- Damn it, bring more arrows!
- Die, creature!
- Lord Commander, the passage has been blocked.
- Can they dig it out? - John asked.
- I don't know,' exhaled Sorrowful Edd, the right side of his face disfigured. - These things are fast for dead men.
- So it's possible,' Karstark concluded, looking down from the Wall at the undead hordes. - No sign of the Walkers themselves.
- They will come,' Snow assured him. - Have you heard from Tormund?
- No word yet,' Edd replied, 'but it's a long way from Skagos. Maybe he's on his way to the East Watch by now.
- Good, if so,' Karstark spat off the Wall. - If we're without dragon glass, we'll be dead men ourselves. Our supplies are dwindling and we have too little Valyrian steel.
Jon looked down at the thin stream of figures climbing stubbornly up the icy surface, despite the rain of arrows that the defenders of the Wall had rained down on them. On the first day, they climbed one by one. Beating them was easy. A few days later, they were climbing two in a row, and a week later, three in a row. The breach in the Wall's magical defences grew wider, and the Wychs pressed harder.
An icy wind blew against the spine of the Wall, and at the same moment horns blared, announcing a new attack. Standing at the edge of the Wall, John watched the riders who rode through the ranks of the dead and recognised one of them as the Night King. The ancient monster had come in person, which meant the matter was taking a turn for the worse.
There were no more options. It was time to play the last trump card and hope that the Night King no longer had any.
- Dur!
The scream was cut short by a chilling pain in his stomach, and John lowered his eyes to see a huge ice lance piercing him through. Unable to resist, he swung forward, falling off the edge of the Wall, straight into the waiting arms of the dead. They were waiting for their new brethren, who would soon be climbing the Wall with them.
Snow jumped up on the bed, and Vel, unhappy with this awakening, stirred, then opened her sleepy eyes and looked at Jon.
- Bad dream again? - she asked.
- Yes,' John nodded, regaining his breath. - He gave me a clue this time, though.
- What kind of clue? - Vel sat down next to Snow, resting her head on his shoulder, the blanket sliding down, exposing her full breasts.
Jon answered briefly:
- Skagos.
***
- Where am I supposed to go again? - Tormund asked again.
- Skagos,' John repeated patiently. - We know that dragonglass, along with Valyrian steel, is the surest way to kill both the Wycht and the White Walker. But Valyrian steel weapons are very scarce, and most of them are in the south. So we need to get a supply of dragon glass, and the people of Skagos have long been traders in weapons made of it.
- Why me?' the wildling wondered.
- The people of Skagos are not much different from the Free Folk,' Snow explained, 'so you'll have an easier time negotiating with them. Technically, Skagos is part of the North, but in light of the events of the last few years, the islanders might as well have sent all the laws into the fire. Tell them what's in store for all of us. Convince them to start shipping glass, because if we lose, nothing can stop the Walkers, including water.
Tormund ran his fingers through his beard as he considered John's words. The new King of the North was right. The North needed dragon glass like air, and Skagos was the nearest source of it. The only problem was that the waters around the island were very dangerous, the whirlpools and sharp rocks had killed many a brave man and wrecked countless galleys. But there was no other choice, time was playing against them, so they could not delay.
- When do we leave? - Tormund asked.
- Immediately,' John replied. - Ride to the East Watch, where the White Harbour galleys will be waiting for you. I've already sent orders to Lord Manderly. You will use them to transport the dragon glass to the East Watch. It will be received there by the masters who will be travelling there shortly.
- You're missing the point, lad,' Tormund said, stepping forward and hovering over the table where John was sitting. - What do we do if the islanders send us up the arse?
- Then tell them,' Snow's eyes paled, 'that I will personally sail to Skagos, walk it from one end to the other, and kill anyone who dares stand in my way. I will raze their villages to the ground and drown the so-called lords in Seal Bay. We want dragon glass, and we'll get it. One way or another. It's up to them.
Wildling grinned into his beard and nodded. Turning round, he headed for the exit, and it was only once he was outside the doors that Tormund spoke:
- It's a pity, lad, that you weren't on our side then. We'd have been on this side of the Wall long ago, and no Stannis would have helped.
Tormund gathered his thoughts and headed for the wing of the castle where the wildlings were camped. He needed to tell them what Jon Snow's next crazy idea was, and that they were the ones who would have to carry it out.
- He doesn't look happy,' Sansa said, entering the hall just after Tormund had left.
- Should he be? - Jon wondered. - He will have to sail to the people who have a reputation for cannibalism. Would you be glad of such a meeting?
Sansa raised her eyebrows at the thought, but kept silent. She walked over to Jon and handed him the sealed letter:
- It came half an hour ago. I just didn't want to disturb you.
- Who is it from? - Snow asked, taking the scroll.
- Look at the seal,' Sansa suggested.
Jon did so, and then frowned in bewilderment.
- What the...
The seal bore the rose of Highgarden.
***
With a knock on the door and a nod of approval, Deacon Tarly entered the sparsely lit quarters, bowing his head respectfully.
- Your Grace...
- Have we arrived yet?
- We are entering White Harbour,' Tarly replied. - I think you should see this.
Hurriedly pulling on her thick gloves, Margaery Tyrell stepped out onto the deck, which greeted her with the noise, the creaking of gear, and the cold, chill wind that ruled the North. The fugitive queen looked out over the snow-covered shore and the harbour to which the Serenity was approaching. Even from here it was obvious that White Harbour was bustling with activity. Supplies in bales and barrels were being urgently loaded onto the standing galleys, porters were hauling in heavy crates, sailors were corralling animals that didn't want to go down into the dark holds.
- What's going on? - Margery asked.
- 'Well, I'd say the Manderley fleet is preparing to set sail at once, Your Grace,' answered Deacon.
- Where to?
- We'll soon find out.
Nimbly manoeuvring between the many fishing ships, boats and galleys leaving the harbour, the captain of the Serenity steered his ship forward until it finally docked at the pier.
- Hey, honourable man! - shouted Deacon, addressing the sailors from the neighbouring galleys. - Where are you going?!
- To the Eastern Watch! - came the reply. - We're taking supplies and weapons to the Night's Watch! From there we move on to Skagos!
- Why?! - Tarly wondered.
- The King of the North has ordered us to start mining dragon glass, and we're going to transport it from the island to the mainland!
- What do you need dragon glass for! - Margaery intervened, wrapping herself as tightly as possible in her warm cloak.
- What cave did you crawl out of, honoured one?! - Tarly grabbed his sword, but Margaery gave him a look that told him not to interfere. - The dead are coming to the Wall! The King of the North has ordered us to prepare for war!
- What are they talking about? - Dickon wondered. - What kind of dead men are coming?
- We'll find out when we get to Winterfell,' Tyrell replied, 'but for now, get on with your business.
- Forgive me, Your Grace,' Tarly bowed, leaving Margaery with her two maids of honour. The Tyrell loyalists began unloading the galleys and leading the horses out, and one of the soldiers hurried away to find a wagon for their ward.
Margaery herself did not understand why her grandmother had told her to sail north while she herself travelled to meet the Mother of Dragons. The snow-covered lands gave the girl, accustomed to southern vegetation and colour, a deathly longing that made her want to throw herself into the icy waters of the bay.
The fingers on her left hand began to feel numb again, and Margaery squeezed them several times convulsively, genuinely glad that the thick gloves hid her hands from prying eyes. But sooner or later, she would have to take them off.
A trip to the North seemed pointless and empty to Tyrell; there was no one to negotiate with. Sansa? It's not even funny. What is there to talk about with this romantic fool who believes every man she meets, seeing him as a noble knight from children's fairy tales? And the King of the North that the sailors mentioned? By all accounts, Eddard Stark's youngest son, who by some miracle was alive, was crowned, but he was too young, which means that someone is ruling the North from behind his back.
There is no point in mentioning the Stark bastard, though Margaery has heard some very strange rumours about the young man, but they were just silly tales that only unwashed hillbillies would believe.
Yet here she is in the North, a fugitive from King's Harbour. The sailors and harbour labourers bustling around are looking at her with interest, but none of them have any idea who stands before them. Moreover, when they looked at the knights who were protecting her, contempt flashed in their eyes, their lips curved in sneers. Definitely the Southerners here were treated with distrust and even irritation. She wanted to say what she thought of them, then go back to the galley and get out of this godforsaken hole.
And then what? Go back in the hope that Grandmother would be able to negotiate with Daenerys Targaryen? Those negotiations depended in no small part on what the Tyrells could offer the Mother of Dragons, and an alliance with the North could be a good bargaining chip. So they would have to put their pride down for a while and put up with the North's attitude towards them. She would have to meet with Sansa, too, for there was no doubt that the silly girl would give Margaery anything she wanted. But the thought of having to endure that fool's naive babble again made the fugitive queen sick to her stomach.
- Your Grace,' Deacon Tarly addressed her. - We've found a wagon and we're ready to go.
- On your way, then,' Margaery commanded. - The sooner we're done here, the sooner I can get out of here.
The journey to Winterfell was a long and arduous one. Winter had already set in in the North, covering the roads, exhausting men and horses. Tucked away in a covered wagon, Margaery could sit still for hours, staring at the snow-covered landscape and the bare trees where the leaves had long since fallen. The frost stiffened her body and mind, so she did not care for the incessant chattering of the maids of honour, and it was not long before she realised the excitement of her entourage when the castle towers appeared ahead.
The main gate was open, and people and wagons were coming and going through it. There were two large camps near the walls, and the soldiers were speechless when in one of them they saw a huge figure watching them with an attentive gaze. The giant was clad in some semblance of armour and leaned on a huge club.
- A giant,' someone whispered, but no one heard him.
Dickon Tarly, who rode ahead, raised the Tyrell banner as high as he could to make way for them, but the Northmen did not scatter to the sides; instead, they jeered and cursed loudly. By all accounts, the Tyrell banner, if anyone recognised it, was of no interest to the northerners.
But a band of riders rode up to meet the Southerners, one of them holding the Stark banner above his head. They wore heavy skins and thick beards, a stark contrast to the smooth-shaven and more civilised-looking Southerners. The knight who rode at the head of the troop stopped in front of Deacon and allowed him to get a good look at him. He was broad-shouldered, with a thick black beard and a long scar on his face from his close encounter with a sword. Everything said that he was an experienced warrior who had been through more than a dozen battles, which, to Margaery's deep regret, most of her retinue could not boast. The rest of the northern warriors looked much the same.
- I am Damion Flint, Master of the Weapons of Winterfell,* the warrior said. - Identify yourselves.
- I am Dickon Tarly, son of Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill and loyal vassal of House Tyrell,' came the reply. - I have the honour of accompanying Her Majesty Margaery Baratheon, née Tyrell. We request a meeting with the King of the North, as we notified him in our letter.
Flint looked round at the knights frozen before him, then commanded:
- Open the wagon.
- On what grounds! - Tarly was indignant, and his men became wary, which did not escape the attention of the Northmen.
- I want to make sure you're not hiding assassins in there,' Flint hissed. - I am charged with guarding the castle and its inhabitants, and I intend to honour the King of the North's trust. Open the carriage or we will be forced to use force.
- You are overstepping your bounds,' Deacon's face became hard and his voice threatening. - In that wagon sits the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
- Six, for that matter,' Flint replied, 'the North does not recognise the authority of any king or queen other than the King of the North. Last warning, Deacon Tarly, open the wagon. I will say no more.
The ground shook with heavy footsteps, and the soldiers were horrified to see the same giant walking towards them, holding his club lightly on his shoulder. He was only a few steps away, but he froze in place, as if waiting for further developments.
- I think it would be foolish to start the meeting with violence,' came a melodious voice, the door of the carriage opened, and Margaery and her maid of honour stepped out. - Ser Deacon, leave your sword alone, Ser Flint is only fulfilling his duties. Let's not disturb him.
- Thank you, Lady Margaery,' Damion said with a wave of his hand, and the two northerners ducked into the wagon, gave it a quick but thorough inspection, and jumped out. - Now everything is in order. Please follow us. Clear the road!
They entered the castle without any trouble, surrounded by Northerners, and Margaery left the carriage and stepped into the stone-paved courtyard, where Sansa Stark was waiting for her before the entrance to the Great Wizardry, with Brienne of Tarth looming over her shoulder. But was this the Sansa Margaery remembered? Why the confident look, devoid of naivety, and the proud posture with which she greeted her guest? Or was it just a mask so that others could not see that this pretty little head of yours had not a shred of reason in it?
- Margaery,' Sansa smiled. - It's so good to see you!
- Sansa,' Tyrell smiled, 'believe me, my joy is mutual!
- I never thought I would see you in our lands,' Stark admitted. - How was your journey?
- It was not a pleasant one, to be honest,' Margaery replied, staring at Sansa. She didn't like what she was seeing. - And it had not been the most hospitable of encounters.
- I apologise,' Sansa apologised, 'Ser Flint is very zealous in his duties and we have too many enemies.
- I understand,' Tyrell nodded.
Sansa smiled in return and then glanced at Deacon, raising her eyebrows slightly in anticipation. Remembering his manners, the man introduced himself:
- Deacon Tarly of Horn Hill, son of Randil Tarly. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sansa. I've heard much about you.
- I'm afraid to imagine exactly what you've heard of me,' Sansa said in a less than pleased tone. - You said your name was Tarly?
- It is.
- Hm, my brother mentioned something like that. But I won't keep you. Come,' Stark invited them, 'my brother is waiting for us.
Margaery followed Sansa, and Dickon Tarly followed, walking side by side with Lady Brienne, who pretended she didn't exist. The tall maiden looked at Margaery without a drop of deference, which also displeased the heir to Horn Hill.
The Great Hall of Winterfell was empty, with only a few people sitting at tables. At the other end of the hall, a black-haired young man with a neat beard sat at a wide table, a heavy wolfskin cloak resting on his shoulders. From his typically Stark face, grey eyes stared coldly at the guests.
- Lady Margaery, Ser Dickon,' Sansa began formally, 'may I introduce my brother, Jon Snow, surnamed the White Wolf, King of the North and Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.