A Dream of Snow [ON HOLD]

6 | The Kiss of Dead Men

'Old magic, new magic,' he shrugs. 'I don't know. But it is real, they're real.  I've seen them. I've fought them.'

Trembling, I drain the last of my cup and rise to refill it, the prick of his stare pressed into me as I do. When I sit across from him once more I feel steadier, more able to think beyond its impossibility.

'If they cannot be killed, if they simply... rise again... how do you propose to defeat them? Surely it cannot be done?'

'There are ways to kill them,' he says. 'And ways to stop them rising again.'

'You've seen it done?'

'I've done it.' There is no pride in his voice, none at all.

'What are these ways?'

'Dragonglass does it. Valyrian steel too,' he reaches to his swordbelt, reflexively, but of course he is unarmed. 'And fire.'

'Dragonglass is almost as rare as Valyrian Steel. How do you propose to weaponise something there is not nearly enough of?'

He nods, as though he has considered this at length. 'I've a friend, a brother from the Nightswatch, gone to The Citadel — to become a maester — he plans to scour the breadth of it for any word of Dragonglass, for any clue to where we might find more of it. And I've given the order for every maester in the north to search their own books and papers for any mention of it — I've told them it's more valuable to us now than gold.  You could order the rest do the same,' he urges.

'Zīrtys perzys,' I whisper. It causes Jon to cast me a look of bemusement. 'Dragonglass. In High Valyrian it means frozen fire.  Very well,' I refocus my gaze upon him. 'I will charge every maester in the seven kingdoms do as you require. If there is more Dragonglass to be found in this realm, we shall find it.'

'You have my gratitude, your grace.'

I nod. 'I assume these dead men are not able to scale a seven hundred foot wall of ice?'

'I know only that they have not yet tried,' he says bleakly. 'But the Nights Watch's numbers are dwindled, have ever been dwindling. If they do try to scale it, there's not nearly enough men left to hold it. I've sent all I can, but it needs more.'

'How many more?'

He shrugs, a little hopelessly I think. 'Two hundred, maybe three. And the supplies to feed them.'

This is why he's here, meeting you without your advisors or your hand, because he thinks you weak. You are weak. It is your army he wants, not you.

The voice in my head is Viserys', bitter and thin from hate.

I take a deep breath as I study Jon carefully. I do not believe he thinks me weak. What cause has he to think me weak? Strength comes from action not inaction. He will see strength when he looks at me, I will make sure of it.

'Then it will be done,' I say. 'I will send the men you need to the wall to defend it.'

Jon's gaze softens, grateful. 'Thank you, your grace,' he says. When his eyes skirt from mine, pensive, I know he wants to ask for something else but is reluctant to draw my displeasure.

'You have spoken of an army of dead men yet this you are afraid to say aloud?' I ask. When he lifts his head he looks surprised, and a little unsettled perhaps.

'It is only that...' he runs a pale hand over the hair of his face, smoothing the dark growth there. 'Well, I fear it will not be enough.'

'Not enough?' I raise an eyebrow.