From White Harbour to Winterfell and Beyond. GoT Season 8 retold

The Winds of Winter

Jon woke from a dead sleep with a gasp. Sweat had settled in a sheen over his body, and turned icy cold, either because of the dying fire, or perhaps because of the images that had just been flickering through his mind like a book of pictures. He swung his feet out from under the heavy blankets and tried to chase away the thoughts, but they persisted in his half-awake state. Winterfell in ruins, a burning Kingslanding, horror and pain and worst of all, the queen herself, dead in his arms. Jon swallowed roughly, and glanced over his shoulder. Thank the gods she was there and not laying in dregs of a stone throne room, with trails of blood on her face and his own knife between her ribs. The image had been so vivid....

Walking the outer walls of Winterfell in the pink dawn helped to clear the dreams from his mind. Indeed, it was difficult to think of anything but the brisk air and ice crystals. The cold crept into his nostrils and his boots squeaked over the snow as he limped, but when he paused at the far watchtower and looked back up at the castle, Jon felt as if he could almost hear Robb calling him over the wind. Like when they were lads, and yelled across at one another,'I'm the King of the Castle!'. Always as a boy, Jon had felt there was a sadness in Winterfell, but only now did it seem to bite into him, and leave its mark.

Davos met him on the way back, pink cheeked and brisk. "Yer Grace. There is no more oil."

"Aye, there are reserves in the North barracks."

"And there is a concern for where to put the extra firewood."

Jon considered for a moment, "We should-"

"Your Grace!" called a boy from Widows Watch, across the courtyard. "I have a raven for you!"

With a wave Jon took the closest set of wood steps below, and several more men shouted out to him. He saw the name of the Lord Commander of the Night Watch on the tiny scroll with one glance, and read that they were on the way there even now. Jon had just realized that Sir Davos was speaking to him as the knight said, "-that red woman sneaking around, and we chased her off."

Jon halted and turned to him, "The red woman?"

"Aye, yer Grace."

"We are about to face a magical army and you drove off someone who can raise those who fall, from death?"

"Er," Davos shifted, "Aye."

"Oy!" shouted a man. "King Jon!"

Jon turned, bewildered, to find Gendry, the bastard of King Robert's waving at him from the forge. As he crossed the courtyard, several more questions came at him which he couldn't answer at once, and by the time he'd made it to the blacksmith his spirits were troubled.

"Right!" said the big-armed boy, when Jon was near, "I've done this here-" he pointed at the pile of broadswords forged with obsidian, " and these-" next he showed several quivers of glass-tipped arrows."

"Excellent work," Jon nodded. At least the raging forge was giving off heat, and he could feel his nose again,

"We're calling them dragon-teeth."

"They will do nicely."

The blacksmith grinned, and wiped his grimy hands on his apron. Beyond him Jon could just see a small shape, leaning against a post deeper within the ramparts, and he smiled to himself. "Keep up your work, Gendry, and don't neglect your own axe."
"Your grace," said the boy, and Jon passed him, ducking inside.

"Keeping an eye on the weapons?" he said, to no one.

Arya shrugged one shoulder, "Perhaps."

"It would be good for you, Arya," Jon looked her in the eye, "to have a new weapon made."