~Daenerys
"Your Grace?" The worried tone of Ser Davos seeps in through the deafening buzz that fills my ears.
"You are the Usurper's bastard?" I whisper, keeping my gaze fixed on the young man until the weathered old man steps between us. "Does Ryker know?" I ask him.
"I told her before we left Dragonstone," Gendry speaks out from behind Ser Davos.
Letting out a shaky breath, I sit back down and reach into our bond, trying to find a sliver of Margaery's peace to help calm my racing heart. Ryker had her reasons for allowing the Baratheon to come on our trek North, and I need to trust her.
"King Ryker's father and mine were the best of friends."
"You're not going in the direction you think you're going in by pointing that out," Ser Davos interjects, still defending the young boy from me.
"I only thought of what I would say to our King and not the Queen," Gendry mumbles back to the Onion Knight.
Raising a hand, I silence both of them in a second. "You are not your father, just as I am not mine. You have nothing to worry about while serving our cause. So long as we stand on the same side, then your life is yours to live as freely as you wish," I assure the young man gently, hoping to ease the Knight's concerns.
"You will not behead me?" Gendry asks, furrowing his brow.
"Do I need to?" I ask, arching my eyebrow.
"No!" Ser Davos almost shouts, turning around and lightly smacking the young man on the side of his head.
Even though I had not meant for my jest to be taken seriously, I cannot help the small smile that forms on my lips as I watch the brief exchange between the two. Gendry might have said he's a bastard, but it seems he has possibly found a father figure in the Onion Knight, judging by the way Ser Davos has defended him and the soft care he holds in his eyes.
"As I have said before, so long as we stand on the same side, there is no reason to fear for your life," I tell the arguing pair. "However, I would like a moment alone with Ser Davos."
"Of course, Your Grace," Ser Davos replies quickly, nudging Gendry out of the room and whispering semi-harsh words to the young man about needing to learn etiquette before turning back and sitting down in the chair beside me.
"King Ryker had told me to listen to you once before passing judgment on her brother," I state before he can speak. "I have made mistakes by trusting in all others but her. There was a reason she told me to listen to your advice."
"I am just an old Knight, Your Grace," he murmurs.
"You, Ser Davos, are more than just an old Knight," I gently scold. "Your King trusts you, and I have learned a harsh but much-needed lesson. If she trusts you, then so will I."
"What exactly are you trusting me in, Your Grace?" Ser Davos asks wearily.
"Your counsel," I take a deep breath and lean forward to fully face him. "I have come to realize that the intentions of my Hand and the spider may not be as pure as I once thought they were."
"I don't understand," he furrows his brows.
"You were once The Hand to King Stannis?" I ask.
"Aye, I was, Your Grace."
"Then tell me truthfully, Ser Davos, if you were me, then what would you do if you were in my shoes?" I pause, looking to the cold window, then back to him. "My Hand and my King have been at tense odds with one another since they met in Meereen. And when we started the war with Cersei, my Hand seems to be more worried about getting revenge on his family than worrying about what his King says. When I was younger, my brother had always told me if a King cannot trust his Hand then they should expect a knife in his back. Learning of my father's fate I find it hard that there is some truth behind his words and my thoughts are forcing me to believe him in matter, despite how crazed he once was."
He lets out a ragged breath and looks to the floor. "In a time like this, I would advise the most simple solution. Think about what each of them wants at the end of all of this bloodshed and war. Lord Tyrion wants you on the Throne and is trying anything possible to get you there. But what does King Ryker want?"
"Peace," I whisper, feeling the tears start to build. "She wants our future generations not to fight with one another. For the wars to end so no children or innocents can be harmed even further."
"Between the two, which one of their desires matches your vision of Westeros? Which one of them can you count on to be honest and true consistently?"
My eyes meet his, and the guilt in my heart grows tenfold. "Thank you, Ser Davos," I whisper, allowing the tears that have gathered to fall. Leaning back in my chair, I close my eyes and take a shuddering breath, trying to hold in the sob that threatens to escape.
"Is everything all right, Your Grace? I mean, between you and King Ryker?" he asks nervously.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I shake my head. "I fear that even if she returns to us, I may have lost her," I manage to say before breaking down.
Through the sobs, I hear his body move closer, enveloping my shaking form in a fatherly hug. "I'm sorry, My Queen," he mutters before holding me closer until the sobs come to a slow and painful stop. "King Ryker loves and adores you. I have seen it myself. And if what you fear comes to fruition, you need not worry. She is a Stark. The truest one I have met since her father, maybe even her grandfather."
"I want her to stand beside me out of love and because she believes in us, not because she swore vows."
"Then choose her, and make sure she knows that you will choose her no matter what comes before us. You will have time as we sail from here to King's Landing to make this right," he urges, pulling back and allowing me to wipe the tear stains from my face. "You and her have a love like none I have seen before. It will be hard moving forward. However, if she is to give you another chance, then take that chance and nurture it. Do not allow those who have come between you to let it fester until it dies."
"I will," I nod, taking another shuddering breath. "Thank you for—"
"No need, Your Grace," he stands up and waves off my gratitude bashfully.
"Of course," I let out a small laugh at his uneasiness. "You need to appear tough for these Northerners," I jest lightly.
He shakes his head as a ghost of a smile appears on his face. "I could care less what they think, Your Grace."
"You would make a true advisor, you do know that, don't you? With your honesty and compassion, any ruler would be lucky to have you by their side."
The lightness that was barely in the air comes to a halt as the smile fades from his lips. "I was lowborn, came out of my mother in the wretches of Flea Bottom," he says before taking his seat once more. "I did odd jobs for the merchants in King's Landing until I found a home on the Cobblecat. Worked for a man named Roro Uhoris."
"A Tyroshi?" I ask, furrowing my brow, a bit surprised.
"Aye, he was a Tyroshi smuggler," he confirms, letting out a laugh. "He taught me everything I knew up until he was executed by the Night's Watch for trading weapons to the Wildlings. That was the last lesson I learned from him. From there, I became one of the few smugglers known to have a name." He pauses, his eyes shifting down to the floor. "It was during Robert's Rebellion that I became the Onion Knight and turned my life around, tried to be better for my wife and sons, to be someone they deserved."
"It was Robert who knighted you?"
"His brother Stannis. I saw an opportunity and took it. I had a load of nothing but onions and salted fish I needed to sell to feed my family. It was approaching almost a year into the Siege of Storm's End. I had to sneak past the Redwyne fleet in the dead of night. I knew with the rumors going around that the garrison inside had been starving for some time, so I took the risk. In the end, it worked. My wares bought them the time they needed to wait for Lord Stark to lift the siege after Robert killed your brother on The Trident." He took a breath, waiting to see if I would anger, but when I give him a soft understanding smile, he continues. "As a reward, Stannis knighted me, gave me and my family lands on Cape Wrath, allowing our house to be built. As for payment for my past crimes, he took what was owed." I watch as he lifts his hand and removes his glove, showing me his disfigured fingers. "Once he was a wise and just ruler. It was when the Red Woman came after Robert's death that he changed," he finishes quietly, covering his hand once more.
"You stayed by his side regardless," I point out.
"Until I failed him. I sought to rid him of the Red Woman so he could see the wrongdoings he had committed. If he took the throne, he would have made a terrible King. He showed the Night's Watch and the Wildlings just how horrible his justice was when he ordered Mance Rayder to be set to the flame. Thank the gods that Jon Snow put an arrow through his heart before the fire reached him."
"Jon Snow," I nod. "You followed him next?"
"More out of happenstance," Ser Davos nods. "I was ordered to return to Castle Black for men and supplies when Stannis's sellswords abandoned him on the march to Winterfell. I was arguing with him about forcing the Wildlings he let past the wall to fight for Stannis when the Red Woman returned. The moment I had looked at her properly, I knew My King and the Princess were dead." He took a harsh breath and turned to me. "That night Jon was betrayed by the Night's Watch. They led him to a corner in the yard and took turns stabbing him before leaving him to die. Ghost's howling woke me just as the sun was rising. We brought his body back to the Lord Commander's chamber and had managed to send an envoy out to Tormund for help."
"That is what you meant when you said he gave his life," I remember his words.
"Aye. The one good thing the Red Woman ever did was bringing him back," he nods. "After Lady Sansa came to Castle Black, together we were able to convince Jon to plead to the Lords of the North to aid in taking back Winterfell from the Boltons. I knew the odds were against us, yet I believed in him, I believed in him up until he tried to rise against King Ryker."
"Yet you came North with him."
"For Gendry," Ser Davos states firmly. "I hadn't originally wanted the boy to come along on this journey. I was hoping to give him a better life rather than spending his days in Flea Bottom by serving as your blacksmith. However, the stubborn boy had other plans."
Shooting him a grin, I nod my head in understanding. "You care for him."
"He's deserved so much better than this life has given him. Every child born into this world deserves—"
His next words die as a roar so powerful cuts through the castle, shaking the walls as a gust of wind almost snuffs out the blazing fire within the hearth and blasts us with a force of frozen winds. My heart tremors as I realize that roar was what I heard before I was forced to watch my wife fall from Viserions back.
"Ser Davos," I stand to my feet just as a man dressed in black rushes through the door, fear radiating from his shaking form. "A b-b-beast f-f-flying for t-t-the Wall."
I look to Ser Davos, the moment our eyes meet, we rush through the door, pushing past the young frightened man. Together, we run through the roughly built walls that are barely holding the harsh winds at bay.
"You should stay here," Ser Davos says as we approach the doorway leading out to the meager courtyard.
"Ryker fell into a storm like this; I will not remain here," I yell over the howling winds.
Giving me one last frustrated glance, he takes my hand in his good one and guides us through the freezing gusts. The strong force slams against us as we battle against the whipping snow and shards, almost forcing us back into the safety of the castle.
As we hesitate for a moment, a plume of fire shoots through the sky, colliding with a bright blue stream of light, and the roars that follow could be felt shaking not only through the ground below our feet but shuddering through my bones.
"Drogon," I whisper to myself, desperately urging my body to go faster, dragging Ser Davos alongside me. "We have to get to them," I call out to him.
"I'm trying, Your Grace," I hear the pressing need in his voice, and we slip and slide through the icy mud, passing under the outer gate.
The closer we get to the vortex of winds, the harsher they get. I can feel the ice within it slicing through the soft skin I have exposed. The blood spilling from them freezes instantly against my frozen skin. As if we had finally broken through an invisible barrier, the winds stop in their place, the air so cold and still that my lungs turn frigid with every breath.
Yet what stops us in our tracks is the enormous beast that lies within the storm—a dragon almost three times the size of Drogon, covered with icy scales, four legs, translucent wings, and bright blue eyes holding storms within them, staring back at us.
"Impossible," I hear Ser Davos murmur as the beast opens its jaws, revealing teeth the size of Ryker's daggers and bright blue swirls of frozen heat.
"Khaleesi," my eyes snap to the man behind all of my most recent problems as he climbs down from the dragon's back, then helps the others down after him.
Turning my gaze from him, I frantically scan the arrivals, silently pleading to the gods that my wife is among them. But as the last figure dismounts, Ryker is nowhere to be seen. Ignoring the dragon's warning growls, I straighten my back and approach my brother-by-law.
"Where is she?" My voice nearly breaks, hope fading fast at the absence of my wife.
Pain etches Jon's face, his eyes filled with sorrow as he looks down. "The Night King had a spear," he whispers, clenching his fists. "Sh-." His choked words cut off by a sob that resonates with my own despair, suffocating my shattered heart as a scream of anguish rips from my throat.
"No." Collapsing to my knees, I plead desperately, slamming my fists into his chest. "You have to go back."
"We can't go back." Jon's voice trembles with pain as he wraps his arms around me, lifting my trembling body from the frozen ground.
~Ryker
I scream in pain as the impact of the ice forces the Night King's spear through my chest before the rest of my body makes contact, causing me to fall through into its frozen depths. Without meaning to, I try to take in a breath as I fight my half-working limbs to swim to the surface, but instead of air, the coldest water I have ever felt in my life fills my lungs, causing me to abandon the hopes of reaching the dimming surface in favor of clutching my freezing throat. Darkness threatens to engulf my senses as I struggle against the relentless pull of the icy depths. My limbs grow heavy, sluggish in their movements, as if weighed down by the sheer force of the freezing water.
Through the dimming light, my eyes adjust enough to make out a shadow moving above the broken ice where my body had fallen through. Desperate for any help, I struggle to extend my good arm out to it in hopes I haven't sunk too deep in the freezing waters. Time passes slowly until I feel a hand take hold of my sleeve and pull with enough force to not only pull me upwards but almost yank my arm out of its socket. Breaking through the water's edge, I try to gasp for breath but end up coughing the chilled water from my lungs, while spewing out the contents of my stomach.
"Easy there, little wolf." I hear through the violent sound of me sickness as strong thud pounds on the good side of my back.
The sound of his voice makes me jerk my trembling body upwards to meet his eye. "U-n-n-cle B-B-Ben-j-j-j-jen," I manage to croak out through chattering teeth. The man my eyes meet is a pale resemblance to the man I grew up loving the second most, next to my father of course. His skin looks as if it is frozen and withering away under the scars that riddle his once lively face. However, what frightens me the most is the once warm brown eyes I used to pout to when father told me no, have been laced with ice-cold blue flakes. "Wh-wh-what h-h-ap-p-p-end t-t-o y-y-y-ou?"
"A story for another time, Ryker," he mutters softly, looking around us nervously before stuffing a piece of cloth in my mouth. "I need you to be as quiet as you can while I remove this," he explains, pushing my shivering form forward until my face almost touches the ice. "Try not to bite your tongue off."
The moment his hands touch the spear, a cold heat spreads from the back of my shoulder, radiating through my chest. Through the bile, the acrid metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, while I feel the frozen tendons in my throat rip from the wail of pain.
"Almost there," I manage to hear Benjen grit out as he gives a final pull.
As soon as the spear is freed from my body, the last of my strength leaves me, and I disintegrate into a lump of an almost-frozen heap of meat onto the ice. Black dots dance through my vision as my mind clashes against the need to close my eyes and sleep until my time to leave this world comes. Through the darkness filling the void, Uncle Benjen's feet appear before my face.
"You need to get back to The Wall," he tells me, pulling my limp form up from the ice and carrying me over to a horse. "Rest, little wolf. I will get you home."
~Daenerys
Lifting my eyes from the flames, I gaze at Jon. The pain and regret etched on his scarred, pale face rival what consumes my soul. Watching him feels as though I can see everything Ryker has told me about him filtering through the cold depths of his eyes. If there was ever a doubt that he truly held love for his sister, the anguish within his almost black orbs settles it. Just looking at him now, I know behind all the anger and jealousy, he still loved her. The longer I stare, the more I realize he is just as lost as I am without her here with us.
"It's more than a two-week journey in fair weather to King's Landing. If we wish to make the meeting, we need to leave by morning," the broken whispers of the man they call The Hound break the empty void I have found myself in for the past few hours since Jon placed me in the warm chair in front of the hearth.
"The Lord Commander gave us two days before he's ordered the men to flood the wall. If we leave now, what's stopping them from flooding it before then?" Ser Davos argues, trying to keep his voice low.
"She had a spear made of ice through her chest before she fell from the sky," the burned man speaks louder. "I don't know about you, but I have yet to meet someone alive who survived that."
"She is our King; we are not leaving her stranded when there's a chance—"
"There is no chance," The Hound yells over Ser Davos, slamming his hand down on the table, causing me to jump. "Those dead fuckers are on their way here no matter when we go. The further we get away from this blasted Wall, the better."
"We will wait until they flood The Wall," Jon says, meeting my gaze and attempting a comforting smile that turns into a grimace. "If she's not back by then, we will have a ship waiting for her just off the coast, out of reach from the dead."
"We need all the ships we have," Ser Mormont says, standing up next to The Hound. "I say we take the dead man and return to—"
"No," I cut him off, shaking my head, feeling a surge of anger start to boil from the emptiness within.
"Khaleesi—"
"I told you not to ever call me that again. In fact, I remember ordering you twice to never call me that again," I say through clenched teeth, rising to my feet. "She is your King. She risked her life to save all of yours. We will wait for her, as Jon suggested. If she doesn't return when it's time to flood The Wall, then one ship will remain for her."
"My Queen, if we could speak in private," Ser Mormont takes a slow step towards me.
The maniacal laugh that erupts from my chest cuts him off the moment I recognize the look in his eye. "Every moment you have requested has been spent trying to wedge yourself between Ryker and I since we met. When will you understand that I am my own person capable of making my own decisions and listening to more then just your words?" I shake my head in disappointment.
"My Queen, we need to think of our people, and that means we have to make it to King's Landing."
"Stop," I spit out in anger. "Just stop. You want to leave her in hopes of her never returning, despite the fact that she just saved your life. You claim to be a changed man, yet here you stand attempting to thwart any plan that might help her, in order to leave her behind for what? What means more to you than your false honor?" I ask, letting the rage take over.
"You and your vision for Westeros," he mutters in slight anger.
I nod my head, looking to Jon. "What you think I want and what I want are two separate things, Ser Mormont. You swore your sword to me twice now, possibly more—I can't keep up with how many times I have exiled you—and you keep ignoring that, returning in hopes of winning my favor once again. I will finally settle this, in hopes you can understand." I let my voice lower into the emotionless mask Ryker once said scared her while I step closer to him. "I will never love you. My heart belongs to Ryker, Margaery, and the family we built. They are my future, you are not. No longer will I allow you or anyone to manipulate me into doing what they think is right. I am the breaker of chains, and no longer shall you, Tyrion, or his spider try to silence me by attempting to put me in yours. Do you understand me?" The silence between us thrums with tension so tangible you can almost see the threads of anger and rage flowing between us.
"Your Queen asked you a question," Jon says, stepping next to me, his hand on the hilt of his sword after a look of defiance crosses Ser Jorah's face.
His eyes flicker to my brother-by-law, then back to mine. "I understand, Your Grace," he answers stiffly, giving me a slight bow, keeping the tension in his frame.
Giving Jon a solemn nod, I move to the table and pour myself a cup of warm cider. "Jon—" My words are cut off by the sound of a loud horn blowing. Looking to Jon's confused face, I see a light of hope bloom, brightening his cold black eyes. "What does that mean?"
"Rangers," he gasps before rushing to the door.
"Jon," I shout, following after him. The men in the small castle move aside as we run through the halls, heading straight for a cage attached to a rope, held up by a grid of metal bolted together that runs from the ground to the top of the endless wall. Getting into the cage, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my palpitating heart and sensitive nerves as the cage ascends into the sky.
"The first time is always the worst," Jon says softly, facing in the opposite direction. "It helps if you don't look down."
"Thank you," I answer just as softly, turning to face the wall alongside him. "You said the horn meant Rangers; what do you mean?"
"It has been the way of communication between those who watch on top of the wall down to the castles that sit on the ground," he explains, letting out a sigh. "One for Rangers, two for enemies, and three for White Walkers. When the horn blows, the men in the tunnels know whether to raise the gates in welcome or arm the men for battle."
"So why are we going to the top and not through the tunnel?"
"We need to be sure of who approaches, also because the only friends beyond The Wall that were left returned on the back of that freezing dragon," he answers as we reach the top. Without another word, he opens the gate and leads us past stilted braziers and worn wooden beams.
"Of all the gods," I mumble to myself, following him to a wooden balcony that looks out to the frozen tundra that is the True North. "It goes on forever."
"You can appreciate the view the next time you visit," Jon tugs on my sleeve. Turning my head, my eyes follow to where he's pointing. "There."
Squinting, I make out a speck of black moving through the endless sea of white. "Are you sure?"
"Aye, the Watchers have the best vision out of all the Nights Watch. If they say it's a Ranger, then it's a Ranger," he states, gesturing to the weathered man with windblown hair and frostbitten cheeks. "Let's go." He tugs my sleeve, leading me back to the lift.
"I cannot believe you chose to live like this," I say once the cage starts to descend once more in a half hearted attempt to distract my mind.
"Believe it or not you get used to it after a while." He lets out a strained laugh. "It was once an honor to give your life to the Night's Watch, before it became a punishment to those South of The Neck. Nevertheless, any man who's sworn his life to The Watch will always be offered Guests Right when visiting houses in The North, especially in Winterfell."
"Your family is very loyal."
"Aye, some more than others," he says, wincing slightly.
"She has forgiven you; you need to forgive yourself. Learn from those mistakes and stand by her, just as I plan to do from now on," I reassure him as the cage comes to a halt at the bottom.
"This way." Once again, he leads me out of the lift, but instead of going back into the castle, he leads us through a rusted metal gate that blocks off a wide circular tunnel, lighted by torches spread apart. Walking through it, a deep, unsettling chill sets in my bones as the air surrounding us becomes more suffocating with every step. "Just ahead."
"You think it could be her?" I ask, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice as we reach the last of the gates.
"Even though the chances are slim, I pray to the gods that it's her." He takes a deep breath. "Open the gates." He calls out to a group of men standing next to a wheel bound in chains.
The minutes feel like hours as four of them grab a spoke and push against the heavy weight of the metal gate. Their movements are slow and steady. I can't stop my fingers from thrumming impatiently with each clank that rings through the tunnel as the links of the heavy chain snap against the wheel. Soon enough, I have to squint against the blinding light that the sun brings, shining off the blankets of lush snow that cover the frozen ground. Yet Jon and his men don't waste another second when the gate is lifted high enough. Swallowing the lump stuck in my throat, I move my feet forward.
My heart leaps in my chest as the once-speck from above forms into a rider with a covered face, dressed in black, on a tall brute horse. "Who approaches The Wall?" Jon shouts, pulling his longsword from its sheath on his hip.
The man on the horse comes to a halt a stone's throw away. In a swift motion, he swings his leg over the horse and pulls what looks like a bundle of frost-covered furs from the horse's back, cradling it in his arms as if he's holding it with the utmost care. "Put your sword away, boy," the man shouts back, coming closer.
Jon drops his sword at the same moment the sun illuminates the bundle in his arms. "Ryker," I gasp, running forward towards the unknown man, brushing off Jon and his men's attempts to halt me. "What happened to her?" I ask the covered man holding my wife in his arms.
"Took a spear through the shoulder," he says, looking me in the eye while passing my unconscious wife to one of the bigger men.
My frozen breath catches in my throat, seeing the icy blue hues mixed in with the cold brown that seem to warm when they land on Ryker. "Thank you, Ser—"
"Uncle Benjen," I hear Jon whisper from behind me.
"Get her warm and patched up," he tells me with urgency, ignoring his nephew.
Taking the hint, I nudge the man forward toward the tunnels. "The ships have braziers in the cabins. It's much warmer than the castle," I order him harshly.