. "Those were the good old days before they all became stupid. Sam read thousands of books but was just as big a fool as his father."

Sansa looked at Gilly oddly. "I never knew you met Sam's father."

"We stopped by Hornhill on the way to Oldtown. I met Sam's whole family. They were very nice except for his bastard of a father." Gilly's fist clenched the carrot she held, snapping it in two and after it did she took a breath to calm down but it didn't look like it helped. "Sam told me that he tried to have him killed so he'd join the Night's Watch, and here he was the slayer of a White Walker and a Thenn, and there was no change." Trembling, the normally kind, sweet Gilly looked as furious as Cersei in her many temper tantrums. "And for that bastard he betrayed his best friend."

Sansa was taken aback when she suspected who Gilly was referring to. "You… you mean Jon?" How did Sam betray him? There was no one more faithful a friend to Jon besides Ser Davos or Tormund.

Gilly looked at Sansa as though the answer were obvious. "He had no right to tell Jon that secret just to hurt him as he did."

Eyes wide, Sansa's arms fell at her sides in somewhat astonishment. "Jon had every right to that secret. And it wasn't as though Sam did it to hurt Jon-"

"He did it to hurt Queen Daenerys for killing that cunt, but he should've known it would hurt Jon!"

"Did you forget that she also murdered Sam's brother?"

"Randyll Tarly murdered his son just as much as Daenerys did then. If he was a real father, he would have beaten his son half to death before letting him stand with him to dragonfire!" Gilly scoffed with a small shake of her head. "Still the same Sansa then. Letting that monster pull you like a puppet."

Sansa blinked. "What are you talking about?"

Gilly huffed. "You should know... Lady Bolton."

If Sansa were holding onto something, it didn't matter if it was glass or Valyrian steel, the remark sent a rage through her that could have given her the strength to crush anything in her hand. "Don't you dare call me that, ever again. You have no idea what kind of monster Ramsay was!"

"Of course not," Gilly said angrily, "what would a wilding raped by her own father know about a monster like that? I'm just a savage so it's completely different, especially when you have to watch it happen to your sisters and do nothing when infant boys are taken away to be turned into real monsters."

Sansa tried to say everything she could against Gilly's accusation, but the words faltered in her mouth as Gilly stood up to leave.

"You got your name back, your family, your castle, but it's never enough for you southerners." She marched off when Sansa stood, leaving the Former Queen in the North in her place, alone.

Sansa was fuming but did her best to keep on a regal mask as those near enough to hear the temper in the exchange were now sneaking glances over to her. She wouldn't show the weakness of faltering, not to anyone. She was not a Queen anymore but she was still a Stark.

She decided that enough time had been spent outside and she would rather be back under the stupid tree instead. As long as she kept her eyes ahead on her destination, she didn't need to bother with anyone speaking to her or care about the glares aimed at her.

It was fortunate enough that she was able to climb her way back up to the cave entrance fast enough but unfortunate that she was blocked off by the one person who had the ability to get through her mental fortitude.

"You must have pissed Gilly off pretty hard," Arya said, leaning against the right side of the entrance, "she hardly ever scowls like that these days."

Sansa opened her mouth to talk back, but faltered when she finally noticed that Gendry was on the other side of the entrance, sitting down and leaning back while looking quite depressed.

Few were any different these days.

Arya leaned back and asked, "what is it the two of you were speaking of this time?"

There wouldn't be any hiding anything from Arya. But, since they were sisters there was a chance Arya wouldn't believe her if she slid the subject to something else spoken of. "Gilly's just upset about Sam. I never realized some of the harsh feelings she held for her husband."

Arya's eyes remained open and piercing at Sansa and the gaze was just as strong as one given years ago in Winterfell. "If you say so."

Gendry broke his silence finally. "Gilly spent an entire week crying when we were running up to the North. She wasn't the only one of course. I bet if anyone cared to record history, they'd call it the March of Tears."

Arya looked at him with a slightly arched brow. "When did you turn into a poet?" with a hint of false intrigue

Gendry blinked and shrugged aimlessly. "Around the same time I finally learned to read. You think it's stupid?"

"I think that would have been the start of a lamenting song for a generation or two. But it feels like all the songs are the same sorrowful things since Daenerys razed King's Landing."

Sansa cocked an eyebrow. "How would you have known what songs were sung when you were exploring the Darklands?" The names of the lands far to the west of Westeros were nicknamed such since they were out beyond the borders of any map drawn and never had the chance to be drawn themselves. As far as what Arya had told of those lands, there were so many things she encountered. Tribes of fierce warriors on par with the Dothraki, a kingdom of crafters with architecture so wonderful it was like a dream, and so much more that could not fit in a single day of telling. But no one was interested enough to ask, not since she returned. Arya had come to them when they had just reached the Wall, having been guided by Bran. She was having grand adventures in all of her years, and now she returned to help settle the results of the final rebellion against the Night King.

"I have my ways," said Arya with a nonchalant cock of her head. "Secrets I'll tell if we live through this." She went silent for a few seconds, turning glower. "I should have taken Jon with me."

Were it not for an outburst that happened from Jon the day Arya and the Ironborn found them, Sansa would have discredited such a possibility. She knew Jon enough to know he would have stayed to his sworn vow of the Night's Watch, he would have kept the promise that was made between all the Lords that day with Grey Worm. But that was before a part of him broke. She remembered well the rage Jon unleashed on Arya years ago, and with no castles, no walls, no privacy, so did enough of everyone else.

"You were the only one I truly believed in! And when I needed just one person to have faith in me, you were gone! When I thought I had one single hope left to find a place in the world that wasn't of ice and cold, you abandoned me!"

"We couldn't have risked that," said Sansa, blinking out of the memory, "if a single word of it reached Greyworm's ear then all of them would have come back to finish what they started for their queen." Her tone was barely mocking towards the Mad Queen.

"Why didn't you just kill Daenerys instead?" Gendry suddenly asked with a hard look in his eyes. He looked at Arya. "You're the assassin, the one who could have escaped before anyone knew it was you. Why did you send him to pass your judgment?"

'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.' Their father's words were spoken often to all of his children.

Sansa spoke up for Arya. "The moment Daenerys set her dragon on the people of King's Landing, it was clear what the judgment was. Jon was the only one who could have done it." This explanation had been said so many times, she spoke of it almost automatically, as if rehearsed.

"I wasn't asking you," Gendry said as he stood up. "I was asking the great Hero of Winterfell. You were leaving Westeros anyway, so why not do all the damn things you wanted to do and then just set sail with it all behind you?" He took a few steps forward, a look of utmost disappointment on his face. "Was it because, that's not you?" He didn't even let Arya respond as he trudged off back to do what he did best.

Arya watched him go, but with eyes blank and void of anything that cared. "He does that all the time… sometimes comes, then goes."

"Don't listen to him," Sansa defended, "he wasn't there. He didn't see what you did. He wouldn't know."

"Neither would you," Arya shot back without a second beat, "you were safe in Winterfell far away. Gendry wasn't there because Davos kept him from it all, and he was right to do that. Anyone who saw what happened that day would have known Daenerys had to die. But no one was brave enough to do what had to be done. Only Jon, and it almost destroyed him." There was a ghostly look in Arya's eyes. "I sent our brother off to kill the woman he loved, condemning him to all that followed… and I felt nothing." Arya started to softly laugh. "I was so marveled at the sight of those two dragons flying over Winterfell. I couldn't wait to see them up close, or if fate gave me the chance, to touch or even ride one of them."

Not much surprise in this confession. Arya was fascinated with the Targaryens and their dragons growing up. It was the only subject she didn't fall asleep to during their lessons.

Arya's face twisted into disdain and she looked at Sansa. "But how would that have made you look? Lady Stark's sister falling to the favor of Daenerys Targaryen? I couldn't do that to you."

"You're blaming me for ruining your childhood dream, honestly?" After defending her sister, Sansa was incredulous that Arya was turning it around on her. "'She's not one of us,' that's what you said to Jon before he told us his secret, or don't you remember?"

"I remember how you couldn't stand to look at her, like she was some thief who stole the North from right in front of you."

She was indigent. "You saw what she became! You were there in King's Landing."

"Aye, I was… but I was also there in Winterfell… Why did she fight and burn the dead for us?" Arya shifted herself where she sat. "I stood with you because who else would among us? Jon fought for everyone but you wanted someone to fight just for you…" Arya's expression fell, as though she was pondering something, eyes darting across the ground and mouth slightly agape. "I see."

"See what?" Sansa asked in an agitated tone.

The silence was only broken by Arya's voice… the dead, hollow shell that she truly was since disappearing into the House of Black and White. "I think I envy you, Sansa."

Blinking, Sansa was confused. "What?"

"You were always someone else's piece in the game for so long. But, it wasn't your choice. Littlefinger, Joffrey, Cersei, Ramsay, all of them made you into the woman I met in the crypts." She stared off into the distance. "I guess that's the difference between us. Who can blame who you are when you've lived through all that." Now it sounded more like Arya was talking to the wind than Sansa, staring off blankly into the distance.

"I don't understand what you're getting at," Sansa confessed.

"Mine was my life, my choices, and I don't regret them…"

Her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. "I need to get to my duties," Sansa said abruptly and walked past Arya, still feeling the eyes of her sister on her back until she finally walked through a bend and out of sight.

That was enough. She shouldn't have gone outside and she shouldn't have indulged in these stupid talks with others that lead nowhere. They were pointless and meant nothing in the end.

She found herself back at the center of the caves. Kinvara had gone off to sleep in her corner and Pebble was making more of her moss tea. Sansa tried to go about her usual routine. She undid her cloak and folded it neatly, setting it aside and checking over Jon's body for anything that may have needed attention.

Everything appeared fine, even though she rushed through it, and all was well. She could go about her sewing for an hour until she had to do her second check.

But she couldn't move from her spot next to Jon's head, the only part of him uncovered. Being there, it made her feel safe. Just like the first time when he took her in his arms at Castle Black. After so long when she finally found her family again… No, she felt safe in his arms because he was strong and kind to her. She knew that even though she was an arse to him growing up, he wouldn't let harm come to her. Maybe it's something she hoped to find in someone to fall in love with, but who wouldn't want those things?

He was laying there still and doing gentle breaths through his nose. He looked so peaceful now that Sansa had the chance to think about it. All the pain he had suffered and still he could appear like this. It reminded her of the time on the Winterfell battlements, when he kissed her above her brow. It was like he gave her a promise that he would always protect her. And that smile of his when Winter came the day after they took Witnerfell back…

Seven Hells and wherever the Night King was born, she was in love with him.

Her thoughts halted to a crash when echoing from the caves came the faint and familiar sound of the horn blasting from outside.

Arya (Future)

Nothing filled the people around with more fear than the sound of the horn whenever it blasted from the viewpoints that peered into the mountain pass in the south. It was only a matter of time until the day came that three blasts were heard and the certainty that there wouldn't be a tomorrow was accepted.

This blast that came phased Arya as she practiced her water dancing form, flinching as she lunged and almost making her fall. She looked back at the pass along with everyone else who was outside. Her perception of the environment however brought ease when a second blast came. She knew there wouldn't be a third blast. The sky to the south was cloudy, but only partial. There was no storm, no cold, and no darkness that came.

The lack of the third blast seconds later brought everyone waiting to ease and then curiosity. One blast was for the scouts returning from their scavenging, three blasts for the dead, but two was meant for someone new.

Arya walked over to her satchel resting against a boulder and took out her Myrish eye. It couldn't see too far enough to the mountain pass, but enough that she might be able to find something of detail.

Looking through the eye, Arya spotted the opening of the pass and a collective of people coming through. First tens, then a hundred, more and more, but they were the size of ants.

But then she caught sight of a banner. Small as it was, Arya recognized the colors on it and couldn't believe her eyes. She smiled proudly and took off to find a horse as fast as she could. This was her moment now. Through all the odds against them, her message got through to the west!

Podrick, Gendry, and Davos were already riding out by the time Arya got a hold of a young colt. She rode as fast as she could to join them. Had there been more room across the bridges over the trenches, she would have passed the men to get the first contact before the others.

"You're coming?" Davos asked, looking behind.

"They're here because of me. Best be that someone they know comes to welcome them."

"These are your friends from the west?" Gendry asked.

"Some of them." When she answered, she could see ahead that the last of the tribesmen had come through, which disheartened Arya a little bit. She had hoped all her allies were here at once, but it was just the Seck.

"Who are they?" Davos asked.

"They are of the Seck Tribes from the Black Hills of the Darklands. This is Tribe Cestra, the unicorn riders, and the one leading them is King Aurico." They passed over the last bridge, and Arya took off forward to see her friends.

She halted her colt when they finally reached the Cestrans. They were a race of ebony-skinned people like those from the Southern Isles and parts of the Bay of Dragons. And while they wore armor of steel and leather, they painted their faces with bone ash and dyed powders to look like beasts when war time was upon them.

King Aurico, a man taller than the Mountain but only a quarter as muscular, rode forward and dismounted his mighty unicorn. He was dressed in purple robes and his horn crown of silver inlay with emeralds.

"My greeting to our day together, Arya of your family Stark." Aurio said in Secken, their native language, and tapped two fingers on his lip and then his forward, extending them out to her like he was bowing with his arm.

"My greetings to our meeting together, Aurico leading your people of Cestran." Arya replied but in a bit of a broken accent before repeating the gesture to Aurico.

Podrick, Davos, and Gendry had all caught up and dismounted their horses with Arya and Aurico.

"I show you my companions, Davos of his family Seaworth, Podrick of his family Payne, and Gendry of his family Baratheon." Arya extended her arm out presenting them. "This is King Aurico of the Cestrans, Captured of the Sun's Light and the first Spearman of the Hills. He and his people are powerful warriors."

Davos cleared his throat. "I welcome you, your grace, to our final refuge for the coming war."

"You are the Onion Knight," Auric said in the common tongue, heavy in a deep accent.

"You understand us?" Gendry asked.

"Arya has shared her tongue with mine and ours with her."

If Tyrion were here, he'd have a laugh at that one.

"Five thousand of my people have come to aid you in this fight against your demons. We are ready to stand by you when war comes."

Davos smiled hopefully at the numbers when he looked upon the warriors with Aurico, but Arya wasn't as optimistic. "What about the other tribes? Are they coming too?"

Aurico shook his head somberly. "They will not come. Our home will be their grave."

"What about Orion and his people?"

Again, Aurico shook his head. "They will not come. Mine are all who will stand with you."

Arya smiled, contempt with her friends that remained true in this world. "We gladly accept your loyalty, my friend." Arya and Aurico drew the daggers at their sides, Arya's Valyrian Steel dagger and Aurico's legendary ruby blade. Each of them cut into the palm of their left hands and shook, joining blood and loyalty.

They all took to their mounts and Davos led the way into the camps with the Cestrans following behind them. "How many were you expecting if all your friends came?" He asked quietly as he rode with her.

"Sixty thousand at least. Aurico's people are by far the fiercest, but numbers help."

"Aye, they do. Let's hope Yara brings what she can from Essos." If Yara had a silver tongue, then she could bring two hundred thousands able and strong. But considering how lucky they were with Aurico's arrival, ten-thousand would be a miracle.

The ride back to the weirwood was mostly quiet, as there was plenty of time to talk and plan later with Aurico. Tyrion and Kinvara were waiting patiently to greet the new arrivals as was a great host of people all eager to see the mysterious people from mysterious lands.

"Give a warm welcome to the friends of Arya Stark!" Podrick announced to all the people around. "Five thousand brave and strong who shall stand with us to the end!" He raised a fist and dozens of cheers arose from the crowds directed at Arya. Seven Hells she missed the glory and who had the right to stop her from having some now? It'd be the last time she'd ever get any.

Hands weaved together, Arya looked from the columns of the marching soldiers and as if deliberate, her gaze settled on Gendry. He watched the entire assembly with a hopeless expression. One common among all of them, but rare now among the living here. Hope had not reached him.

His eyes met hers, and they grew worn. Much like her father's when he was led to his death. Arya looked away, not being able to see any more.

All she had accomplished, all she achieved encapsulated in the arrival of the soldiers from across the Sunset Sea, for one moment all her pride was dashed. Arya had done all of what she wanted, been who she wanted. And right now it wasn't worth a damn to her. She looked back at Gendry, but he was walking away. Arya sighed.

Regardless of how many came, it was enough to inspire hope in the people they passed by. All of what remained of Westeros was hardly a real army, but Aurico's people were strong and ready. The people were inspired and filled with hope, more than they could have asked for.

Notes:

Greed: Wish me luck this week. I'm doing my MEPS for my military application