Thyrsa wasn't sure how long they were there.
A storm descended over them hours after they were trapped, huddled together and trying to stay warm. Tormund had Thyrsa sitting between his legs, arms wrapped around her. Thyrsa was massaging Jon's stiff hands to keep her own from freezing over. Thoros was quiet, very quiet, while Beric and the Hound shivered and tried to pretend they were as unbothered as Jorah, who seemed to be the only one who could really meditate and pretend all was well when it certainly wasn't.
When the storm cleared, the army was still there. Thyrsa had slept only in intervals, so exhausted but unable to fully relax. As the sun rose again, they stood to stretch their legs. Thoros did not join them.
"Thoros?" said Beric, tapping him. He was frozen on the ground, eyes wide open. "Thoros..."
Thyrsa sighed sadly as Beric pulled Thoros's cloak over his head. The Hound knelt beside him, "They say it's one of the better ways to go."
Beric smiled grimly. The Hound removed the flask from Thoros's hip, taking a swig and passing it around as Beric called, "Lord of Light, show us the way. Come to us in our darkness and lead Your servant into the light."
"We have to burn his body," said Jon, stopping the drinking chain. He poured the rest of the alcohol over Thoros's body.
Tormund hummed. "We'll all be close behind him unless the Lord of Light is kind enough to send us a bit of fire."
Beric unsheathed Thoros's sword, lighting it on fire by sliding his hand from the hilt to the point. It made no sense why it worked, but it chilled Thyrsa as much as when Melisandre had managed to resurrect Jon.
Why did some things happen? She supposed they might never know.
He lowered the sword, "Lord of Light, come to us in our darkness, for the night is dark and full of terrors." He set Thoros on fire, letting his body burn and stepping off to the side to be alone.
"We'll all freeze soon," said Jorah. "And so will the water." Jon nodded, knowing what that would mean. "When you killed the White Walker, almost all the dead that followed it fell. Why?"
"Maybe he was the one who turned them," said Jon.
"We can go for the Walkers," said Jorah.
"If we can make it past the wights," said Thyrsa. "When the war comes, we will target the Walkers."
"If we ever get out of here," muttered Jorah.
"We will," said Jon, nodding to the captured wight flopping around like a worm. "We need to take that thing back with us. There's a raven flying to Dragonstone by now–" (they didn't know if it was true but they had to believe it), "Daenerys is our only chance."
"No, there's another," said Beric, pointing up at the ridge, where the Night King was now visible, surrounded by his White Walkers. "Kill him. He turned them all."
"You don't understand," said Jon.
"The Lord brought you back," said Beric. "He brought me back. No one else, just us. Did He do it to watch us freeze to death?"
"Careful Beric," said the Hound. "You lost your priest. This is your last life."
"I've been waiting for the end for a long time," said Beric. "Maybe the Lord brought me here to find it."
The Hound snorted. "Every lord I've ever met's been a cunt. Don't see why the Lord of Light should be any different." He grabbed a stone off the snowy ground and tossed it angrily at the ice.
"Stop that," said Thyrsa. "You'll drive us mad."
He listened the first time. When nightfall came, he started picking at the boulder behind them with his axe. The scraping was so horrid that Thyrsa covered her ears and made faces. As the sun, barely visible, rose again, they saw the wights were still there. Watching. Waiting.
The Hound threw another rock. He threw it so far, it hit one of the wights in the face.
"Dumb cunt," he muttered.
"Stop it," said Thyrsa, frustrated.
He ignored her and threw another. This one didn't make it far enough. It landed on the ice, skidding across it without making a single dent.
The ice didn't break.
They all tensed when they realized what this meant. "Oh, fuck," said the Hound as one of the wights bean to walk bravely over the ice, its sword scraping over it and making a high-pitched scratching sound that altered the other wights that the ice was thick enough for them to walk on without worrying that they'd fall into the icy water below.
"If they don't kill you for this, I will, you idiot," said Thyrsa angrily as they unsheathed their swords, preparing for the next attack.
They were starved and tired and in no condition to fight. Still, they had no choice. They tried their best to stay on the small island in case the ice began to break, but there was only so much that could help when the wights were swarming over to them from every direction.
The Hound resorted to breaking holes in the ice to drown some, Thyrsa and Jon tried to slash madly to incapacitate as many as possible. Beric's flaming sword was the only thing keeping Jorah and Tormund from losing their regular weapons to the wights.
"We're gonna die here," said Thyrsa angrily to Jorah as the swarm grew so large that the ice wasn't even visible anymore. "Gods– we're gonna die here! Here of all places! And we're going to turn into ugly, useless fucking wights–"
She froze when she heard Tormund's agonized scream. "Tormund?!" she shrieked, not seeing him anywhere. "Tormund– TORMUND!"
"GET THEM OFF OF ME!" he yelled, his body being dragged off of the little island and toward the ice. No matter how he kicked and punched, he couldn't get them off.
"TORMUND!" She started to run, cutting and clearing a path for herself. She sliced the heads off of every wight she saw that was clinging to him, forming an awful pile meant to suffocate him. "Get off of him– for fuck's sake, get off!"
As soon as she saw his hand, she pulled him off, shielding him with her body and kicking the wights off of the island so they could pile on top of each other instead.
"Are you alright?" she asked frantically when she saw he was bleeding.
"I'm alive," he promised, pulling her away from the edge. His arms were shaking and so were hers; they were starved. The work she had put in to build up her strength didn't matter in this moment. Thyrsa's arms were weak without food and water. Surely she'd collapse. Surely a wight would drag her into the pile and–
A column of fire exploded over their heads. Tormund and Thyrsa barely managed to pull Jon down to keep it from burning his cloak. Three distinct roars sounded, a sound so powerful that Thyrsa felt vibrations throughout her entire body. She stared up in awe as dragons began to circle overhead, incinerating every wight that had been trying to grab them with ease. On top of the largest, a winged shadow that resembled the drawings she saw of Balerion the Black Dread, was a woman with white-blonde hair.
"Dracarys!" she heard Daenerys Targaryen screaming before she landed, the ice having broken open from the sheer force of the fire and drowning whatever wight didn't outright burn.
"She came," said Jon in disbelief. "She... she came."
Daenerys had her dragon flatten himself to the ground, offering her hand to Jon. "Get on, quick!" she yelled.
"Go!" said Jon, choosing to hold the wildlings back.
Thyrsa and Tormund stayed with him as Jorah, Beric, and the Hound climbed on quickly with the captured wight. Thyrsa beckoned Tormund to mount, and was about to drag Jon over by his cloak–
There was an explosion overhead, one of the dragons pierced by an icy spear. Its body erupted in flames, blood spilling like a waterfall over the ice. It crashed into the ice, forming a hole so large, its entire body sank in without much effort.
Thyrsa, Tormund, and Jon were frozen in shock. Tormund unfroze first, seeing the empty look in Daenerys's eyes. He reached down and pulled Thyrsa onto the dragon with them, shouting out for Jon, who'd climbed off the rock to confront the rest of the wildlings. The Night King and his White Walkers weren't too far off, and they seemed to be readying another spear.
"Go!" shouted Jon. "Go now! Leave, all of you!"
"Jon, come back!" screeched Thyrsa. "Don't be the hero!"
"Go!" he insisted. Daenerys took off after only a brief moment of hesitation, narrowly dodging the second spear.
Thyrsa stared down in shock as an ocean of wights descending over Jon. "No, no, no!" she said as they flew so high, she almost couldn't breathe. The other dragon was following them; Jon was left behind. "Not– not again– please, we have to go back!"
"We can't," said Tormund, holding her hand. "We can't go back."
When they landed at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, Ser Davos and the other wildlings wrapped them in fresh, warm cloaks and offered them platters of food. Tormund and Thyrsa didn't want to eat.
"Why does he always have to be so selfless?" said Thyrsa, staring down at the bowl. "Why... do we always fail him?"
"He's not dead," said Beric, so sure of it. "He will return."
Thyrsa covered her face. "You don't know that."
"The Lord of Light–"
"Stop talking about the Lord of Light! I don't care! My King, my brother, he may be dead again–"
"And the Lord of Light brought him back before–"
"And what fucking good will that do us if Jon becomes a wight?! Stop– stop talking. I don't want to hear it." She put her head in her hands. "Did the Hound take my sword?"
"Yes," said Tormund. "And the wight. The ship will stop at Widow's Watch so the sword may be given back to Brienne of Tarth before they go to King's Landing for the meeting. We'll find them there."
The horn began to blow outside. "RIDER APPROACHING!" a man yelled.
Thyrsa and Tormund sat up immediately, rushing to the gates. Overhead, in one of the watchtowers, they could see Daenerys eyeing them closely, watching as they pulled Jon, nearly frozen, off a horse and dragged him inside to tend to him.
They couldn't keep him at the castle for much longer; it was already time to head south. Thyrsa and Tormund carried Jon to the ship that would carry them all together to the Crownlands to meet with Queen Cersei. Daenerys watched them again in the doorway, how Tormund held Thyrsa's hand while she stroked Jon's hair.
Daenerys didn't understand it.
Tormund noticed an immediate improvement as she lay beside him that night, arms wrapped around his middle and head tucked against his neck. She was peaceful, so peaceful. She fought with such passion for those she cared about. He knew if it ever came to it, he'd fight that hard for his daughters. She'd defend them as fiercely as a mother bear would her cubs.
"Thyrsa," he whispered, not sure if she was asleep.
"Mm?" She tilted her head up, eyes heavy with sleep but still wanting to look at him. "What is it?"
"Are you in pain?"
"Not anymore."
"Good." He kissed the top of her head. "You saved my life."
"I thought the wights were going to kill you," she said shakily. "When I heard you screaming but couldn't see you... I thought you'd rise again as one of them."
"I'm right here," he promised. "Here, with you. Jon is alright, I'm alright. So are you."
"I suppose there's nothing I can say that would stop you from participating in the war?" she said with a weak smile.
"Aye. Just as there is nothing I could say to stop you. We're too stubborn. It's what I like the most about you. We both need to be there, even if we wish for the other to be safely tucked away quite literally anywhere else." He smiled weakly, neither willing to discuss the cold truth: Fighting together might mean dying together. It might mean leaving Maja and Munda without a father or any other parental figure to watch over them. Would someone else take them in? Yes, most likely.
But Esther was fighting. So was Sigrid. So was Smalljon. Astrid and Tory had been debating it themselves. All the capable men, women, and children were having weapons put in their hands at this very moment, they were being taught to defend themselves from the unthinkable.
Yet it was better to them that they perish on the battlefield than hiding away to wait out the storm.
She kissed over his nose. "You must promise me that you'll be selfish on the battlefield. You will protect yourself above all others."
"Aye," he said. "Only if you vow to do the same."
"I will, I swear it." She tilted her head down to press it against his. "King's Landing will be dangerous. Not in the way the wights are dangerous but I've heard stories all my life. The Starks went down and very few have ever come back. My mother... she went South and didn't return. Daenerys seems... nice. But Queen Cersei is vicious, truly vicious. We have to watch what we do and say."
"I'm not afraid," said Tormund.
"I am," she admitted. "I faced Lannisters in battle. I killed many of them. But I haven't quite been in the presence of so many since... the Red Wedding. I may have defeated the Boltons but Queen Cersei lives... The Kingslayer lives. I don't know how to feel. Perhaps I've had too much worry for one day. But I never can stop thinking of what might happen. What we'll be forced to defend ourselves from. Cersei is cunning."
"Aye," said Tormund. "But at the end of the day she cannot fight. I take that guard of hers, the one they call the Mountain. And you kill her. If it comes to it."
She smiled. "What, you think I don't want to fight the Mountain?"
"Either order. Doesn't matter to me. This will be the Last War. Maja and Munda, your nieces and nephews, they'll never know this suffering. Our children will never watch us leave for war, only to never return."
"You've been thinking about our hypothetical children quite a bit lately," she teased. "Perhaps after we've ensured the Army of the Dead is defeated, we can remove the 'hypothetical.'"
He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement as she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Aye. I imagine a good fuck after such a victory would be more glorious than anything else."
"Oh, it better be. You've promised me great things, Tormund Giantsbane. I look forward to seeing you deliver them."
"Well, we don't need to defeat the Army of the Dead for that to happen." He crawled onto her, eyes shining with mischief as she raised a skeptical brow. "Let me show you what wildlings do to the women they adore when making children isn't the aim... but pleasure is."
Thyrsa understood why Aspen thought men with beards were so spectacular.
-
The Unsullied and Dothraki had surrounded King's Landing in preparation for their arrival. Daenerys had taken to the skies before they arrived, not intending to arrive with them. She wished to make a grand entrance, which Thyrsa probably would've done if she, too, had dragons.
She admired her bravery and respected her story. But Thyrsa could not claim to trust Daenerys. In that respect, she was like every other Northerner. Perhaps that was a bad thing. She knew Daenerys had good intentions in many areas, she knew her story was great and filled with magic and overcoming impossible obstacles.
But at the end of the day she was a Targaryen. The house that called for 'Fire and Blood,' the house that had destroyed itself and taken others along with it. How many had died because Rhaegar Taergaryen was a selfish prick? How many had died because the crown kept being passed onto unstable sons until at last King Aerys had proven to be nearly as bad as Maegor?
It didn't seem right to her. One family in power for so long. It shouldn't be so.
They were on a ship with Jon, Ser Davos, Jorah, Lord Tyrion Lannister, Lord Varys the Spider, and Theon Greyjoy, among Daenerys's other confidants. It was strange to see Theon again; he wasn't very talkative anymore. He and Thyrsa had hardly known each other, and he certainly wasn't eager to be friends.
When they docked, they met with the Hound, who had with him the box containing the wight. Dothraki guards surrounded them as they marched up to the Dragonpit, where the meeting would take place. An interesting choice; she wasn't sure who selected that as the site.
The South was hot. Thyrsa wasn't used to not having to wear her cloak, therefore, despite the heat, she kept it over her shoulders, and planned to remove it once they sat down. She and Tormund kept close behind Jon, who walked near the lead with Daenerys's trusted friend and translator, Missandei of Naath.
"Why did they build it?" asked Missandei as they followed the path up to the Dragonpit.
"Dragons don't understand the difference between what is theirs and what isn't," explained Ser Jorah. "Land, livestock, children... letting them roam free around a city was a problem."
"I imagine it was a sad joke at the end," said Tyrion. "An entire arena for a few sickly creatures smaller than dogs. But in the beginning, it was home to Balerion the Dread... it must have been the most dangerous place in the world."
Thyrsa and Tormund shared a look, both seemingly wondering why Tyrion was talking. They weren't particularly fond of him.
"Prince Baelon hit Balerion in the face when he was a child," murmured Thyrsa to Tormund, recalling an old story. "He was fine. It seems Vhagar liked that, because she let him be her rider."
They came to a stop as they intercepted the other group walking up. Ser Davos muttered under his breath, "Maybe it still is."
Lannister guards surrounded Brienne and Podrick, who were there in Sansa's place. "Welcome, my lords," said the man in front of them. "Your friends arrived before you did. I've been sent to escort you all to the meeting."
"And who the fuck are you?" said Tormund.
"Ser Bronn of the Blackwater," said Tyrion, apparently recognizing his old friend, both Bronn and Podrick. "Go on."
They followed the guards, the Hound at the very back with a cart that carried the wight, who was quiet for now; perhaps assessing the situation.
They were the first to reach the arena, where the stage had been set up with wooden beams and awnings in the shape of a 'U,' so every attendee could see one another, yet still leaving a clear platform in the center for them to speak.
The center had been reserved for Queen Cersei, while they were meant to file into the sweats to the right of her. They didn't sit just yet; neither of the main 'Queens' had arrived. Ser Bronn and Podrick had stepped away to have a drink, leaving the rest of them to talk on their own.
The pounding of more footsteps ahead alerted them to Queen Cersei's arrival. More Lannister guards came with her, as did the massive man they called 'The Mountain,' Ser Jamie Lannister, and Euron Greyjoy.
"Thyrsa Umber," said Ser Jamie when he passed her. "The Little Bear. You're still alive."
"And surprisingly so are you," said Thyrsa curtly. "Maybe not for much longer, Kingslayer."
His lip twitched and he nodded his head calmly.
No matter what Brienne had said about him, Thrysa remembered the man who had killed Tory Karstark's brother, she remembered how furious Robb had been with his mother for letting the Kingslayer go.
To think they'd been so proud the day they captured him. They thought they'd win the war with it.
What fools they were.
Cersei sat, but the rest of them remained on their feet. The Hound stepped over to speak with his brother, but Thyrsa paid no attention, looking up at the skies to see when Daenerys would come. But she didn't appear.
Queen Cersei was clearly impatient. "Where is she?" she asked in a deadly calm voice.
"She'll be here soon," said Tyrion gruffly.
"Didn't travel with you?"
"No."
Cersei sneered, disgusted with the presence of her brother and the absence of her greatest rival. They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity until they heard a thundering in the air, a shadow moving over the arena as Daenerys, on Drogon, descended with Rhaegal circling overhead.
Drogon landed, lowering his body down to an uncomfortable point in order to allow Daenerys a smooth dismount. His dark eyes fixated on Cersei, and he roared loudly, spreading his wings and giving the Dragon Queen exactly the sort of entrance she wanted for a meeting such as this. He was so large, his entire body cast a dark cloud over their tents, and it didn't escape Thyrsa's notice that Cersei was grimacing as if she'd smelled something foul.
"We've been here for some time," she said curtly as Daenerys sat down, even though only three minutes had passed.
"My apologies," said Daenerys calmly.
At first, no one spoke. Then, Tyrion stood, "We are all facing a unique–"
"Theon!" said Euron. "I have your sister. If you don't submit to me here, now... I'll kill her."
Tyrion made a face at Jamie. "I think we ought to begin with larger concerns."
"Then why are you talking?" asked Euron, rising and approaching Tyrion. "You're the smallest concern here."
"Do you remember when we discussed dwarf jokes?" Tyrion asked Theon.
Theon smirked. "His wasn't even good."
Tormund and Thyrsa side-eyed one another again, unsure why this was relevant.
"He explained it at the end," agreed Tyrion. "Never explain it at the end– always ruins it."
Euron sneered, "We don't even let your kind live in the Iron Islands, you know? We kill you at birth. An act of mercy for the parents."
"Perhaps you ought to sit down," said Jamie.
He didn't budge. "Why?"
"Sit down or leave," ordered Cersei firmly. Euron returned to the seat beside Cersei's disgraced maester, Qyburn.
Tyrion continued, "We are a group of people who do not like one another, as this recent demonstration has shown. We have suffered at each other's hands. We have lost people we love at each other's hands. If all we wanted was more of the same, there would be no need for this gathering. We are entirely capable of waging war against each other without meeting face-to-face."
"So, instead we should settle our differences and live together in harmony for the rest of our days?" asked Cersei sarcastically.
"We all know that will never happen."
"Then why are we here?"
Thyrsa beckoned for Jon to stand. He did, announcing, "This isn't about living in harmony. It's just about living. The same thing is coming for all of us. A general you can't negotiate with. An army that doesn't leave corpses behind on the battlefield. Lord Tyrion tells me a million people live in this city. They're about to become a million more soldiers in the Army of the Dead."
"I imagine for most of them it would be an improvement," said Cersei snidely.
Thyrsa and Tormund frowned. Jon was not pleased, either, "This is serious. I wouldn't be here if it weren't."
"I don't think it's serious at all, I think it's another bad joke. If my brother Jaime has informed me correctly, you're asking me for a truce."
"Yes," said Daenerys. "That's all."
Cersei scoffed. "That's all? Pull back my armies and stand down while you go on your monster hunt. Or while you solidify and expand your position. Hard for me to know which it is with my armies pulled back until you return and march on my capital with four times the men."
"Your capital will be safe until the northern threat is dealt with. You have my word."
"The word of a would-be usurper."
"There is no conversation that will erase the last fifty years," said Tyrion. "We have something to show you." He beckoned to where the Hound had brought the crate with the wight. He set it down, popping open the lid. When the wight didn't emerge, he kicked the box over.
It tore out toward Cersei, disembodied screeching and all, held back by chains that the Hound tugged on at the very last second, keeping it from touching her. Still, its hand waved violently in her face. Thyrsa saw the fear in her eyes; she couldn't hide that from anyone.
Everyone who hadn't yet seen a wight was in shock. Thyrsa hated how desensitized she was to it. The wight fell, and the Hound unsheathed his sword to cut it in half, demonstrating how the body simply started to put itself back together. Maester Qyburn stood in awe, examining a severed hand that flew out as the Hound struck again.
Ser Davos helped Jon light a torch, which he held once he'd asked for the severed hand back from Qyburn. "We can destroy them by burning them," he said as he lowered the flames over the hand, eliciting another pained screech from the wight.
"And we can destroy them with dragonglass," said Jon, brandishing his dragonglass knife. "If we don't win this fight, then that is the fate of every person in the world." He ripped the wight up, silencing it with a precise stab in the chest.
Cersei was frozen, staring ahead at the silent body as Jon said, "There is only one war that matters. The Great War. And it is here."
"I didn't believe it until I saw them," said Daenerys. "I saw them all."
"How many?" asked Jamie. She replied, "A hundred thousand, at least." His face fell.
Euron stood once more, examining the wight's wisps of hair. "Can they swim?"
"No," said Jon.
"Good." He looked back at Cersei. "I'm taking the Iron Fleet back to the Iron Islands."
Cersei snapped, "What are you talking about?"
"I've been around the world. I've seen everything, things you couldn't imagine, and this... this is the only thing I've ever seen that terrifies me." He looked at Daenerys, "I'm going back to my island. You should go back to yours. When winter's over, we'll be the only ones left alive."
The Lannister Queen glared at his rapidly departing figure. "He's right to be afraid. And a coward to run." She gripped the armrests tightly. "If those things come for us, there will be no kingdoms to rule. Everything we suffered will have been for nothing. Everything we lost will have been for nothing. The Crown accepts your truce. Until the dead are defeated, they are the true enemy."
Thyrsa was glad to hear it, though she wasn't sure she trusted that Cersei and Daenerys would get along for a long period of time. She eyed Jon, who appeared relieved until–
"In return," said Cersei, "The King in the North will extend this truce. He will remain in the North where he belongs. He will not take up arms against the Lannisters, he will not choose sides."
"Just the King in the North?" asked Daenerys. "Not me?"
Cersei scoffed indignantly. "I would never ask it of you. You would never agree to it. And if you did, I would trust you even less than I do now. I ask it only of Ned Stark's son. I know Ned Stark's son will be true to his word."
Both Tormund and Thyrsa looked at Jon expectantly. Let Daenerys handle Cersei with her men if she wanted the Iron Throne so bad. All that mattered to them was the North. They didn't need to die anywhere in the South for something that didn't matter as much to them.
But Jon was always stubborn. "I am true to my word. Or I try to be. That is why I cannot give you what you ask. I cannot serve two Queens. And I have already pledged myself to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen."
Thyrsa looked down at the Dragon Queen, who was just as surprised to hear this. Just like that, Jon had given up his seat. He'd been alright with becoming Warden of Winterfell instead of King in the North.
They'd thought before that if it came down to it, this could be an option. They'd fight for the independent North when they could, even if it came at a later time. But after everything, after the option that was being given...
Thyrsa knew that Jon wasn't doing it because it truly felt like the right thing. What'd happened in Dragonstone?
Another Stark King who might die for love.