Chapter 24: It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn : Part 1

Winterfell 304 AC.

Edmure Tully.

Some of his men named him craven, with their eyes if not their words. In a way, he knew he was and given what it was that they were fighting against, he was right to be so. Seeing the dead as they attacked the barrier that somehow kept them at bay, Edmure had felt his courage waver. Yet it held and then when his niece and the Hound moved to drive their daggers into the Wight's bodies, he and his guards stepped forward too.

Watching them fall brought him incredible relief, as did the nature of this place, though he understood it not. Looking around the large cavern they were in a part of him could almost imagine living here for the rest of his life. For surely it'd be a longer life than the one he'd know was he to leave the safety of this place after all. How it worked, what magic fuelled it, and why his nephew had known of it when no one else had, Edmure knew not. He was grateful for it and while he should feel shamed that his one and ten nameday old nephew was out there leading men and fighting in this great battle, while he cowered here, he did not.

Time seemed to stand still as they sheltered far from the battle that was being fought above their heads. Moments, hours, days, he had no true idea of their passing. Other than he'd slept more than once, he'd have named it as less than a day that they'd been here. All the while, the sounds of the fighting traveled easily through the crypts and to the cavern below. Sounds of the dying intermixed with the clashing of steel or the crashing down of what felt like doors or walls. Edmure hoped it was the former and not the latter.

They had plenty of food, and plenty of water, and the cavern itself was remarkably warm compared to even the great keep of Winterfell itself. Other than the darkness, which at times was overbearing, it was a comfortable enough existence that he'd found himself living for however long he'd been here. He kept out of any of the discussions that were being held, didn't try to talk any of those who left the safety of their surroundings out of their foolish notions and left it to his niece to be the voice of reason and of authority. In truth, he preferred it this way. Edmure had always preferred the trappings of being Hoster Tully's son far more than he did the reality of it. Looking over to where Sansa was speaking to some of the scared women and children, Edmure could not help but see his sister in her and then reflect that he mourned Cat still.

"You'd be proud of her, Cat, so very proud," he whispered as he readied to turn in for the night.

His dreams were as always, filled with images of his captivity. The mocking of the Freys as they named him as no true man and laughed at his expense. Walder telling him that his wife was with child and once a son and heir were born there would be no need for Edmure any longer. He saw himself dragged before Jaime Lannister and even in his sleep, he shivered at the words the Kingslayer spoke to him about his son. Yet it was his uncle's disappointed expression and scornful words that Edmure heard and saw most clearly.

" You're lucky your father is dead, boy, for what you did here today would be the end of him."

" Your sisters have more balls than you."

" Fool that you are, you think that Walder Frey would have allowed his grandson and the child that grants him the right to Riverrun and the Riverlands to be harmed."

" Surrender, safe passage, are you a craven, boy, is that the man I name my nephew?"

" It'll be the seven hells that you'll find yourself in, nephew. For though it won't be your blade that ends my life, you'll be a Kinslayer all the same."

He woke up with a start. Almost jumped from his bed and only the fact he knew he was not alone, stopped him from crying out. Brynden's face was still there in front of him and it took him some time to blink it away. Reaching for the jug that contained his water and shaking his head at his guards who looked at him with concern, Edmure quickly swallowed down a large mouthful of it. Rising to his feet, he looked around and saw his niece readying herself for something. It worried him for some unknown reason. So he moved to Sansa and overheard some of the angered conversation that she and the Hound were having as he did so.

"I have to go to him, to her, they need me," Sansa said sounding panicked.

"Your brother put you here for a reason, little bird."

"The little bird is dead, Sandor. She died long ago and though it took me some time to become the wolf I needed to be, I am that wolf now. The pack is in trouble and I'll not stay safe while that is so. So come with me or get out of my way, but I'm leaving now." Sansa said fiercely.

Despite his worries for her, he'd not lie and say that her words didn't impress him. They just didn't inspire him and so he moved to her and made his presence known.

"You need must listen to your sworn sword, Sansa. You're needed here," he said hoping that she'd listen to his words.

"My family needs me and it's by their sides I am needed most of all. So move uncle, lest I move you." Sansa said when he stood in front of her.

"Sansa."

"I said move!" She almost shouted and Edmure was taken aback and yet he did as she bid.

He looked at her as she walked away from him, the Hound following behind like a loyal dog and for once that was a sight that he welcomed. His niece spoke to the people she'd be leaving behind and Edmure watched as an old woman moved to stand by her side. Nan or something he heard Sansa name her as she said that she'd stay and watch over them as well if not better than Sansa could. When questions were raised, his niece answered them all and when she was bid to stay, she told them why she could not.

"My family needs me. My sister and brother need me. I have lost far too many of them over the years, and other than my father, I was not by any of their sides. If this is to be their end, then I'd ask you not to deny me leave to face that end with them. When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. I am no lone wolf, have faith in that, and in those next to you. Offer up your prayers to the Old Gods, and may they protect us all." Sansa said and then she stepped past the barrier and he watched her and Sandor walk away.

His guards looked at him and then turned away from him. Their eyes were full of the disdain that they felt for him and it reminded him so much of his uncle's expression that Edmure hung his head in shame. Yet he took no steps to follow after his niece and instead moved back to where his bedroll lay and took a seat upon it. Resting his head in his hands, he didn't hear the old woman as she moved to join him, nor did he notice it when she sat down beside him. Had she not spoken, then he'd not have noticed her for some time.

"You are no craven, Edmure Tully, so why do you act as one?"

"I am the last of my line." he said not looking at the woman."

"Are you? Do you not have a son?"

"A son and wife I see not nor care not about." he spat as he turned to look at her and saw she was older than he remembered.

"A son all the same. A nephew and nieces too. The measure of a man can be a hard thing to judge. Some say it's in all the actions of his life, some say it's in a single one. So far, your life has not measured up to anything at all, is that how you'd be remembered when your time comes to an end? Is that the fate you'd know for yourself, is that the reputation you'd give your son and heir?"

He looked at her, wondering how she knew one of his greatest ever fears. All his life he'd known he'd not do anything to live up to being his father's heir. His father had fought on the winning side of a rebellion against a mad king. His daughters had then married Lord's Paramount and their children would rule over their father's lands. Meanwhile, he had lost every battle he'd ever fought in and been taken prisoner more than once. His actions had cost him his family's home and his uncle his life and to any who looked at him, Edmure Tully was naught more than a jape.

"I fear my end, more than I fear anything else," he confessed shamefully.

"Good. For the only time a man can truly be brave is when he is afraid, Edmure Tully. Your family fights for those they love, you can sit here and be the man that all name you to be or go to them and know at least once what it was like to be the man you truly are. The choice as all choices are is your own."

He watched her walk away, and though he wished to ignore her words, he found he could not. Gathering his armor, he called one of his guards over and bid the man help him attach it.

"For why, my lord?"

"My family calls for aid, Ronald, they shall have it," he said far more firmly than he knew he could. "I'll not ask…"

"Where you go, we go, my lord," Ronald said and Edmure looked to the other guards who each nodded. The way they looked at him right now was far different than how they had just moments ago.

He made no speeches, instead, he simply nodded to the old woman, and then he and the men he had brought with him, not one of them remaining behind, crossed the barrier and made their way through the keeps. Edmure would be a liar if he said that he didn't fear coming across Sansa or the Hound's bodies along the way and yet there was no sight nor sound of them. There were, however, very many sights and sounds of Wights, and though they weren't overwhelmed by them, they did have to fight past some to make their way from the crypts.

Outside they walked into a scene straight from the seven hells. A battle was in full flow and Winterfell looked close to falling. Though it was Dragonglass that he and his guards knew was most effective, he found himself using his sword as much as he did the dagger he held in his off-hand. Slashing from left to right and then striking out with the dagger as he moved through what seemed to be a never-ending army of dead things.

When he saw the Dragonglass tipped lances, he found himself looking from side to side until he saw the stables in the distance. They were not far and though a part of him feared that either the horses would be dead or ineffective, a larger part of him knew that should the former not be true, then neither would the latter. So directing his guards first to the lances and then to the stables, Edmure and they fought their way through to the one and then to the other. To his relief, he found there were still some horses living when they reached the stables, and forgoing the saddles, he and his men affixed reins to them before mounting up.

"We ride over any dead thing we see. For Riverrun and for the Dawn!"

"For Riverrun and the Dawn!"

They didn't need to open the gates of the stables, the dead doing so for them. As one they rode and though the Wights tried to claw and scrape at their horses, hooves, feet, and lances were enough to keep them at bay. Once outside, they charged into a small number of the dead, and with lance in hand, he ended more than one of them. They reformed quickly and rode once more, the result the same as the last and so over and over again they repeated their actions.

He saw her out of the corner of his eye. Sansa and the Hound were fighting for their very lives. It was not a fight they'd win to Edmure's eyes and ordering his men to ride, he resolved that it was to be one he'd give them aid in.

"We ride to my niece. To Sansa Stark, The She-Wolf of Winterfell."

The dead were no match for them, his lance moving far better and with far more accuracy than it had ever done in any tourney. When he reached his niece, the look she gave him was one that would stay with him for the rest of his life. Never before had he seen such gratitude, such a look of pride, and never one directed at him. With a nod of his head, he rode again, and once again he brought the true death to things that had known only a false one. He never heard the screams, but he saw the look of panic on his niece's face and when he turned his head, he knew what the reason for that look was.

"A fucking giant?" he asked no one and as he looked back to Sansa and then to the giant, he saw what goal it had in mind "NO!" he shouted as he bid his horse charge and though it was reluctant, it did as he bid, "NO!" he shouted even more loudly as he lowered his lance "You'll not have her!" he shouted loudest of all as the distance between them narrowed.

Forty feet, thirty, twenty, ten, and then the lance stuck home and yet Edmure felt himself flying in the air at the same time. When he was a younger man and before the world went to shit, he'd competed like any knight in tourneys throughout the realm. He'd been unhorsed in one and all and yet never did it feel like this. A lance striking you was far different than being hit by the sweep of a giant's hand and as he crashed hard against the grey walls and tumbled to the ground, Edmure tasted his blood in his mouth.

He saw them then, in his last moments. Cat, offering him one of her beautiful smiles, Lysa as she had once been, young and vibrant with not a care in the world, his mother as she'd been long before she'd taken ill. Looking to his father and uncle, never had he seen them wear the looks they now wore, never had they shown that they believed him worthy of the name, and now at the end of his life, he finally felt it.

"I killed him," he said as he coughed up far more blood than any man who lived ever would. "I killed the giant." he coughed as he saw the giant on the ground with his lance in its leg. They were the last words he ever spoke and as his eyes closed for the last time, he dared any man to name him a craven now.

Ned Dayne.

He lost count of the number of Wights that Dawn had ended. The star-forged sword worked just as well as Ser Jorah, Ser Jaime, or Ser Brienne's Valyrian ones. All his life he longed to wield it just as his uncle had. To see it face off against worthy opponents and to be used in service to the greater good. In that, he'd been proved even more fortunate than he could ever have wished for, for what good could be greater than this? Should he fall, then he'd now fall while wielding Dawn against an enemy that wished to end all life. He'd do so while serving a good king and queen. Few Sword's of the Morning, if any, would have a legend as storied as that one.

' If I am to take my place beside my ancestors, then when I see them it will be with my head held high.'

The thought was one that not only brought him comfort, but it allowed him to find the strength and endurance that he knew not he had. As others around him faded in the relentlessness that the battle had become, Ned fought as he had from the very beginning, with fury, passion, and all the skill he'd acquired over the years. He'd needed it too, especially when facing off against the White Walkers that came his way.

Three he'd taken down so far and each of those fights had been as even a contest as he'd ever known. Other than the king himself, Ned had found them to be the very best swordsman that Dawn and he had ever faced. He'd won, just, and in the winning, he'd given hope and faith to those who fought with him. As had any who'd taken down one of the White Shadows. To his knowledge, Jaime, Brienne, Jorah, and Grey Worm had all done so, yet others had done so too. Seeing one fall was as true a victory as he'd known thus far today. Watching as not only the White Walker but a large group of Wights would fall with him brought some respite to their tired lines, as did the king and queen on their dragons.

Each time he'd look to the sky, he'd see the flames being loosed and if he had a moment to think on it, he'd wonder how anything could survive such an onslaught. If he had yet another moment, then he'd remember that the things that were burned by Dragon's Flames or fell to Dragonglass, Valyrian Steel, or Dawn, shouldn't actually be things that should have survived their original fate either. The dead shouldn't walk among the living and yet they did. More than that, they feared not as the living did. No matter how many fell, it affected them not in terms of morale or courage. They simply continued as they had been doing and attacked with no respite.

"Eat, my lord." One of the men called out to him, and seeing as he had a moment of breathing room, he grabbed the large chunk of cheese and bit into it greedily.

"How can men stand up to such a thing." he heard one of the others who fought nearest to him say and only that his mouth was full or he'd have said that that they did so because they had to.

He was drinking some cool crisp water when the cheer rang out. The gap between them and the dead was one that was narrowing once more and Ned looked to see why this pleased them all so. The king rode with Dark Sister held in his hands, a large force of cavalry behind him and as Ned almost spat out his water in shock, the line of horses clashed with the line of dead things that moved their way. Willing his feet to move, he found to his annoyance that they refused to cooperate with him. So instead, for a few moments at least, he was forced to watch as Baelon Targaryen led the fight from the same lines that he and the men fought on.

Ned barely heard someone ask about the dragons and he would have turned his head and sought them in the sky had he not been so focused on the fight ahead of him. Dark Sister had a hunger for blood or so the tales had said, while she'd not find any here today, it would not be for a lack of seeking it out. The sword was like a blur in Baelon's hands, even moving more swiftly than Longclaw had when Ned had seen him wield it. Around him, dead things fell in what seemed like their hundreds, and then for a brief moment, there was no sight of the king at all.

"To the King," he shouted as he and others began to run towards where they'd last seen him, each of them moving faster than they had in many an hour.

Where their energy came from, he knew not. If he were to wager upon it, he'd say it was the fear that should the king fall here today, then the fight was one they'd no chance of winning. He heard the roars of the dragons as they flew overhead and he was not the only one relieved to see that all three of them still flew and that along with the queen they were unharmed. It felt like it took an age to reach where he believed the king was and as they fought off some dead things that stood in his path, he sought Baelon out.

The sight that greeted him and the men was one that was awe-inspiring. Baelon stood with a group of Wights around him, Ned counted more than a dozen, and yet it was they and not his king that was outmatched here today. Seeing him wield Dark Sister from a closer vantage point showed just how much he and the sword were suited to each other. Ned thought of those who'd wielded it before Baelon, as he had occasionally had when it came to Dawn and himself. Looking on as the thin sword cut down Wight after Wight, he'd say that he'd not be alone in being welcomed by his peers was he to fall. Though as with the king, he had no intent of falling here today.

"MY KING! BEHIND YOU!" he called out as the two White Walkers moved to strike Baelon down.

Moving as fast as he could, he covered the ground in the blink of an eye and found that it wasn't just two that had come to face the king, but five. He almost bumped into a man who ran just as fast as he did, his Valyrian sword held in his one good hand and the determination on his face one that Ned believed his own expression matched. Jaime Lannister reached the king just as he did and both he and Ned looked to Baelon who bore a true smile on his face despite the situation.

"Shall we?" Baelon asked almost casually and all three of them moved as one to the White Walkers who, though they showed it not, moved far less confidently to Ned's eye.

An arrow flew through the air and caught one of the White Walkers square in the chest. Ned wished he could look back to see who aimed it, but knew he could not. In the end, he needed not to do so as the king's words named their unseen ally.

"Thank you, Meera."

He and Jaime Lannister moved to a White Walker each while the other two moved to the king, Ned then tried to join Baelon only for a shake of his head and a point of Dark Sister to the other White Walker, to decide his course of action for him. Dawn soon swung down in an arc and was blocked by the icy blade. Sounds of footsteps ringing out behind him and fighting to stop those footsteps from reaching them were soon heard by him and the others. Without needing to look, he knew that the first sound had been dead things, the second was his men, and he smiled at that as he swung Dawn again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jaime Lannister swing his own sword and the White Walker forced him back some. While a little further away, Baelon danced from one White Walker to the other. Concentrating on the fight he was engaged in as to not do so would help no one, Ned began to move even more quickly. It had taken him many years to be able to truly wield Dawn, more time spent in the yard than any other man that he knew, except mayhap for the two men that he now fought alongside. The king had told him something once about Longclaw and it mirrored how Ned had felt regarding Dawn almost word for word.

" Such a sword deserves a man who can wield it truly and for so long I was not that man. After much time, sweat, and even blood and tears, I finally feel worthy of the honor of doing so."

Ned felt worthy of the honor of wielding Dawn. He felt worthy of the mantle of Sword of the Morning and of being the nephew of the greatest swordsman that ever drew breath. The thing in front of him was about to find out the truth of that as Ned ducked under a blow and brought Dawn up from the ground, slicing a deep cut in the icy armor as he did so. The White Walker burst into a thousand pieces and Ned had to shield his eyes. Turning away from it, he watched as the king disposed of the second White Walker he'd faced, while Jaime Lannister then hit the killing blow on the one that had been his opponent.

Again cheers rang out and he looked on as a large number of dead things fell and gave them room and time to move in. Moving to the king, he saw his eyes were focused on something in the distance and he watched as he raised Dark Sister and pointed it forward. Following the thin blade to where it pointed, Ned saw them then, he saw him then. Surrounded by six White Walkers, all who looked different from the others that he'd so far faced, the Night King cut an imposing figure. It seemed as if he wore a crown of ice on his head and his blue eyes, even from the distance, were like beacons in the dark of the night.

Turning from him to his king, Ned had never seen such a look of determination on a man's face as he did right then. There was no anger, no hatred, just simple resolve, and where the Night King was ice personified, Baelon wasn't its opposite fire. He was something different, something more than either. The Song of Ice and Fire, that's what he'd told him his father and mother had named him as, and that it was his destiny to sing that song one day. Watching as Baelon took a step forward in the Night King's direction, it seemed the time had come for that song to be sung.

"I'm with you, my king." Jaime Lannister said as Ned moved closer to them both.

"As am I, your grace," Ned said determinedly.

"Then let's end this," Baelon said as he and they moved forward and behind them, the dragons laid down their flames, and the battle continued.

Jorah.

Each time the dragons landed, he worried. As he knew Grey Worm did too. Yet time and time again, they'd take to the skies once more and loose their flames on the dead army beneath them. How his queen managed to do it for so long, was something that astounded Jorah. He'd seen firsthand just how draining controlling a dragon was on her. A simple flight took much out of her, let alone an actual battle, and no battle she'd fought in before could even come close to this one.

Yet time and time again, she, Baelon, and the three dragons, all took to the sky and brought the true death to these things that were an affront to the gods. This time though something was different and Jorah took some time to realize what that was. When the dragons took to the sky again, it was with only one rider upon their backs and so he now worried for his king and the man that his queen loved.

Had he fallen?

Was he injured? Worse?

What would his queen do if he was?

Jorah watched the dragons even more closely and he breathed a sigh of relief when they loosed their flames as they had before. There was no rage, no anger, or sadness. Whatever the reason for Baelon's not being on Rhaega's back, it was a reason of his and his queen's choosing. He saw him then and smiled as he pointed him out to Grey Worm. The king had decided to join them on the ground and while a part of him wished to shout at him to get back on the dragon, a larger part felt proud to see him do so.

"Fucking mad bastard!" Tormund shouted out loudly and with that, they turned and moved to the dead once more.

At what point he felt it, he knew not. One moment he was taking down Wight after Wight and the next he was looking to the sky. Something about the way the dragons were flying didn't feel right to him and the shudder that ran down his spine was one that he had no intent to ignore.

"I go to the Queen, Grey Worm. I leave the line to you."

"This one will hold the line."

He nodded to the other man and then gathering a dozen men, Jorah began to move to where it looked as if the dragons were flying.

As they moved, it was clear that their path to the queen was not going to be an easy one. Despite the fact that their enemy had thus far been to the front of them, it seemed some had somehow flanked them and Jorah felt his hackles rise. The thoughts that these Wights had been sent to her and yet had not attacked them from the rear now began to race in his head. He wondered the reason for it and as he looked to the sky and saw the dragons, a great sense of foreboding came over him.

To make matters worse, there was no way past them other than to fight and he now began to worry that all of this was a deliberate plan with only one goal, to see his queen and the dragons dead. Rage quickly overtook his worries and he gripped Longclaw even more tightly in his hand. Running towards the dead things in front of him, the first of them felt the brunt of his anger and fears for his queen. Its head flew from its shoulders with a single sweep of Longclaw's blade. The second Wight faced a similar fate, though it was struck twice with the Valyrian Steel blade rather than once.

As he feared, more and more dead things arrived and he and the men with him were soon outnumbered. When he then saw the White Walker, he cut through the dead things to get to him. Longclaw was soon crashing against the icy blade that it held in its hand. Behind him. his men did a great job of covering his rear as the White Walker was no thing of honor and cared not for winning a victory clean, as long as it won that victory. Jorah heard more than one Wight fall as it went to cut him down and yet he kept his eyes firmly focussed on his own opponent.

He was not a true swordsman, though he was and had always been a fierce fighter. Put him against men who were truly skilled and nine times out of ten, they'd take the day. Each of the White Walkers he'd faced today had been truly skilled. They had him beat in speed and technique and they glided across the ground and swung their icy blades as well as the Bold had when Jorah had crossed swords with the famed Kingsguard.

"Would you were here today, old friend," he whispered softly as he dodged a blow that almost cost him his head.

Jorah however had something that the White Walker did not, a true and good purpose, and it was that which flowed through each and every one of his swings of his family's blade. The images of his queen being in danger was what fuelled him and made him a far better warrior than he'd ever been before. They allowed him to parry, dodge, work out an opening, and finally drive Longclaw deep into the White Walker's chest.

He shielded his eyes as it exploded into more pieces than he could count. Then heard the sighs of relief when around him and his men, the dead fell to the ground. Turning back, he was aghast to see that out of the dozen that he'd brought with him, only four remained. More good men and true had been lost to things that were very much not and though he wished to mourn and honor them in some way, he knew he could not. Instead, he offered a short prayer to the Old Gods to see them not rise and then a larger one to protect his queen until he reached her.

"To the Queen!" he cried out loudly and then once again he was running over the lands of the North.

When he was but a boy, he and his cousins would race around Bear Island. They'd not feel the cold of the wind as it swept in from the sea nor the chill in the air as night began to fall. So keen on their fun would they be, that it would take his father, their mother, and the promises of warm food and even warmer desserts to bring their running to a stop. There was no warm food on offer today, no dessert, and his father and aunt as well as almost all his cousins were no more. Only fierce little Lyanna remained and to see her safe, they had to win this war. Yet that was not why he ran so fiercely and so determinedly. No, today he ran for his queen.

Jorah ran for the woman he had once and still did love. Even though it was a love that could never be and one that she'd found even more truly with another man. The truth of it was, he loved her still, he'd always love her, and you always tried to protect the things you loved. Covering the ground, seeking out where the dragons had landed, Jorah knew he was willing to die for Daenerys Targaryen if it came to that. He'd always been willing to kill for her, but now he knew he was willing to die for her too. So he beseeched the Old Gods that if there was a need for one of them to fall this day, then to let it be him and not her.

" Take me, not her, I beg of you."

His words it seemed had been somewhat answered and he now saw the dragons some distance ahead of them. All looked peaceful and the dragons were just resting. His queen was taking the chance to eat and drink before she took to the sky once more and for the briefest moment, Jorah felt his worry and panic had been for naught. Then he saw them in the sky and heard them around him and once again, he was running as fast as he had when he was a young boy.

The ravens covered the sky and though they didn't attack, they ensured that the dragons couldn't simply fly his queen from danger. Wights moved towards the dragons and he heard his queen call out for them to loose their flames, yet it was the animals that gave him the most pause of all. Hundreds of them it seemed, even more than that mayhap. Elk, deer, horses, wolves, and Direwovlves, dead one and all, and all were moving towards his queen with but one goal in mind. To make her as they were.

"Khalessi!" he shouted as one then two and finally all four of his men met their ends at the claws and teeth of things long dead.

"Jorah I…." she said panicked and as Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion loosed their flames in vain, Jorah took no comfort in the notion that he'd be dying by his queen's side. Not because it was not what he'd hoped would be his end, but because it seemed that his death would only lead to her own.

Davos .

He was not by nature a fighting man. He'd made that clear when he stood with the brothers of the Night's Watch as they guarded Jon Snow's body. Just as he had at Blackwater Bay and when Stannis had launched his attack on Mance Rayder's army at the Wall. That was not to say that when it came down to it, he'd hide, cower or prove himself a craven. If he must fight, then fight he would, he just knew that no one would do well to rely on him to win a fight for them.

Commanding though, telling men what to do and shouting out orders in the heat of battle. That he was far more suited to. He'd told so to both his kings and only one of them had looked at him with kindness after he'd done so. Stannis Baratheon was not a man who looked at many with kindness though to be fair, while Jon Snow, Baelon Targaryen as he now was, very much was. You just had to be one of the people he cared about, liked, or respected in order for him to do so. It had been he who'd spoken the words to him that he now tried to remember. Words that didn't denigrate him for not being a fighter such as he himself was but had sought to venerate him for what he was able to do.

" Any fool can fight, Davos. Put a weapon in the hand of a Lackwit and he could wield it with a certain skill and be a dangerous enough foe to face. Few men can lead. And none of them are men with naught between their ears." Jon japed.

" Then I suppose I should be thankful for that," he replied with a chuckle.

" Aye you should, I know I am."

Simple, direct, to the point, and worth all the more for it. There was no flowery language, no politics at work when it came to how Baelon Targaryen treated you if he trusted you. He simply told you the truth, as plain and simple as he could make it, and in this, he and his wife were very much alike. They could play the game when needed, they just didn't play the game with those they named as good and true, and somehow he had become one of them they had named so.

"Nock."

"Aim."

"Loose."

"Nock"

"Aim."

"Loose."

The sound of Howland Reed ordering the archers to fire their arrows took him from his thoughts. So Davos decided to leave the parapets in the hands of the Crannogman who seemed to have things well in order and moved to seek out the Princess of Dorne and her men now to check on how they were doing. Behind him, he had some young boys of fighting age that he'd hoped to keep away from the worst of things. Thus far he'd been successful in that regard. as he had them carry ink, parchment, and quills and take down the notes that he dictated.

Sometimes he'd send them to see that food and water were brought to the defenders of the keep, or to restock them with arrows, Dragonglass, or anything else they may need. He'd have them take note of their numbers and then compare them with those from one of his earlier trips around the defenses. Davos would then decide if certain areas needed to be reinforced or if they'd fought for too long, that they should be replaced so they could at least get some little rest before they took up their positions again.

An army worked on lists and supplies as much as it worked on the number of men it could call upon. Not knowing exactly how you fared, especially in a siege, was a sure-fire way of losing the battle you fought. So since he wasn't adept at fighting, it had fallen to him to ensure that in this aspect, their army was as strong as any had ever been. Although given that they faced an army that didn't need to eat, sleep, and never tired, he at times wondered if what he was doing made any true difference at all. In truth, he knew it did. Yet the truth often got lost in the fog of war.

"Princess," he called out when he reached the Dornish lines.

"Lord Davos."

"Your men? Your lines?" he asked as he looked at the men behind her, happy to see her sister and Ser Bronn were still among the ranks of the living.

"More fire, Davos. I know not how he does it, but our fires keep being extinguished."

A brief glimpse of green fire appeared in his mind's eye and he almost wished they'd had some of the stuff brought to Winterfell. Considering what had happened in King's Landing, it was almost more of a wish, though it was quickly one he discarded. Wildfire couldn't be controlled or tamed and while it would damage their enemies greatly, it hadn't only been Stannis' men that it had burned in Blackwater Bay, and these men and women here deserved a far better fate than that.

"I'll see more torches are brought to you. How do we fare with the catapults?"

"We're wasting our time using them, they're too close, Davos. We could fire beyond them but we simply don't have the…"

The sound was like thunder and even above the din of battle, it was one that all heard. His, Princess Sarella's, the Dornish soldiers, and he wagered every single eye in the keep looked to the sky fearing that a dragon had fallen. To their relief, there was still a sight of them laying down their flames off in the distance and while he was relieved, it didn't change the fact that something terrible had occurred. When he then heard the banging, he began to understand what that was and despite his age and how tired he felt, Davos ran along walkways and looked down upon the gates.

"Are they…."

"Aye, they're fucking giants all right," he answered the question though who asked it he knew not.

During the rush that followed as people sought to deal with this new threat, Davos looked around for what to do, and then he saw the scorpions. Princess Sarella was now nowhere in sight and neither was King Rickon. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw wolves race out the now open gates but he dismissed the thought for now. Yelling at the young boys with him to find somewhere to hide, then ordering them to do so when they refused, Davos ran down the steps and soon had men joining him as they raced towards the scorpions.

"Turn them to the gates, to the gates." he shouted at the few men who still manned them, "Fire at those big ugly fuckers for fuck's sake" he shouted even more loudly when the men looked at him in confusion.

There had been some sights he'd seen over his many years in this world that still lived with him today. Asshai by the Shadow as it loomed off in the distance on one of his journeys on the Black Betha, the sun rising of a morn over the Summer Sea as he sailed through the Cinnamon's Straits. Marya's smile when he asked her to be his wife and on the day their first son was born, and Jon Snow as he rose from the dead. Now a giant falling to a Dragonglass tipped bolt was added to them all.

"Stop looking at it as if your fucking job is done. There are more of them lest you can't fucking see them. They are fucking giants after all," he called out when after the first one fell, the men looked at it with awestruck expressions on their faces.

At what point he knew what was about to happen, he couldn't tell. The shiver that ran down his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly rising up, or mayhap it was when he felt the fingers he'd long since lost, now begin to twitch once again. Drawing his sword, the Dragonglass somehow infused into the blade, he swung it, not knowing for certain if it would work how the princess had said it would. The Wight he caught across the head fell though and it didn't rise again and while he wished to laugh, the hundreds of Wights which followed that one didn't truly allow him to.

Davos fought like a man possessed, a man who had much more to live for than he'd believed for ever so long. His wife hated him not, his sons still named him a father, and he finally followed a just woman and an honorable man. His sword took down Wight after Wight, none of them a match for him or the fear and urgency that he now felt flowing through him.

These things wanted him dead.

They wanted to make his wife a widow.

To make his children fatherless.

To take him from this world when he still had much to do.

"NO!"

"NO!"

He cut down one and then another, his words being shouted loudly as he did so and though he was no fighting man, he fought very much as if he was one. The pain when it came almost went unnoticed, Davos not understanding at first why his body had decided to slow down its movements. As he fell to the ground, he willed himself to rise and found to his horror that he could not. Dropping the sword to the ground, he moved his hand to where he now felt the pain and brought the fingers of that hand to his face a moment later.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he said as he fell forward and felt his breathing grow shallow.

For some reason, the Wights ignored him, which given he was such an easy target may have been something he'd ponder on. These were his last few moments in this world though and he'd not spend them thinking about Wights or dead things. No, these he owed to the living, to his king, his queen, to the young boy who'd become almost another son to him, just as his brother had during their time together. To Baelon, Daenerys, and Rickon Stark, the family he'd chosen and to Marya and his boys, the family he'd made for himself.

"Marya….I go to our son….Matthos…" his words went unheard and his last breath was one he took alone.

Dany.

She'd wanted to argue with him, to tell him that he was being a fool and that this was not what they or she needed him to do. Something stopped her from doing so, a voice in her head that she'd not dare name as who she wished it was and yet was certain that it was indeed her mother who had spoken to her. So she'd watched as Baelon bid Rhaegal land and as he then sent the dragon back to join his brothers and her in the sky. Dany had looked on as he'd then mounted a horse and charged into battle and she knew that he did so with her heart right there alongside his own.

Determined to clear as much of her husband's path as she could, a feeling shared most keenly by Rhaegal, Dany had bid the three dragons loose their flames even more truly. They'd not disappointed her in doing so. The arcs of fire seemed to be even bigger to her than before and the dead that lay in the path of those arcs were quickly burned away to ash. More ice arrows had come for her and her children and they'd managed to avoid them once more. All three dragons then answered this threat to them with far more than roars as they once again let loose their flames on those below.

Again and again, over and over, she, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion flew over the battlefield and cut a fiery swathe through it. Every so often she'd fly near where she believed Baelon was and in the darkness, her eyes would seek him out. More often than not, Rhaegal would let loose his flames offering her some light and she'd breathed in relief when she caught sight of her husband still on his horse.

When he fell, she knew it. Somehow she knew that he was now on the ground and she'd wager it was Rhaegal's concern for Baelon that was the reason why she knew. Again she bid all three dragons to remove those in Baelon's path, and again she breathed out in relief when she saw him unharmed. More so when she saw what to her looked to be Jaime Lannister and Ned Dayne moving to join him. Dany wished to stay, to watch, to help and yet she felt the dragon's tiredness and so over Rhaegal's objections, she bid them fly away from the battle so they could get some well-deserved rest.

"Ilagon konīr, istiti, istiti rest, ñuha jorrāelagon." (Down there, we must, we must rest, my love).

After they'd flown over the large glade she'd picked for their landing spot, and once she was sure they were alone, she told Drogon to land and his brothers joined him. There was a small stream that looked so very appetizing and with one last look around, she climbed down off Drogon's back and moved to fill her water pouch. She ate the large chunk of bread as she walked and felt it fill her belly almost immediately. The wheel of cheese was almost gone, and she now polished off the rest of it before then dipping her water pouch into the icy cool stream.

Drinking down a large swallow, she reveled in how it felt against the dryness of her mouth and throat. She drank another and then another large swallow before refilling her pouch and moving to where Drogon and his brothers were resting. An hour, no more, for though she knew they needed it, she feared what may happen were they to be absent from the battle for much longer than that. It was as she was walking toward them that she felt it. The trees in the distance seemed to be alive and a sense of foreboding quickly came over her.

Almost as soon as she reached the dragons, she heard them in the air and knew that she was not going to be able to simply fly away from her as she planned. She took out her weapons, though she knew if it came down to her wielding them, then she was lost. Dany may have practiced a little, but she was nowhere near adept. Behind her, her children loosed weak flames and snapped at the dead birds that came their way, and ahead of her, she saw the first signs of the things she now feared would end them all. When she saw Jorah, she almost cried out in joy, even though her situation hadn't truly improved.

"Dracarys," she called out as some Wights looked as if they'd reach her before her loyal bear would.

"Khaleesi," Jorah shouted and there was so much she wished to say, so many things that had gone unsaid between them and yet the words that came out were almost panicked.

"Jorah I…."

She had wanted to thank him for coming to her aide, for being with her in these final few moments, and for the loyalty he'd shown her in the end. The betrayal was long since past and one she'd forgiven completely, and she wished him to know that. But her fear, her despair that she would fall here today and leave Baelon alone in the world, that the future they could have together would now never come to pass, was almost overwhelming. As were the thoughts of the babes that he'd been certain they'd bring into this world and who would now never be born.

"Dracarys." she cried out, as she saw the animals move ahead of the Wights and feared the death they'd give to her.

"AWWWWOOOOO!"

"AWWWWOOOO!"

She looked at Jorah in confusion and then she saw them. How large the pack was, she knew not. Who led it though was very much clear to her. Ghost and Nymeria raced past the Wights and tore into the dead animals that she'd been so very fearful of. Behind them, their pack of wolves made short work of the smaller animals while Ghost and Nymeria took down the larger ones. Hearing a sound from behind her, she looked on in amazement as Rhaegal took to the sky, and then she watched as he let loose his flames in a wide arc and the ravens and other dead birds were soon aflame.

Viserion followed his brother but it was not ravens or dead birds that were his target. Instead, it was Wights and dead animals that soon felt her quiet son's flames. Drogon was not going to be outdone by his brothers either. Though he stayed on the ground and never before had she seen him use his flames the way he did now. It was precise and careful and it took her a moment to see why he was doing so and it brought a smile to her face when she did.

"Khaleesi? "Jorah asked confused, his family sword in his hand should any dead thing pass her children or the wolves that protected them both.

"He's making sure it's only dead things he harms, Jorah, he's making sure he doesn't harm any of the wolves who've come to our aid," she said proudly.

The sight around her was a majestic one. In the sky above them, Rhaegal had removed the last of the dead birds and was now helping Viserion burn any Wight or dead animal that even looked their way. Behind her, Drogon was letting loose his flames in the most delicate and yet deadly way, and in front of her, a wolf pack led by two Direwolves, one of whom was her husband's truest companion, were tearing Wights and dead animals, limb from limb.

She felt a tear come to her eye when one or two of the smaller wolves found their foe to be more than a match for them. Then she almost wished to cheer out loud when other wolves brought down whichever dead thing had taken their kin from them. While she stood with her weapons in hand and Jorah bore Longclaw in his, not a single Wight or dead animal reached them and then all was silent and the only movements were those made by the living once more.

Nymeria moved to some of the fallen wolves and Dany felt great sadness almost come in waves from the giant Direwolf. Ghost came running towards her and she knelt down as the wolf licked away the tears that had begun to fall. The white wolf made her laugh at his attention, as he seemed to check each and every inch of her to make sure she was unharmed.

"I am well, my love, your wolf helped save me." She said as she rubbed Ghost behind his ear and somehow knew that her words would be heard by Baelon despite him being far from her side.

Rhaegal and Viserion landed and she walked over to praise them both before doing the same to Drogon and then moving back to speak to both Ghost and Nymeria who had now joined him. She thanked the She Wolf for coming to her aid and told her how sorry she was that she lost some members of her pack. As she looked into her dark golden eyes, she saw both sadness and relief, and yet there was something else there that she couldn't put a name to.

"Thank you, look after your pack, let me and the dragons do the rest." She said softly to the grey wolf before moving to the white "Baelon and I will end this, we'll both see you soon." she said as she leaned in and welcomed the warmth of Ghost's fur.

Rising to her feet, she turned to Jorah, and then much to his surprise, she embraced him tightly.

"My loyal and true, Bear Knight. Thank you for everything, for all of it. I am most grateful to have you by my side, truly."

"Khaleesi I…."

"Come those we left fighting will need both of us to help win this war. For now, you fly with me and Drogon."

Climbing up on Drogon's back, she watched the wolves disappear into the trees and then bid her son take them back to the battle.

"Let's end this one way or another."

Her words were drowned out by the sound of three sets of wings beating as the dragons took to the sky once more. The determination she felt was more than matched by their own and looking at Rhaegal, she took some comfort in the lack of worry she saw in his bronze eyes. The future was now what they were truly fighting for, hers, her current and future children's, her husband's, and everyones. As the battlefield once again came into view, she resolved it was a fight that she and they would win.