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***
There was darkness all around, which only slightly dissipated next to John, allowing him to see his hands. He stretched them out in front of him to get a good look - they were clean, without a single scar or burn, of which Stark had plenty. Instead of the usual chain mail, his hands were covered by the expensive fabric of a black camisole with red sleeves and silver embroidery. A silver belt was wrapped around his waist.
John had no idea where he'd ended up, but he thought it was foolish to just stand there waiting for something to happen. Given the inky darkness around him, it was pointless to guess which way to go, so John just walked forward, not thinking about what he hoped to see. He was clearly aware that he was probably dead, for the last thing he remembered was falling from a great height as the flaming cobblestones struck the Wall.
Jon walked without feeling tired, hungry, or even time. Perhaps he had been walking for only five minutes, perhaps a couple of centuries. What did it matter, really? Isn't he entitled to a few millennia of peace, even if only in the other world? Even those who can't live without war and bloodshed sometimes need a rest, and Stark was certainly not one of them, so he just kept going.
When a light appeared far ahead, Jon could not believe his eyes at first, thinking he was imagining it, but then, as he got closer, he was surprised to realise that the fire, growing stronger and stronger, was not a figment of his imagination. It was growing as he approached, rippling, flickering in the darkness. When Stark finally reached it, he found a bonfire in front of him, around which someone had placed stones.
Struck by this seemingly ordinary sight, Jon didn't immediately notice that someone was near the fire.
- I've been waiting for you,' said a voice that sounded particularly loud in the thick silence. - Where have you been, you arsehole?
John felt like he'd been hit over the head with something heavy and then thrown into a snowdrift. A chill ran down his spine, and his head felt surprisingly empty. As if mesmerised, he watched a painfully familiar face emerge from the gloom, framed by long red hair. Always tangled, it now fell in waves over the girl's naked shoulders.
- You swallowed your tongue? - Clad in a long green dress, the wildling grinned at John. - Say something, you fool.
- Ygritte? - John asked in disbelief.
- Who were you expecting? - Ygritte asked, coming closer. - Orella?
- But how? - Stark didn't have time to finish, for the wildling came close and covered his mouth with a kiss, insistent and greedy. Seeing no reason to hold back, Jon wrapped his arms around the girl's waist, pulling her close to him. He inhaled her scent greedily, his hands began to search for the clasps of her dress, but at some point Ygritte pulled away from him and pressed her palm against his chest.
- Ygritte...
- Easy, Jon Snow,' the wildling asked, though her eyes glittered with feverish fire. - We'll be fine.
- Ygritte,' Jon said again.
- I'm glad you still remember my name,' she took his hand and led him to the fire, where they sat down.
- What are you doing here?
- What do you think I'm doing here?! - exclaimed Ygritte. - I'm waiting for you, you fool! You know nothing, Jon Snow.
Her answer was laughter. Jon laughed, except when he was grabbing his sides, and couldn't stop. A phrase that had once irritated him quite a bit, now seemed to him the funniest joke he'd ever heard. Continuing to laugh, John pulled the girl to him.
- I know some things,' he said with a laugh. - And I know how to do it. Need I remind you?
- Later,' Ygritte replied with a serious face. - By the way, how do you like my silk dress?
The girl jumped to her feet and danced around the fire, showing off her open back, her waving hair like flames. The hem of the dress, decorated with a golden pattern, swept into the air, exposing the bare feet of the wildling. John smiled as he watched the wild dance, feeling joy and peace for the first time in a long time. Not even Rickon's rescue and victory over Ramsay had pleased him as much as he did now, just looking at Ygritte.
- What do you think? - Ygritte asked without stopping.
- You remember I always wanted to see you in a dress,' John reminded her. - So I could rip it off you.
- And in the eye? - The wildling's fist jabbed at Stark's nose, and he grinned.
The girl sat down beside Jon again, gazing into his face. Her slender fingers traced the long scar that crossed the left side of Stark's face, and her eyes found more and more scars.
- I wasn't expecting you so early,' Ygritte finally said. - You should have come later.
- I was rather late,' Stark objected. - I've already had a chance to die.
- Your time is not up yet,' the wildling shook her head. - Jon, believe me, I'm glad to see you, and I have no desire to part with you, but it's not time yet. I know.
- But I'm already here,' John replied. - Will you order me to leave?
- Yes,' said Ygritte simply. - Because if you don't go yourself, they will make you go. So wouldn't it be better to leave on your own rules than to obey someone else's?
- And where do you think I should go? - John asked wistfully.
- Back to where it all began,' she looked into Stark's eyes. - Where death came from.
At first Stark didn't understand what she was saying. He frowned in puzzlement, trying to make sense of it, but then it was as if he had an epiphany. He remembered his dreams of long ago, in which he had fought alone against the hordes of Darkness. A darkness that came from the north.
- Further north? - John asked incredulously. - But where to?
- To the Land of Eternal Winter,' Ygritte answered. - That is where the White Walkers came from. That is the only place where they can be dealt with.
- How can I deal with them in the far north when they are probably heading south by now?
- You'll understand when you get there,' the wildling snuggled against Stark. - I hate to break up with you, Jon, but you have to go. It won't be an easy journey, but if you want the people you care about to survive, you'll have to make it.
John was silent, roughly trying to imagine what he had to do. He had to walk an exorbitant distance through terrain where winter ruled. But how could he do that without food and warmth? A couple of days at most, and he would simply freeze to death in the nearest snowdrift.
But then John was reminded of Old Nan's tales of the Last Hero, who travelled far to the north at the hour of the Long Night to find the Children of the Forest and defeat the White Walkers. How much truth was there in those tales, and how much fiction? What really happened then, thousands of years ago? How did the enemy manage to be driven back and locked in the north? It seems it is up to him to find the answers to these questions, if, of course, there is anyone who can answer them.
The Children of the Forest are gone. The last of the ancient people died in the cave where the White Walkers, led by the Night King himself, had come. There are no more TreeWalkers, except for Bran. So where do we go for answers?
- Your time here is almost up,' Ygritte said quietly, looking up. - But I will wait for you.
- Can't we stay together a little longer? - John asked.
Instead of words, Ygritte nipped at Stark's lips again, and when his hands began to unbutton her dress, the girl didn't object.
***
The Great Hall of Winterfell was crowded and noisy, with smoke billowing from the ceiling and tension in the air. The Lords of the North were noisily discussing what had happened on the Wall and assessing their prospects, considering what should be done. Gendry looked at the men with his mouth hanging open, but remained silent, following the directions of the Imp, who sat nearby, drinking wine from his own supply.
The Northmen were not happy about Lannister's presence, which they did not hide, and with good reason. It was the Lannisters who had tried to kill Bran Stark, turning him into a cripple, and they had executed Eddard Stark. It was the Lannisters who were behind the Red Wedding that killed Robb Stark and the men loyal to him. It was the Lannisters who put Roose Bolton and his bastard son in Winterfell. Yes, Northerners had plenty of reasons to hate the Lannisters, and Tyrion was no exception.
At the wide table, the last two Starks, Bran and Sansa, sat on the dais, and between them sat the throne of the Kings of the North, which was now empty. The eyes of many of those present were fixed on it, and on the red-eyed direwolf that sat beneath it. Huge, with snow-white skin, he stared coldly at the gathered people without making a single sound. The predator's gaze made Gendry uncomfortable, but he pulled himself together and held his composure.
- The Lords of the North,' Sansa began, 'are our loyal allies. We have come together in this hour of need to decide how to proceed.
- The fire that Jon Stark has unleashed on the dead has run dry,' Lord Sleuth rose from his seat. - It's only a matter of time before they reach the Dreadfort and the North Mountains.
- Our supply of dragonglass is not enough for everyone,' added Flint of the Widow's Watch. - We took what we had out of the Dreadfort, and what the Wildlings have managed to bring in is too little.
- Where is Tormund and his allies now? - Bran Stark asked quietly.
- They're at the Dreadfort,' Lord Karstark replied. - They are helping us prepare our defences. But even with their help, we can't hold out much longer. We've all seen what the White Walkers did to the Wall.
- The problem is that we're dealing with an enemy we barely understand,' John Amber stood up from his seat. - They don't know fear, and tactics and strategy are ineffective against the dead, because they ignore it. The only way to deal with them is through brute force, and nothing else.
- You've used it before, and how did it turn out for you? - The Northmen tried to see the man who was speaking, which they could only do when Tyrion Lannister stepped into the centre of the hall. - Your best warriors are dead, almost the entire Night's Watch is dead, and even your King has fallen.
- Watch your words, dwarf! - Gawain Glover, the new Lord of the Dark Forest, jumped up from his bench and drew his sword. - Or I'll chop off your ugly head and send you back to Dragonstone!
The Northmen cheered the young Glover with a roar of approval that made Gendry's ears pop. Tyrion himself, despite his visible agitation, continued in a steady voice:
- I meant no offence, Lord Glover, and I apologise if my words offended you. I knew Jon, we travelled together to the Wall, where he became a brother of the Night's Watch. And I was bitter to hear of his death,' Tyrion turned to the Starks. - Your brother was a decent man, better than most of the men I knew. But life is a cruel bitch, and your brother is gone.
- What do you suggest, Lord Tyrion? - Sansa asked in a cold voice.
- 'I offer you salvation,' replied the Lannister. - Daenerys Targaryen is ready to help you, her armies ready to come to your aid in the North at her first word.
- What armies are you talking about, Imp? - Lord Manderly asked. - Perhaps the bare-assed savages, some of whom you brought with you? Yes, they would be of much use in our land.
- Or perhaps you speak of the Ironborn? - Gawain Glover asked hatefully. - Pirates and brigands who plundered our castles, burned villages and drowned people in honour of their god? Is that what you want to bring to us?!
The people roared with rage, and Gendry saw the Imp tighten his lips. Everything Tyrion and Varys had warned the queen about was coming true; her allies were rejected and hated, and those feelings were especially strong among the Northmen, who had only recently driven the Ironborn from their lands.
- I speak of the Unsullied, who are ready to fight any enemy,' Tyrion replied to the raging lords. - I'm talking about the armies of the Outlands and the Stormlands.
- Will your army of castrati be of much use if the Wychs can't take conventional weapons? - John Amber addressed him. - How many do you have?
- Nearly eight thousand,' Tyrion replied.
- Eight thousand warriors for the Night King's army,' Little Jon replied. - He might even thank you for it. As for the Stormlands and the Vale, I'd rather believe Aegon Targaryen rose from the dead than that the Southerners will come to our aid.
- The Vastor have already sworn allegiance to Queen Daenerys,' Lannister objected. - The Stormlands will join them soon enough. And when the Queen commands it, they will obey.
- Really?' Slate grinned. - Didn't Stannis Baratheon fuck up the Stormlands' army? Who's going to fight there? Infants? And the Tyrells are no different from the Lannisters in my eyes, just as deceitful and corrupt.
- And what do you say about the dragons? - At those words, the hall fell silent. - Three huge fire-breathing dragons. If I'm not mistaken, fire is quite effective against your Wychs, isn't it?
- Only against them,' Bran replied. - The White Walkers are no match for it, and neither are your dragons.
- But it's better than nothing! - Tyrion exclaimed. - While the dragons are slaying the Wychs, the humans can get close to the Walkers themselves! Yes, there will be casualties, many casualties, but it's a chance to finish them off!
- And what do we do if the Walkers kill the dragons? - Stark asked in the same steady voice. - They destroyed the Wall. What do they care about your dragons if the fire doesn't bother them? What if they raise them later? What are we supposed to do, fight three big monsters?
- I am not a strategist,' Tyrion admitted, 'and I cannot foresee every possible scenario. All I'm suggesting is that we can survive. It is better than doing nothing at all. Besides, I see Thoros of Myr, priest of Rglor, among those present. And the woman in red I believe is Priestess Melisandre, of whom I have heard much.
The named men stood up and came forward so that they could be seen by the others. Behind them, Lord Beric could be seen and Clegane could be seen propping up the wall with his back. The Hound held a bottle of cheap wine in his hands, to which he occasionally took a drink. Gendry felt a wave of anger at the sight of this company. He wanted to grab his war hammer and smash their heads in.
- You may find this interesting,' Tyrion said to the priests, 'but the High Priestess of Kinvar has called Queen Daenerys the chosen one, the one who will overthrow the Darkness.
- The High Priestess was wrong in her choice, as I was once wrong,' Melisandre replied, head held high and proud, the red crystal around her neck glinting in time with her words. 'I admit Daenerys Targaryen may be of some help to us in the Great Battle, but she cannot bring down the Great Other. The Lord of Light has marked Jon Stark as his chosen one, bringing him back from the world of the dead and granting him powers never before seen. And may those present never agree with me, but that is the truth. Jon Stark fought and killed White Walkers, saving the living from the dead. What did your queen, Tyrion Lannister, accomplish? She fled the Slaver's Bay on the pretext of reclaiming her throne, but in reality she achieved nothing. What did she leave behind? Nothing. What will she leave behind? Nothing.
Looking round at the Lords of the North, Melisandre spoke louder so that everyone could hear her:
- Fire has revealed to me the truth that Lord Tyrion is trying to hide. Queen Daenerys is barren! She cannot have children! Even if she sits on the throne she so desires, all her deeds will turn to dust, for there will be no one to carry them on after her death,' the priestess turned to the Imp again. - Here is my question to you, Tyrion Lannister, and this time I would like to hear you answer it. What will happen to the country when your queen dies, and who will take the throne after her?
- You are rushing things,' Tyrion replied, 'but I will answer. We have already discussed the matter with the queen, and I want you to know that she realises the gravity of the matter. We will deal with the succession as soon as Daenerys Targaryen takes the throne that is rightfully hers.
- What right are you talking about, Imp?!
Tyrion, like the rest of them, stared in surprise at the jumped-up Sansa, who now looked more like an infuriated she-wolf. Her eyes were burning, her face contorted with rage.
- Your queen has no more rights than Aegon the Conqueror or Robert Baratheon had! Or your sister, who fancies herself a great queen and demands obedience! How is your Mother of Dragons different from Cersei? She also demands obedience without a thought as to whether we want to serve her! Why should we bow to some foreign woman when we have a king of our own?!
- Your king is dead, Lady Sansa,' Tyrion reminded her gently.
- I don't believe it! - Stark retorted. - My cousin is alive!
There was an awkward silence for a moment, then Lord Manderly spoke:
- Lady Sansa, we all realise that grief clouds the mind. Your brother's death has struck you.
- I speak what I am, Lord Wyman,' Stark retorted. - I have kept silent only because Jon asked me to, but now I can no longer. If you don't believe me, Lord Karstark, Ser Davos, and Bran can confirm my words. Jon was not our father's son!
- Forgive my rudeness, my lady,' Lord Locke said, 'but this is nonsense. Only a fool wouldn't notice that the White Wolf has Stark blood in him.
- Because it is in him,' Bran said, ahead of his sister. - But it doesn't come from his father, it comes from his mother.
Sam Tarly, who was in the company of the few surviving Black Brothers, rose from his seat, catching every word Stark said, earning a puzzled look from Edd.
- Jon's mother was Leanna Stark, my aunt. She died in Dorne, bringing Jon into the world. His real father was Rhaegar Targaryen.
The silence in the hall was akin to a grave silence.
- Confirmed,' Harald Karstark rose from his seat. - Jon Stark told us himself. The truth was revealed to him after his resurrection.
- Where did he get that idea?! - Slate shouted. - How could he have dreamt it?! It would blow my mind! John Stark was wrong!
- Do you think I'm wrong, too?
Tyrion turned on the spot, looking at the man he had only heard of before. The tall, strong lords stood hesitantly before a short, brown-haired man in his forties, with a lion lizard on his chest. Before the Lords of the North, for the first time in a long time, stood Howland Reed, Lord of the Isthmus and old friend of Eddard Stark, one of the strangest and most mysterious men in all of Westeros. The man who travelled with Stark to fetch his sister.
- I was in Dorne the day Lyanna Stark died. Died in her brother's arms, giving him her newborn son before she died and taking Eddard's oath to protect the child. That was Jon, Rhaegar's son.
Lord Reed looked as if he had declared himself, at the very least, a reborn Ballerion, the Black Terror. The man himself stood there with a completely unperturbed face, as if nothing serious had happened, as if he had just told the lords the most ordinary news of all.
- All right...' Galen Glover was the first to come to his senses. - Let's say it's true... Damn it, I can't believe what I'm saying... So Jon Stark wasn't Lord Eddard's bastard, but the crown prince's?
- Did I say Jon was a bastard? - Reed asked, shocking everyone completely. - Do you really think Eddard Stark left it at that and didn't bother to find out the details? If he did, you're all a bunch of idiots. My friend travelled to Staromastle and found High Septon Maynard's writings that said--
- That he arranged a marriage between Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark,' Sam finished, his knees shaking from the attention. - I have those records with me.
- Who is that? - Someone asked.
- Samwell Tarly, brother of the Night's Watch,' Mournful Edd announced. - Jon, as Lord Commander, sent him to Staromastle and trusted Sam as much as anyone.
- But Prince Rhaegar was married to Elia Martell,' Lyanna Mormont objected. - How could he have remarried? The law forbids bigamy. Besides, we were always told that the crown prince kidnapped Lyanna Stark.
- And he was a Targaryen,' Howland Reed reminded us. - And Targaryens tended to spit on a good half of the laws. The crown prince had decided to follow in Aegon the Conqueror's footsteps and have two wives. As for the kidnapping... There was no kidnapping. There was just a fool in love who ran off with the one she loved and didn't think about the consequences.
***
It was pitch black all around, but it wasn't the kind of darkness John had grown accustomed to, light and calm. The darkness here was crushing, cold and angry, biting at him with icy teeth and pressing down on his chest like a tombstone. His limbs were numb, he couldn't feel his toes as if they didn't even exist, his left palm was in unbearable pain, and he couldn't hold back a groan. Stark turned his head with difficulty and saw the cause of the pain - a solid stone that had taken two of his fingers, the pinky and the ring finger. All that was left in their place were bloody stumps.
It was only now that John realised that the darkness around him had been caused by the piling up of rocks, snow and ice, and it was only by sheer luck that none of them had crushed his head or broken any bones, but there was no doubting that he was bruised enough. His body ached as if he'd been danced on by a giant riding a mammoth, with three others accompanying him.
John found himself in a kind of pocket, rather small in width and height. Standing up was out of the question; there was no way to sit down. Trying to move the blocks on his own did nothing, and it was clear that the Shout was needed, but Stark hesitated. He had no idea how his body would react to another abuse, nor did he know what awaited him up there. Maybe the dead were just waiting for him to get out so they could rip his head off. But he couldn't drag it out any longer; if he didn't get out, he'd just die up here.
Now we had to decide which Shout to use to make sure he didn't give up. The ideal option would have been to use Ruthless Force, followed by Disembodiment or Time Slowdown, or even a Rapid Jerk, but the problem was that John could very well die after the first Scream. He was too weak.
In the end, Stark decided to use Ruthless Force and incorporeality, because the rubble had to be cleared, and the cobblestones that came back might as well kill him.
Taking as much air into his lungs as he could, Jon exhaled:
- Fus! Ro! Dah!
The rocks and chunks of ice were blown away by the powerful gust, and John felt his stomach do a somersault, but there was nowhere to go. As long as he still had strength, he had to act.
- Feim! Zii! Gron!
A merciless pain twisted his insides, and his bones ached so badly that his eyes went dark. How he had managed to get out of the hole John could not understand, but as soon as he crawled away he was turned inside out, vomiting a mixture of bile and blood, the spasms making the muscles in his face tense as if they were going to tear. When the spasms finally stopped, John passed out.