Gabrielle launches herself from the ship as soon as they're tied to the dock, bolting down wooden path with Trident on her heels and the slavers left behind. And though it had been nothing short of a frantic furry for the past week---even with the winds on their side--Gabrielle stops all at once at the sight waiting for her at the end of the dock, her eyebrows quirking in disbelief.
"Shaggydog? Lady?" she questions the presence of the two wolves. At their names, the direwolves perk up and rise, eyes gazing into Gabrielle's with a devout loyalty she cannot quite understand. From behind her, Grey Wind rushes to his brother and sister, the other two greeting their litter mate with great cause for excitement.
How in the Sevens did they know she was coming here? Gabrielle shakes her head at the wonder of these wolves, remembering her quest and forgetting the quandary. She whistles for the excited wolve's attention, "Shaggy, Lady, Grey Wind. Time to go."
After paying for a horse and supplies, Gabrielle quickly mounts the mare who's known for her speed--or so the owner said. Ensuring they can keep pace, Gabrielle gallops off into the depths of the Northern forest with few noticing the strange 'wolf-woman' and none knowing her from rumour.
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"The Lord of Light protect us, for the night is dark and full of terrors!" the Red Priestess chants before the pyre of a young girl and princess, her parents in attendance and the girl screaming with that need to live, to not go out as ash.
"Mother, don't do this please! Please help! Don't do this! Please, father! Mother, help!" Her shouts do not echo on deaf ears as Melisandre lights the pyre and Shireen screams at the burning of her skin. Selyse Baratheon bolts forward to save her daughter, but is confined by the soldiers even as she shoves and screams and tries to save Shireen. Stannis forces himself to watch, the confliction evident in the light of his daughter's pyre and her screaming, and Melisandre seems rather content in her success at this scene. But when the screams stop and the fire wanes, and the night turns its fury asunder, there is no red magic to keep the men loyal to a king who kills daughters at the promises of riches.
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Even though she's the mere rider, Gabrielle huffs short breaths of exhaustion as she rides from White Harbor and towards Winterfell, avoiding the obvious trails and letting the wolves lead her--trusting them with Sansa's help. But like her visit prior that had her paranoid of the lurking darkness and legends, and despite growing from her childish perceptions, Gabrielle cannot help checking her surroundings every few minutes as they thunder through the underbrush. And to the extent of her innate fear, Gabrielle's nearly thrown from the mare as Valyrion suddenly lands on her shoulder with a message. Collecting herself, she slows the mare to a stop and unties the message from Valyrion's leg, popping the wax seal as uneasiness seeps over her.
G—
Your words bring me both joy and fear, for I have wished greatly to see you again, but under such circumstances, it is a dark feeling. Your visions, as strange and hard as they might be to bear, have been a great gift in this instance, as the safety of my sister rests in your hands. I do not have the ability to save her, and I did not expect you to have seen this coming, so I plead earnestly with you to do all that you can to help her. Get her away from that place and to safety, even if it is not the Wall.
Now that I've written that, I plead with you to not come to the Wall. Go to Essos, get away from the North. I've brought the Free Folk from Hardhome, and now I fear my brothers far more than I fear those who lived north of the Wall. More than half hate me, and near half would like to see my dead. If you were to arrive here, I fear they'd hurt you and Sansa both if only to injure me. I plead with you: stay away until I can ease the tensions of my brothers. They should calm with time, but today is a dangerous day.
Stannis should be attacking Winterfell any day now, and that might be the imperative time to steal Sansa away. But, please be safe in your endeavors—even with a direwolf around, men are dangerous to women, especially Roose Bolton.
Your visions could allow you to muck with Ghost from afar—a talent I would not put past you, for you are a strange woman indeed.
I'd prefer you to a coat any day, but stay away for your own safety. My care for you runs deep in the cold tundra up north.
Yours,
J
Gabrielle's breath halts at that last word, at the premise, but the prerogative of her duty to Sansa runs deep and she quickly writes her return message to the man she'd see forever with. Her heart beats heavily in her chest and her skin crawls through her coat and dress in that feeling of foreshadowed tragedy: something's going to happen to Jon.
And how does one decide between saving Sansa and saving Jon, the people who matter most to her heart? The organ flinches in the realization of her dilemma, and heaves with a wish to just go back and keep Sansa safe at that wedding. She wishes she could go back to the day they left Winterfell and scream at all of them--herself included--to stay there, to never leave such a haven again.
But in the end, there is no time for a decision as she sends Valyrion off with her message and continues her ride north...to Winterfell. She does not know for certain if Jon is in danger, but Sansa certainly is, so she shall ride there first.
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Jon Snow watches with forlorn feeling as Sam departs Castle Black in a wagon that will lead south to Old Towne. And with the leaving of Sam, Jon only has Edd for support, feeling a deep and threatening shiver rack his body, helped in part by the glare Alliser Thorne imposes upon him, from afar but felt all the same.
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Stannis collapses to the ground at the foot of a massive oak tree, grimacing at the newfound injury upon his form as his leg bends and then straightens in acceptance of his fate. And though he cannot know the fate--given he might bleed out or he may be captured by the Boltons--Stannis is accepting of them all in retribution of his guilt. He deserves to feel every horror man can impose, and maybe then he'll feel the pain Shireen experienced.
But what he does not expect is to find a woman upon a horse riding towards him, dismounting slowly and staring at him as if he's a figure of her imagination. In his last moment, or he supposes, he remarks with what little humour he has, "Bolton has women fighting for him."
"I do not fight for the Boltons. I'm Brienne of Tarth. I was Kingsguard to Renly Baratheon. I was there when he was murdered by a shadow with your face. You murdered him? With blood magic?" the woman of remarkable height and less remarkable beauty asks, and though Stannis still has his wits about him after the long battle, his heart is no longer in the fight of lying.
So he admits solely, "I did."
At his confirmation--a noble man, she will admit--Brienne steps forward and unsheathes the sword bequeathed to her by Jaime Lannister, placing her hands on its hilt like the knight she tries to be. "In the name of Renly of House Baratheon, First of his Name, Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I, Brienne of Tarth, sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?"
"Go on, do your duty," Stannis waves her off, ready for that bite of steel and pang of death, closing his eyes as she swings the steel backward and hearing the hiss of broken wind as it swings forward and--
"Stop!" The sword stops its approach mere inches from his neck, Stannis opening one eye and then both as they scrunch in confusion at the sight before them. Panting and rough-looking, Gabrielle Baelish stands on her two feet, surrounded by three direwolves who all bare their teeth but no growling pierces their ears. Imposing at the mere sight, Gabrielle's voice is a sharp sword as she commands, "Brienne, drop Oathkeeper."
"This man—he killed Renly Baratheon with blood magic—" the woman attempts to reason, rightly intimidated by the sight and not intended to invoke a direwolf's rage.
"War is not fair. You intend to cut down a man while he lays in weakness—is that what honor dictates?" the girl questions with the sharp logic Stannis can appreciate, watching as Brienne gazes at Gabrielle in question before lowering and sheathing her sword. His blue eyes turn then to Gabrielle who moves to crouch near him, gazing at the injury and then to his face which has aged in the years of their separation. "Stannis Baratheon, it's been a long time," Gabrielle smirks in that old expression of her youth, but not with the mirth she used to possess, instead looking tired and worn by the years. "And your time for warfare has not ended. Can you move?"
"Lady Baelish, why are you here?" the man demands to know, "Why haven't you let this woman kill me? It's as she said--I killed my own brother."
"That 'woman' is Lady Brienne of Tarth, a warrior like you and less like me. And I am here to save Sansa Stark from her undeserving fate under Ramsay Bolton, something Brienne and I can coincide on," Gabrielle relates to her intentions, shifting her eyes to the worried Brienne and then back to Stannis. "She will not kill you while I still stand, but I need your help, Stannis. The North needs a good military man to lead them in the coming wars—you know of the White Walkers and the threat they play to Westeros. If today hasn't taught you anything, let me...you were not meant to be a king, no matter if Ned Stark or inheritance thought as much—that time has come and gone. If I asked you to hand down your crown, would you?"
Stannis Baratheon's blue eyes bore into hers with a hidden stint of sudden understanding--why Jon Snow trusts this woman. Integrity. Her eyes are a sharp blue with a bite of steel and he has to wonder why none other than the Starks have bowed to her, heeded her call as she bares the shoulders and duty of a queen. Conviction.
And though the fog removes itself from her visage and he sees the good intentions about her, Stannis's decision is not about Gabrielle herself, but his own failures as a king and father. He can hear her screaming, and Stannis winces, leaning further back into the tree and muttering mutely, "You should have let her kill me."
"No, the sacrifices you have made shall not go unanswered," Gabrielle responds, sending him a sharp look that foretells her knowing of his actions against his family. She'd run across the sellswords on the road. Thick in the command, she gives him the option, "Swear yourself to the North until we can find a ruler under which to follow—and then you will swear your loyalty to him or her."
"I'll be no more than a knight—"
"Which is more than you deserve," Gabrielle growls and his eyes flash with pain as she presses on his wound. "Do not let the death of your daughter haunt you—search for reconciliation under the gods, serve the goodwill of man, and do not promise yourself damnation by giving up now. Will you serve these lands, Lord Stannis of House Baratheon? Will you take up the realm as your forefathers of House Baratheon? Will you be the rebel your brother was? Will you be loyal to the North like Ned Stark was loyal to you?"
Stannis Baratheon stares at her with deep thought, and as a minute passes, she's inclined to just drag him onto the horse and get to saving Sansa. But then, slowly, he nods in acceptance of the mantle she offers, trying to kneel before her before grimacing in pain and falling back. Turning to give Pod a pointed look, the squire rushes forward to help Stannis kneel before her, the man offering the words of great tradition: "I will shield these lands, keep council with its lords, and give my life for these people if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new."
"And I swear that you shall always have a place in the North, and meat and mead at a Northern lord's table. And the North will pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear--for the North--it by the old gods and the new. Arise," Gabrielle reciprocates, and Stannis attempts to rise to his feet only to fall backwards, "Or not."
The girl turns to the rather upset form of the woman knight behind her, those grey eyes of the Baelish inquiring that Brienne simply listen and trust her, "I know you wish for his head, but vengeance does not target him. Direct it towards the Red Woman who birthed the shadow that killed Renly. She deceived Lord Stannis as much as she's deceived anyone."
Brienne considers the proposition for a moment before nodding in cold recognition of this truth she'll accept for now. And Gabrielle smiles in silent thankfulness, turning to Pod who looks grown in their time apart, "Good to see you again, Podrick. You're looking more like a knight upon each meeting. Would you mind helping Stannis onto my horse?"
"That's not proper," Stannis and Brienne echo the sentiment.
"You two have more in common than you'd imagine," Gabrielle huffs at them, before directing her eyes on Stannis. "If you don't get on that horse, I'll throw you on it by your leg."
Stannis glares at her rather insipid speech but allows Pod to help him onto her mare, Gabrielle then mounting in front of him after gathering his sword. Watching as the other two settle themselves, Gabrielle meets their eyes in her silent role as their leader, and she commands, "We're looking for Sansa. If she's as smart as I think, she'll have escaped during the battle."
////////////////////////////////////////////////
Sansa does not hesitate a moment to wipe Myranda's blood off her dagger, grabbing Theon's hand in her own as he begs her trust and receives it with the imminent return of Ramsey to the Keep. She does not let herself regret the action for a moment as she plummets into the snowbanks outside Winterfell, knowing this is just the beginning of their struggles in the days to come.
///////////////////////////////////////////////
Those green Lannister eyes gaze into his own with a love for a father that Jaime never saw in his own children, Myrcella shining bright in his eye as they feel the gentle sway of the boat beneath them. Like the kindness Cersei does not possess, Myrcelle relates, "I know...about you and mother. I think a part of me always knew. And I'm glad. I'm glad that you're my father."
The shock Jaime feels is incomprehensible in that moment, though its quickly overrun by happiness as she embraces him like a daughter would a father, and he clings to her. He lets it last a moment too long before she releases the hug and smiles at Jaime, just as a strand of crimson runs out of her nose and over her lip.
"Myrcella?" Jaime grabs her face and her eyes reflect fear and the riveting red falls in deep succession down her face, Jaime panicked, "Myrcella?"
The girl collapses into his arms as he drops to the floor with her, holding her fearful face in his hands as the blood continues its descent and Myrcella, her silence. But even as she dies and he calls her name helplessly, Myrcella's smile lingers in due cause of her untainted goodness.
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"Hello, old friend," a voice calls and draws Tyrion from his rather lonely position upon the balcony, his head shifting about to gaze surprisingly upon Varys and Oberyn nearby. The eunuch, and speaker, grins widely, "I thought we were so happy together until you abandoned us."
"Both you and Gabrielle," Oberyn adds without a look for her, likely knowing from Varys of her whereabouts in Westeros.
"Please don't tell me you're bitter about us--her," Tyrion looks pointedly at a grinning Oberyn, "--leaving you. I suppose there's no point in asking how you found me."
"The birds sing in the west, the birds sing in the east. If one knows how to listen," Varys reminds him of their old and secretive conversations three years ago. "They tell me you've already found favor with the Mother of Dragons."
Tyrion nods his head, remarking snidely, "Well, she didn't execute me, so that's a promising start. Now the heroes are off to find her, and I'm stuck here, trying to placate a city on the brink of civil war. Any advice for an old comrade?"
"Information is the key. You need to learn your enemy's strengths and strategies. You need to learn which of your friends are not your friends."
"And if they step out of line, you teach them to fear you," Oberyn adds.
"If only I knew someone with a vast network of spies, and a warrior that's always evoked fear across these lands," Tyrion taunts, and the other two grin.
"If only," Varys responds, and a beat passes between them as three heads turn to survey the city before them, chaotic and dying. "A grand old city, choking on violence, corruption, and deceit. Who could possibly have any experience managing such a massive, ungainly beast?"
Tyrion does not feel the need to respond at the sound of footsteps behind them, and a third sound--that of a cane. Turning on his heel, Tyrion grins at the man who's been so radically changed in his departure from the North.
"Two of us, it would seem," Ned Stark responds to Varys's taunt, turning to the new arrivals with that charismatic Stark smile. "Good to see you, Varys. Prince Oberyn, we haven't had the pleasure."
As the Northern man slightly bows to the Southerner, Oberyn Martell grins widely, and offers him, "Please, Lord Stark, it's great to finally meet you. I've heard so much."
"You've done well here, Lord Stark," Varys relents to the folly of his own past beliefs, "Lady Baelish was right about saving you—our queen has come into her own."
"She has," Ned admits with that stark nod of his head, eyes lingering on the spymaster with a worry twitching in his eye for Sansa. "...any word on Lady Baelish?"
"No whispers past her arriving in White Harbor," Varys relates to Ned Stark and Tyrion, prompting the former to sigh in frustration at his inability to help his family--again, but hopefully for not much longer.
"It'll be good to have someone in Westeros while we are here," Tyrion offers as the silence becomes uncomfortable.
"Yes, the songbird has flown away. But she'll still sing," Varys offers a small and rare smile that relates his care for the female, "she always does."
///////////////////////////////////////////////
Daenerys--as the Dothraki stampede around her in the greatest show of force she's seen from them--cannot help wishing that she'd never escaped during the fighting, her plans on hiatus for a time as those war calls echo about the green valley and leave her in a state of current ruin.
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Jon's breath softly caresses his hands as he rummages through the layers of paper on his desk, looking for the pile of letters from Gabrielle that he'd misplaced from the top drawer. His hand rakes through his lengthy curls and his lip twitches with the need to shake, expressing his aging before the walls as his skin plays pallor at the many night's without sleep. First slowly and then certain, the door to his chambers squeaks as Olly pops his head in, looking at Jon as he rumages wildly and with a fervor Olly rarely sees. Suspicion drums in the young boy's mistaken heart, but he pushes on against the current as he tells Jon, "Lord Commander. It's one of the wildlings you brought back. Says he knows your Uncle Benjen. Says he's still alive."
Jon immediately forgets his preoccupation--and similarly, his wits--as he stands to his feet and approaches the boy steward with bated breath, pressing Olly, "Are you sure he's talking about Benjen?"
"Says he was First Ranger. Said he knows where to find him," Olly relates and Jon's heart sings with the premise of family as he bolts past Olly and out the door, winding through the short hallways and feeling the brush of parchment on his chest--only then remembering he put Gabrielle's letters there for safe keeping. His mouth widens into that small grin, rushing down the stairs to see Alliser waiting, the man turning without suspicion as he relates, "Man says he saw your uncle at Hardhome the last full moon."
"He could be lying," Jon rebukes with a suspicion he should hold for this man, not an imaginary wildling.
"Could be," Alliser shrugs with that typical lack of care, although he does appear to be more helpful than normal. Not that Jon notices. "There are ways to find out."
"Where is he?"
"Over there," Alliser directs with the point of his fingering, the trap sprung as Jon pushes through the collection of Watchmen bearing torches, only to come into sight and realization of treachery. A sign, painted red, hangs at his chest level, "TRAITOR" in bold pronunciation of their beliefs. Jon's breath hitches at the realization that hits him--the ploy they set up--turning on his heel only to notice that he's been cornered by his own men...his own brothers.
And then, he's stabbed through the gut by Alliser Thorne, the traitor that he is and Thorne pounces in those words, "For the Watch."
And then another stab, "For the Watch." Which is followed and echoed by three more before Jon drops to his knees in numb feeling and thrumming blood that seeps into his tunic and across the parchment, written on by the female he'd come to love.
Jon cannot quite imagine that the treachery could get worse until Olly makes his stance as one of those men, the brown eyes of Jon Snow gazing into the hateful expression of a boy no older than Bran, pleading, "Olly..."
But the boy stabs him all the same and relates that wicked phrase, "For the Watch."
The dagger is ripped from his heart and Jon's left to support himself as the world spins in black and white, before tipping back as he falls onto the snow behind him. Eyes glazed, the brothers leave the sight of their massacre with the sign above Jon's head reflecting their trial and conviction of an innocent and good man. Jon's expression is something of lost intent as his heart slows to a stop, but not before he feels a flutter of wings and the press of a beak into his side. And in that last moment, Jon swears he hears the singing of children from deep within the ground.
Gabrielle gasps awake at the cessation of the life before her eyes, color blurred with familiar reckoning as her screams pierce the midnight and wake the others from the sleep, though she's far too gone to realize as Stannis rushes to her. And it is only then that she truly knows heartbreak, a desperate cry escaping her lips, a whine, and then pure tears and pure anger and every potent emotion a woman can feel, like a stab to the gut by Olly himself—and she is immobilized, either by her muscles or by the others as she feels Jon's pain, his fading heart, and their possibilities shatter—a pit of emotion that's so deep it feels uniform, feeling nothing and everything at once. The world collapses and she knows nothing else other than the feeling of Grey Wind's fur against her side, Shaggy's breath on her head, and Lady's whimpers from nearby. It's all senses and no visions—and finally she drifts off to sleep...finally her breath continues even as Jon's doesn't. And the morning can bring no joy when there is no sun on her horizon, no friend to write—and Valyrion returns to her side with blood on his talons and even more on the letter he carries. And that is like death for a writer, death for the tragic songbird herself, and death of a hope that makes words into music and men into art and all the world into a story of heroes and villains and saints and saviors. And it is then that she realized she had loved him as he had loved her.