―Beyond the Wall―
Samwell Tarly and Gilly had already begun preparing a makeshift campfire near an abandoned heart tree. Bundled in a makeshift quilt was Joffrey Baratheon; the exiled Prince had an arrow lodged into his back removed and his injuries tended to, though he still refused any help as his body fought off a chill. Patched up as he was, if they didn't make it back to Castle Black then the mutineers, the cold, starvation... or worse, White Walkers would claim their lives. And they had little supplies remaining, especially with a baby and crows keeping them company.
"Here, Joffrey, drink this," Samwell offered his last cup of water to Joffrey.
"P-piss off!" he rebuffed; his voice chilled. "As if a-an arrow in th-the back w-wasn't all I n-need."
Samwell frowned; Gilly, the wildling girl accompanying them, looked rather cross with the exiled Prince's rudeness, yet placed her palm on his forehead. Joffrey felt warm, if not a bit hot. She was certain he had a fever. Once she examined the makeshift bandages with dried blood, Gilly determined that his wound was slowly getting infected.
"If we can't get to the Wall, your friend will die," Gilly pointed out. "We die. The baby..."
Samwell shook his head. "We're going to make it. We all are. I promise."
Gilly felt a sense of relief as Joffrey buried his head under the sheet, his body shook and shivered as the freezing temperature outside dropped. Only the makeshift fire they made could only last so long – considering the supernatural events that have been taking place in the lands beyond the Wall. A wildling army, the return of the White Walkers... all Joffrey could think of was home. King's Landing. He wanted to go home, yet should he ever desert the Night's Watch they would hunt him down and behead him as a traitor. All he cared about was survival—and deeply resented the fact that his own brother banished him to live the rest of his days in a living hell made real.
"Th-this is all D-Daveth's fault," Joffrey cursed. "H-he did this t-to me—!"
"Hush!" Gilly quietly reprimands. "You'll wake the baby!"
"To hell with y-your bastard!" he shouted, causing a bit of a stir.
"*WAAAH!*"
Samwell and Gilly turned to see Gilly's son crying rather loudly, upset at the noise. They had already tried to get the baby settled it—much to their dismay and ire it was woken up again. This was the last thing both Samwell and Gilly wanted as dozens more crows began gathering outside perched on the branches above them, each of them loudly cawing and squawking one by one as the wildling baby continued its wailing. As Gilly rocked her baby, Samwell looked outside and picked up a lit torch. "Wait here," he signaled.
Gilly shook her head as she held her baby close. "Don't," she pleaded. "Don't go out there."
Joffrey turned to see Samwell leaving. "Are y-you crazy, Tarly?" he coughed. "You know th-those th-things are out t-there!"
Samwell had already made up his mind. "I'll be back. Just want to look." Despite their protests, the Tarly steps outside and examines the crows. Their flock appears to be growing by the tens in this godforsaken, frozen landscape. Gripping his sword close just in case, Samwell waved his torch around as the crows squawking grew increasingly loud as Gilly stepped outside too. "Go back inside," he tells her.
Joffrey, still on his side, gripped Gilly's ankle. "Didn't y-you hear?" he hissed, half-disoriented from the fever. "G-get back i-in here!"
Gilly kicked Joff's hand away, looking back at Samwell. The Tarly Night's Watchman continued observing the now-hundreds of crows gathering before realizing something was wrong as they started screeching more violently.
"Go back inside," he repeats. "Go back inside. I'll—"
Suddenly, the squawking immediately ceased. All was quiet. Samwell, Gilly and Joffrey all had a terrible feeling forming in the pit of their guts. Neither of them liked the sound of quiet whilst beyond the Wall. Gilly immediately froze up and held her baby close, her eyes glued in one direction.
Samwell and Joffrey turned their heads in the direction towards the trees where Gilly's gaze remains locked—horrified at what was coming their way. In the darkness, chittering loudly, they spotted a slight movement from behind the trees as more sounds of icy cold chittering and clicking became more apparent. Stepping out from behind cover, a small shine of moonlight offered a full glimpse of the lone intruder: long wispy white hair, glowing blue eyes with pale, gaunt and mummified skin.
"W-W-WHITE WALKER!" Joffrey shouted in fear.
Gilly quivered. "It's come for the baby!"
Samwell turned to see the White Walker approaching, his thoughts turning towards Gilly, her baby... even Joffrey. A wildling girl with a newborn baby in her arms, a brother of the Night's Watch who cannot even defend himself... Samwell felt anxiety and adrenaline flow through him as he dropped the lit torch and tightened his grip on his sword. The fear that filled Samwell was worse than any fear he had ever felt in his life.
It's just like the one I saw at the Fist of the First Men! Mother have mercy, Father protect me... Lifting his sword up, Samwell began shouting. "Stay back! You stay back!"
The White Walker ignored Samwell's demands and continued its approach in order to take Gilly's baby. The undead warrior approached Samwell and calmly grabbed the Night's Watchman's blade in its cold, icy hands. The blade started gleaming with a faint blue glow and emanated a loud noise as if the steel itself was locked in a clash against another before finally freezing and shattering into thousands of pieces.
Now unarmed, Samwell froze as the White Walker backhanded him so hard, he went flying further away.
"Gagh!" Samwell grunted as he fell to the ground hard.
Deciding that Samwell was no longer a threat, the White Walker shifted its attention and returned its gaze towards its prize. The creature's feet made ice-cracking sounds on the crust of the new-fallen snow; like the sound ice makes when it breaks beneath a man's foot. As it grew closer, Joffrey slowly got to his feet and grabbed Gilly forcibly. "Give it here!" he demanded, his voice filled with fear and desperation. "Gimme that brat! Let the monster take it so it'll leave us alone!" he screamed in her face.
Gilly, still holding her infant close to her, resisted and tried to shake Joffrey off as the baby cried louder. "No!" she shouted. "I won't let it take him! Get off of me!"
Samwell rolled onto his side and saw the scene taking place in front of him. The White Walker was getting closer, Joffrey trying to pry the baby from Gilly and Gilly's shouts and screams as the threat drew evermore closer. It was a scene of utter chaos. Still felt by the urge to protect Gilly, Samwell looked around for anything he could use as a weapon but found nothing. It wasn't long until he felt something sharp poking at his waist. My pack! he realized. Reaching into his pack, Samwell pulled out a dragonglass dagger from when his team was digging latrines at the base of the Fist of the First Men before uncovering the caches of dragonglass spear heads as well as other ancient artifacts.
"No! Let go of me!" Gilly continued screaming. "Get away from my baby!"
The White Walker extended its hand, its fingers reaching for the baby as it approached. Fueled by raging levels of adrenaline, Samwell immediately stood up and charged at the undead creature as fast as he legs could carry him.
"Yaaaaah!" he screamed and drove the dragonglass deep into the White Walker's left scapula.
The creature shrieked and howled shrilly as it staggered backwards, its arms unable to reach the blade lodged into its shoulder. The White Walker slowly turned around to face Samwell, its skin started cracking at the point at which it was stabbed and let out a sharp screeching cry as its whole body begins crumbling away. Once the White Walker got to its hands and knees, it shatters into pieces and leaves behind nothing but white dust and the dagger itself. Before the trio could catch their breath, the crows return to their cawing and kept their eyes focused on them. With adrenaline still pumping through his body, Samwell grabbed Gilly's and Joffrey's arms.
"Come on! We have to keep moving to Castle Black!"
"T-there's bound to be m-more of them!" Joffrey coughed.
"I know, but we can't stay here!" Samwell reminded him. "Once we get to Castle Black, we'll send word to King's Landing! Maybe your brother can help us!"
Appeal to the Oathkeeper...? The same person who stripped him of all titles and powers and exiled him to the Wall? Beg for help? It was never a thing Joffrey would ever consider at any point in his life. Not wanting to waste any more time than is necessary, Samwell dragged Joffrey and Gilly. The three of them make a desperate run for safety as the crows hopped off each tree and gave chase, screaming their hatred.
―At King's Landing―
King's Landing ― Street of Steel...
Strolling down the eastern side of Rhaenys's Hill, Sansa was accompanied by her handmaiden Shae and Brienne. She had hurried herself out of the Red Keep after the 'kiss' Lord Petyr Baelish gave her nearly three hours ago—Sansa had not yet spoken to anyone about what Littlefinger had done, not even her husband. Moments before leaving the Red Keep, she took a quick bath and dabbed sweet fragrances with a hint of lemon to remove the smell of mint. She just strolled through the Street of Steel in silence.
During the last two years nearly every district in Flea Bottom—including the Street of Steel—had undergone vast renovations Sansa had recognized prior to her marriage. Living conditions skyrocketed; roads were cleaner and were replaced with white marble instead of mud. Thankfully the terrible stench was finally gone. Still, Sansa remained silent. It bothered Shae who quietly nudged her mistress's shoulder.
"Talk to us, Your Grace," she asked. "You haven't said a word since we left."
Even Brienne found the silence rather unnerving. "Did Lord Baelish do anything to you?"
Sansa shook her head, not wanting to remember. "I appreciate your concerns, but I'm fine. It was... nothing I couldn't handle."
Shae didn't believe that. "I still don't believe it. He touched you, didn't he?"
When the time is right, I'll... I'll tell you. Just... just please, Shae, just let it be. "Please, he didn't want anything. Besides, I made sure he got the message if he should ever forget."
"I doubt he'll ever let that slide. Men only want one thing from a pretty girl."
Sansa shook her head. "Littlefinger's not in love with me!"
"Love is not the thing he wants," Shae points out.
The Wolf Queen could barely understand what goes on through her handmaiden's head—though given Shae's 'relations' with Tyrion Lannister, Sansa was beginning to get a pretty good idea as to what her handmaiden was referring to.
"If he does ask you for anything or try anything... fuck, even touch you," she continued, "I want you to tell either me or your royal husband."
"Why?" Sansa asked. "What will either of you do?"
"We'll make him stop."
"You have my oath as well, Your Grace. As a Kingsguard," Brienne stepped in. "We'll protect you and keep you safe from all harm."
I wish I could believe that. She glanced at the marble stones as they walked through the Street of Steel, her pregnant belly before looking back at one of her two sworn shields. "Lady Brienne..."
"Please, Your Grace, Brienne's enough. I'm no lady."
Sansa let out a small smile. "Brienne, then. Tell me... you were a Kingsguard to my husband's uncle Lord Renly Baratheon, weren't you?"
Brienne blinked and her posture shifted slightly; she hadn't been expecting the Queen to ask her that question out of the blue. She felt somewhat uncomfortable, though, yet suspected that this was an attempt on Sansa's part to change the subject. "I was," she admitted.
"How did you two meet?"
Brienne inhaled through her nostrils. "When I was a girl, my father held a ball. I'm his only living child, so he wants to make a good match for me. He invited dozens of young lords to Tarth. I didn't want to go, but he dragged me to the ballroom."
"It must have been wonderful. The balls, the masquerades, the dancing..."
"It was wonderful," Brienne smiled with reminiscence. "None of the boys noticed how mulish and tall I was. They shoved each other, and threatened to duel if they thought it was their turn to dance. And whispered in my ear how they wanted to marry me and take me back to their castles. My father smiled at me and I smiled at him. I'd never been so happy," she continued before frowning.
"What happened?"
"I saw a few of the boys sniggering. And then they all started to laugh, they couldn't keep the game going any longer. They were toying with me. 'Brienne the Beauty', they called me. Great joke. And I realized I was the ugliest girl alive. A great lumbering beast. I tried to run away, but Renly Baratheon took me in his arms. 'Don't let them see your tears,' he told me. 'They're nasty little shits. The nasty little shits aren't worth crying over.' He danced with me and none of the other boys could say a word. And he was King Robert's brother after all."
Sansa nodded her head. "That does sound like Lord Renly. He was very gallant when I first met him two years ago. It still bothers me that no accord could have been reached by him and Daveth. I cannot begin to imagine what it must have felt for either of them."
As Sansa and Brienne continued trading banter, Shae's eyes looked up as she saw a suspicious individual hopping from rooftop to rooftop as they further ventured into Flea Bottom. The Lorathi woman felt suspicious about the stranger's activity, even sometimes ignoring her mistress's talks.
"Who knows, Your Grace," Brienne continued. "Maybe had the peace talks went smoothly both sides might've gotten something to gain in the long run. Even some in the Stormlands were against the conflict, though we were surprised when His Grace gave his lords another chance."
Sansa looked up at her. "And your thoughts on him now?" she asked.
"Who?"
"My husband."
"I only met him one time when he made a lord's progress across the Stormlands with Renly six years ago. He seemed... distant, like he didn't want anyone to get too close. I suppose that was understandable, considering what happened to him as a child. You perhaps know more about him than I do, Your Grace."
"And now?"
Brienne looked as if deep in thought. "After coming back from the Iron Islands? He seems to have grown more as a person. He still broods, sometimes."
Daveth would have been shaking his head if he heard that.
Brienne observed Sansa's improved behavior and how she was starting to cheer up. Whatever happened back at the Red Keep seemed to have been somewhat forgotten, though the Tarth Kingsguard still suspected what unacceptable conduct might have occurred when Lord Petyr Baelish stood in the room—though her senior officer Ariyana Dayne remained behind to investigate. "So..." she tried changing the subject, "have you and His Grace decided on a name yet?"
Sansa opened her mouth, but a commotion was seen around the corner and the growing crowd grew increasingly larger.
"Someone get help!" one of the residents called out.
"That looks bad."
"Get the children away!"
"Stay in your homes!"
Sansa pushed further inward, wondering what the commotion was about. Despite Shae's and Brienne's protests, she proceeded to venture into the crowd; calmly pushing and maneuvering her way around them, she finally got to the center of the gathered crowd and what Sansa saw shocked her beyond belief. The scene laid before her was almost a savage butchery; a squad of 12 gold cloaks lay dead in a puddle of their own blood, several of them cleaved in two or disemboweled brutally. Ser Bronn was still alive, though judging by the looks of him he'd been beaten badly.
"Well, *cough cough* that was... that was quite a disaster," Bronn mused.
Sansa's eyes shifted from Bronn to the thing that shook her to her very core. Her eyes widened and her body trembled and shook; a large canine with grey fur and yellow eyes was savagely butchered and its corpse laid bare for all to see—its fur tainted with blood and nearly decapitated. This was a direwolf! "LADY!" Sansa cried out, rushing to the fallen direwolf. "By the Gods, NOOO!! LADY!!"
Brienne and Shae managed to catch up, pushing dozens of onlookers away as they witnessed Sansa wailing hysterically over the body of her direwolf. Shae immediately rushed to her mistress, asking questions and pulling her aside as Sansa cried deeply onto Shae's shoulder. The Lorathi woman held her close, gently patting Sansa's back and hushing soft words into her ear. Brienne felt a pang in her chest at witnessing a young woman cry in despair and grief; Sansa hadn't cried this hard since her father died last year. The Tarth Kingsguard observed two onlookers helping Bronn to his feet and approached him. "What happened here?" she inquired. "Who did all of this?!"
Bronn grunted as he held a palm to his head. "I... it happened so fast, I..." he said slightly disoriented.
"Wait!" one of the onlookers pointed. "One of 'em gold cloaks is still alive!"
Brienne turned and saw a dying gold cloak letting out a small gurgle, coughing as he gasped for breath. She pushed aside several Flea Bottom residents and knelt down. "Are you all right? What happened here? Who did this?"
"*cough, cough!* N-not eno... enough time to... to react, I—" the gold cloak said in agony.
"Damn it, talk to me!" Brienne snapped whilst trying to retain her composure.
"He-he... came out of nowhere, and I... *cough, cough!*"
"Who's 'he'?"
The City Watchmen held a hand up. "The... the Mount—" his throat gurgled before finally going limp, succumbing to his injuries.
Brienne cursed under her breath; her ears still picking up the sounds of Sansa's crying and the small folk's gossip over the crime scene. Shaking her head, Brienne looked over her shoulder to see another squad of City Watchmen arrive. Each of them stopped and looked on in shock and surprise at the carnage. "Get Ser Bronn of the Blackwater to the barracks and tend to his wounds!" she ordered. "The rest of you, get these people out of here!"
It took some convincing, but the gold cloaks finally did as they were instructed and began demanding order. They were moving to push people away from the scene, removing the bodies off the street and escorting their commander to the local barracks. Brienne only managed to get one word out of the dead gold cloak, replaying the word over and over again in her head.
"The Mount..." she uttered quietly before turning to Shae. "Get the Queen to her chambers. I'll go inform the King what's happened here."
Shae tried desperately to get Sansa to move, but she didn't want to leave her direwolf behind like this. Lady's life was saved before back at the Crossroads Inn, but it looks as if luck finally ran its course. Another platoon of gold cloaks arrived to enforce order and established a perimeter in Flea Bottom. Finally, Shae got a grieving Sansa to her feet and calmly escorted her back to the Red Keep; she still cried and called out 'Lady' over and over again.
Brienne looked back once more before finally marching on her own. We'll make arrangements for Her Grace's direwolf to be buried at Winterfell, she thought with a chill settling in her gut. The Mount... the Mount... She repeated before finally stopped in her tracks. The Mountain! Ser Gregor Clegane! Her eyes widened in realization. "He's here..."