OW! Who... oh," Arya said as she turned around to find herself face to face with Aela the Huntress. "Uh..."
"Say it," Aela growled like a wolf.
"But-"
"Say. It," Aela repeated with her arms folded.
"I was wrong," Arya finally admitted.
"Yes, you were," Aela agreed.
"You were right..."
"Yes I was."
"I shouldn't have stayed in Harrenhal..."
"No, you shouldn't have."
"I should have escaped with you."
"Yes, you should have," Aela said before give Arya a look over. "Have you been practicing or working out during your captivity?"
"Yes. As best as I could. I practiced in my cell, did pushups and more." Arya insisted.
"Good, because I feel like 'testing' you tomorrow," Aela said with an evil smirk. "A couple dozen laps around the camp in heavy armor for a warm up. Then we can start on the real workout."
Arya gave a pleading look at William, who grinned from the bed.
"Leave her be, Aela. For now, at least. But she does need to get back to her training."
"As you wish," Aela relented. "You two reckless fools better enjoy your time together before the work starts again."
It was not too long before William and Arya were left alone with each other, and Arya crawled into bed, taking advantage of their solitude to snuggle up to William.
"I wanted to sleep... but now I don't want to... now that you're here," William whispered.
"I'll be here when you wake up. I promise," Arya warmly replied, kissing his cheek. "Rest, my silly stag."
"As my wolf princess commands," William smiled back before closing his eyes. He was out in seconds.
Daenerys' Fleet
"Never, in all my life, did I imagine I would see the Amulet of Kings, let alone hold it in my hands," Farengar breathed as he held the Amulet.
Daenerys had just returned to her fleet, and had just revealed to her advisors all that had happened, including her little jaunt into the Mad God's realm. All of them were relieved that she had returned alright, only to be amazed with the discoveries Daenerys had made.
"So, all this time, it was in the Valyrian Freehold," Arcadia remarked.
"Yes... although I cannot wear it," Daenerys answered.
"Even if you cannot wear it, Khaleesi, it is a symbol that you have and control," Jorah remarked.
"Perhaps... but I do not intend to usurp what it symbolizes. It does not belong to me, and, in any case, I do not wish to meet the same fate as the Freehold."
"You said you encountered the Daedric Prince of Madness, and that this Valeria Targaryen, the dragon-eyed woman you met in the House of the Undying, and your ancestor, saved you, right?" Farengar asked.
"Yes. She said she was a servant of Akatosh. After we spoke for some time, and she answered some of my doubts... she turned into a white dragon and flew away," Daenerys replied, causing a look of wonder to appear on Farengar's face, while Arcadia turned to her old friend with a questioning look.
"Do you think this Valeria is the Messenger of Akatosh?" she asked.
"Perhaps," Farengar replied.
"Who is this messenger?" Daenerys asked.
"In the books of the Divines, there is mention of a white dragon that serves as Akatosh's messenger when speaking to humans. A divine being, just under the Divines in the hierarchy of the Aedra, who serves Divine Akatosh and carries out his will," Farengar explained. "However, nothing in these writings suggests that Akatosh's Messenger could take the form of a human. Then again, little else is known about the Messenger."
"Valeria told me there is someone still living who knows her whole story," Daenerys reminded. "I hope I can meet this person someday."
"I, most assuredly, would love to meet such a person as well, my lady. The things they must know..." Farengar remarked.
The group fell silent for a moment, as they contemplated the mysteries Daenerys had unveiled, before the would-be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms spoke up.
"Well, we won't get any more answers here. Have the fleet resume its course. You're all dismissed."
Everyone bowed and left to do as ordered. Except one.
"May I have a word, Khaleesi?" Jorah asked when he and Daenerys were alone.
"What is it, Ser Jorah?"
"You said you encountered a Daedric Prince," Jorah said with concern in his voice and on his face. "Are you sure that you're alright? If I can do anything to help..."
"It's alright, Ser Jorah," Daenerys interrupted with a small smile. "I'm fine. Or, at least, I feel better than I did earlier."
"I'm glad to hear that, Khaleesi. Everyone was worried about you."
"I'm sorry for worrying everyone," Daenerys said before her face fell a little. "There was a moment there, when I was facing Sheogorath, when I saw what my family did... what my fatherdid... I almost broke. But then, Valeria saved me. She made me realize that I have a choice. She saved me from myself."
"Farengar said that there was nothing we could do to help you. It was out of our hands... and he was right. What you needed was family. Well... the right sort of family," Jorah noted.
"He is a wise mage. He may have spied on me, but I can't bring myself to hate or despise him," Daenerys admitted.
"He is a brave man. He told you the truth, regardless of the consequences," Jorah said before he stared at the wooden boards of the ship. "I do not possess the courage to do the same."
Daenerys looked at Jorah in confusion at hearing this. Jorah slowly fell to his knees before Daenerys as he gave her a mournful look.
"You may know that I went into exile to avoid being executed for selling poachers into slavery. When I was sworn into your service after your marriage to Khal Drogo, I was told I would receive a royal pardon and be able to return to Westeros if I sent information about you," Jorah confessed.
Daenerys stared at Jorah with a blank face. For some reason, she wasn't as hurt or shocked at hearing this as she thought she would be. Perhaps it was because she already suspected something like this when Farengar revealed he was spying on her.
"Did you receive this royal pardon?" Daenerys slowly asked.
"I did. Just before the attempt to poison you happened," Jorah admitted.
"But you stayed, and you saved me. Why?"
"I've wanted to return home for many years, just like you have, Khaleesi. But the more I served and followed you... and then, after I saw you walk out of that pyre, carrying your dragons..." Jorah shrugged, unsure of himself. "I realized that the chance to return to Westeros paled in comparison to my wish to remain by your side."
He lowered his head in shame.
"As I said, Farengar has more courage than me. I... was afraid. Afraid that, if you ever learned the truth, you would send me away, and I could not bear to have you despise me, Khaleesi."
"If that is so, why are you telling me the truth now?"
"Perhaps... perhaps it is because I now know that, with all that has happened to you and the rest of us... you deserve to know the full truth," he said, looking up to her for a moment before lowering his head again. "I have sworn myself to you, Khaleesi, which means it was wrong of me to hide the truth from you. If you wish for me to continue being in your service, I shall do anything you request of me. If you wish for me to be executed... then I will accept that. And, if I die serving you, then I shall die happy and content."
Jorah continued to stare at the deck of the ship, unwilling to look up at the woman he had come to love in such short a time, even if he knew she might never feel the same towards him, waiting for her to decide his fate. He almost jumped when he felt her hand on his shoulder.
"I may not be able to fully trust you anymore, Ser Jorah, much like I cannot fully trust Farengar," she softly spoke. "But I will not have you executed. Instead, you will stay by my side and prove that you have decided to serve me. Do you understand, Jorah the Andal?"
His face could have broken into a smile, and his eyes nearly teared up, but he sobered himself as he answered.
"Yes, Khaleesi."
"Good. Stand up, Ser Jorah. We still have a long ways to sail until we return home," Daenerys ordered.
Robb's Camp
Candlelight flickered in the tent as Lord Gawen Westerling looked over several reports, which spoke of the lands that the Black Prince had granted his family. As he set the papers down and took a drink of ale, the tent door opened, allowing his daughter enter with Lord Stark.
"Father," Jeyne greeted him with a heartfelt hug, which he returned.
"Hello, my dear. And to you, Lord Stark," Gawen returned. "What brings you here at this hour?"
"Well, father... I... we... well," Jeyne stammered, biting her lip, as she normally did when she wanted to ask something. Gawen raised an eyebrow in confusion, before Robb stepped forward.
"Lord Westerling, I've come here to ask you for your permission," Robb explained, just as nervous as Jeyne, but under better control.
"Permission? Permission for what?"
"I'm asking for permission... to marry your daughter."
Gawen blinked, and then he looked at the two young people in front of him.
"Did I hear correctly, Lord Stark? You wish to marry my daughter?" Gawen whispered.
"Yes, Lord Westerling. Your daughter... she is a wonderful woman. I love her, and I want to marry her," the young Lord replied, holding Jeyne's hand and lacing their fingers together.
"By the Nine... I knew that you two were spending much time together, but I never considered that..." Gawen took a deep breath before turning to his daughter. "Do you feel the same way, Jeyne?"
"I do, father. Robb is kind, strong, and caring. I want to marry him. I love him," Jeyne confessed while giving Robb a warm smile.
"But, didn't you swear to marry one of Walder Frey's daughters, Lord Stark?"
"I did," Robb admitted, and the look on the young lord's face told Gawen everything he needed to know.
"Oh, dear. What a difficult situation this has become," Gawen sighed before meeting his daughter's gaze. "And you know I've never been able to deny you, Jeyne, particularly when you give me a look like that. I'm assuming that neither of you intends to change your current course of action?"
"Aye," both said.
"This... will have to be handled carefully. Walder Frey was expecting to unite his family to a High Lord's, and what I know of him is enough to know this will have sequels. If you intend to marry, you need to provide compensation," Gawen said. "We might be able to offer some payment by means of the lands the Black Prince has provided to House Westerling, but it will take a couple of years after the war has ended for that to be useful. We need something that we can offer to Lord Frey right now."
"I was thinking that I can promise to marry one of my future children to one of his descendants," Robb suggested.
"I'm sure Walder Frey will demand that, at least, but we need to offer something that he can receive immediately, before he dies."
"What about Harrenhal, father?" Jayne hesitantly suggested. "It's been lordless ever since Lady Whent's demise, and the Black Prince has yet to grant it. Should he give it to the Freys, then one of Lord Frey's sons will become high lords, like they wish."
"That might work. Will told me he would help me if I faced this situation, and granting Harrenhal is perfectly within his power," Robb agreed.
"Well, we can pray that will be enough. I'll try to bring it up if we meet soon," Gawen hoped. "When do you two plan to marry?"
"Well..." Jeyne blushed.
"There is a septon prepared already," Robb confessed.
Gawen stared at them for a moment before chuckling.
"Normally, I would protest, but considering that you two have already spent a lot of time together..." He then stepped forward with a serious look directed at Robb.
"I like you, Robb Stark. You strive to be an honorable and just lord. But, I'm entrusting my daughter into your care. You understand how much her happiness and safety means to me?"
"I do, Lord Westerling. I will never stop taking care of her. I swear it," Robb said with determination.
"I'll hold you to that, Lord Stark."
That night, Robb and Jeyne stood under a heart tree, illuminated by lamps. Apart from the officiating septon, only Gawen, his son Reynald, Catelyn Stark and Brienne of Tarth stood: they wanted to make it a private moment.
As the septon started the ceremony, Catelyn watched the brightness in the eyes on the two young people standing before the tree. She was happy for her son, but, at the same time, felt apprehension.
"I can't help but feel like they are rushing into a mistake," Catelyn told Lord Westerling.
"I can't really offer much of an argument against that," Gawen replied.
"Then, why did you agree to let them marry so soon?"
"Have you looked at them, Lady Stark? How their eyes shine when they look at each other?" Gawen explained as he indicated towards bride and groom. "You can see how much they love each other. Whether they do it today or tomorrow, it doesn't truly matter. This marriage would end up the same way."
"There is love, yes, but there will be trouble."
"Every marriage faces trouble at some point. It's overcoming that trouble together that makes the relationship grow stronger."
Catelyn could not argue against that. Her own marriage to Ned had been rocky enough at the beginning, particularly where it concerned Jon Snow, but they had made it work and eventually their love for each other had been undeniable. And, in truth, she had come to like Jeyne after spending time with her. Now, Catelyn had her duty as a mother to try and help her son and his new wife in their future struggles.
She continued to watch, and could not help but give a small, warm smile as Robb and Jeyne finished saying their vows and kissed each other, now husband and wife. She only wished that Ned was here to see it.
William's Camp
It was the day following the battle. The sun was already past its mid-point, and outside William's tent, Delphine and a group of Blades stood guard, as usual. Barristan Selmy approached them with another group of Blades, and soon the change of guard was done, with only Delphine remaining out of the initial group, as Barristan stood beside her.
"How is our Prince?" the knight asked.
"He's... mostly recovered."
"That's good to hear," Barristan said, before turning slightly towards the closed tent flap: he could have sworn he had heard someone else there. "Is he alone?"
"No. Princess Arya is with him, discussing, ahem, war strategies," Delphine answered with a small smirk and wiggling her eyebrows.
"Ah. 'War strategies'. I understand," Barristan said with a chuckle.
Inside the tent, Arya moaned as her lips pressed against William's, while she lat on his lap and with their arms wrapped around each other. Holding each other closely as their kiss deepened, they only let go when they were forced to catch their breath.
"Had I known how much I would enjoy this," Arya said while breathing deeply, "I would have kissed you a long time ago."
"Had I known how much I'd enjoy this, I would have said 'screw my promise to let you decide when to kiss' and I would have kissed you all the time," William chuckled.
"Part of me wishes you did."
"And the other part?"
"Glad that I fell in love with a man who strives to keep his promises," Arya answered with a chuckle before they kissed again. As they broke off, Arya gave a small wince.
"Are you still sore from Aela putting you through a workout?" William asked.
"A little, but I deserved it."
"Well, I can try to help you feel better," William grinned before kissing Arya's neck.
"You already are, but I thought you wanted to talk about war strategies."
"Ah... but that's the secret, Arya. The plans have already been made," William revealed with a smile.
"They have?"
"Yes, which means more time to spend with you."
William moved to kiss Arya again, only to blink in surprise as Arya stopped him with a finger over his mouth.
"Nope. No more kisses until you tell me what you're planning, silly stag," Arya said with a smirk.
"Oh, great. The wolf girl I love has discovered the best way to torture me," William joked. "Very well, I'll tell you."
"Good," Arya said as she straightened up with an eager look. "So, what is the plan to take King's Landing?"
"We're not going to take King's Landing or continue the siege. At least, not yet."
Outside the tent, a squire was leading a horse pass the tent...
"WHAT!"
The squire jumped at the sound of Arya shouting, followed by a loud thump, and a yelp of pain, and he stared at the tent in confusion.
"No need to worry, young man," Barristan assured, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Just the Black Prince and his princess having one of their talks," Delphine chuckled.
William winced. He was still on his chair, but Arya's sudden move had pushed the chair, with both of them on it, onto its back. So now, he was trapped between the chair and Arya, who put her hands on his shoulders.
"What do you mean we're not continuing the siege?" Arya demanded.
"If you let me get up, I'll explain why!" William insisted.
Arya kept glaring at him, but in the end she got off him, wanting to hear what he had to say. After setting the chair back up, William sat on it and brought Arya into his lap. This time, Arya refused to snuggle up to him, but William just wrapped his arms around her to pull her close.
"Arya, with the Seventh, Eighth and Ninth Legions joining us, we may have the men we need to lay siege to King's Landing and take it, even with the Reach supporting the Lannisters," William told her, "and if the Mythic Dawn hadn't summoned the Gate, we would have. However, the Tyrells still have thirty thousand men south of the Blackwater, which is a considerable number even now. Now that Stannis and the Rivermen are here, we may still beat them all... but it would be a long and costly siege in which many people would die."
"This is war, and men die! I understand you don't want deaths to happen, but sometimes it can't be avoided," Arya argued.
"No, they can't, but have you forgotten about the warnings we have received about the threat beyond the Wall?" William asked, frowning. "Have you?"
"No," Arya admitted.
"That's why I'm doing this. I need every possible soldier to fight against that threat. I need today's enemies to become tomorrow's allies. There will be more battles and men will die, yes, but right now I have to pick a strategy that will minimize that," William insisted.
"Very well, fine. How do you intend to do that?"
"I just need one more major victory. Or rather, I need to take one valuable target to start breaking up the alliance between Lannisters and Tyrells that will end the war. And, much to our fortune, there are two available." He gestured to a map that had been placed on a close table. "General Tullius will be given command of the First, Second, Fifth, Seventh, Eighth and Ninth Legions – six in total. Meanwhile, I will take the Third to Harrenhall, while the Fourth returns to Cloud Ruler in order to replenish their numbers."
"What will Tullius do with six Legions?" Arya asked, confused.
"I thought he had taught you something about tactics and strategy," William replied with a grin. "The Tyrells thought they would be able of attacking us in the back while we besieged King's Landing. If they surprised us, then they could defeat us and become the saviors of King's Landing, ending the war without losing little more than a handful of men, and then they would be elevated to a higher standing and influence.
"However," William's grin turned predatory at this point, "by bringing all the troops they did, they have made a huge mistake, and General Tullius is going to show them that, in war, such mistakes are paid dearly. How do you think he'll do that, my lovely wolf girl?"
Arya stared at William and then at the map, before her eyes widened.
"Highgarden," Arya breathed in realization. "Since the Tyrells have brought all their forces to King's Landing, the Reach is completely undefended!"
"Not exactly. They do have several troops there, mostly in the coast to handle any potential Ironborn attacks, along with most of the Redwyne's navy. However, while those troops are enough to fight off the Ironborn, they will be too insignificant to pose a threat to Tullius' troops."
"But, what if they chase Tullius or worse, what if they decide to attack you at Harrenhal? I'm not sure if one Legion and the Riverland forces under my great-uncle will be enough to defend the place against the Tyrells and your grandfather's army."
"Ah, but you are forgetting about my uncle Stannis. He commands a good number of Stormlanders, and, most importantly, the only fleet worth anything in Westeros' eastern coast, which allows Stannis to threaten King's Landing at little cost, so they cannot leave the city undefended in fear for my uncle to take it. And what do you think will happen when my brother, my grandfather and the Tyrells find out not only that I am at Harrenhal, which I will most definitely leak to them, but that Tullius is marching on Highgarden pretty much unopposed, and that the closest army is made of thirty thousand Reachmen that will be harried all the way through the Kingswood and beyond by ten thousand Stormlanders?"
Arya mulled over it for a second, and a grin slowly appeared on her face.
"The Tyrells will want to send their troops to save their home, but Joffrey will demand they kill you. Your grandfather will try to find a balance between both possibilities, but your brother will not listen because he is an idiot, and it will take days for him to make a sensible decision, if he actually reaches it. If they try to go against you, Tullius will take Highgarden, weakening the Tyrells. It will be unlikely that they catch up with Tullius, since the Legions are much faster than levies, and there are not enough knights to fight off six Legions. If they try to go after you and Tullius while leaving troops at King's Landing, they risk spreading themselves too thin. And, as they will be in the field instead of hiding behind walls, you would be able to take their armies out one by one."
"Sounds about right, my wolf princess."
"But, you're still rather vulnerable at Harrenhal," Arya insisted.
"Indeed. However, the Legions know that place's vulnerabilities inside out, and are more than capable of countering them. Stannis can sail up the Trident and join us, if need be. And, if it comes down to it, I can retreat to the Crossroads and Cloud Ruler. From there, with Stannis and the Blackfish's troops helping, we should be able to fight a defensive battle on our terms."
"Very well. You have planned for that. Now, you said there were two important places we can target. If Highgarden is one of them, where is the other?"
"Casterly Rock," William revealed. "Between the numbers my grandfather took out of the West and the men Stafford Lannister lost at Oxcross, there might be about twenty thousand men left to challenge Robb, all of which are falling back to Casterly Rock and Lannisport, rather than try to keep fighting Robb in the field, particularly after he has managed to take the northern half of the Westerlands. Between Robb, Edmure Tully's troops and our Western allies, they should have little problem in laying siege to the Lannister seat.
"As you can see, my wolf princess, it does not matter what direction our enemies decide to go. Whether they stay or they go, the noose will tighten. They will fight amongst themselves to make a choice, they will try to figure out what to do... and when they finally come up with an idea, it could well be too late for them."
"I can think of one problem with your plan, Will," Arya brought up.
"By all means, share it with me."
"There's still the Vale and Dorne to consider. Your grandfather has already tried to make an alliance with the Vale. You may have stopped it, but as long as Littlefinger is with Joffrey, they could try again. And they might also try to make Dorne fight for them, as well, since they have betrothed your sister to Trystane Martell."
"Dorne? Fight for the Lannisters?" William laughed. "As long as Doran Martell sits in Sunspear, Dorne will not lift a finger to help my grandfather under any circumstances. He knows he would be lucky if he could convince them to stay out of the fight. And even then, I think I know why Myrcella was sent to Sunspear, but more on that later.
"As for the Vale, you are right. There is a chance that our enemies will try to convince Lysa Arryn to have the Vale join them. Recent events make me suspicious about certain goings in there," William mused. "However, I don't plan to sit idly in Harrenhal while my grandfather acts: I will send an emissary to the Vale. Many lords of the Vale support me and our cause, so there is a chance they can be convinced to join, even if Lysa Arryn intends to stay cloistered in the Eyrie."
"You'll find a way. You always do," Arya smiled in encouragement before leaning forward for a light kiss. "I hope your plan to let our enemies strangle themselves works. When do we begin?"
"Tomorrow, we'll march under the cover of night and get a head start on our enemies," William revealed before nuzzling close with Arya. "That gives us a couple of days for making up lost time."
"Good. I can tell you about how I met the Dark Brotherhood," Arya said with a smirk. William blinked.
"What."
Two days later, The Red Keep, King's Landing
One would be very generous in calling the moment 'morning', when the city was still asleep for the most part and the sun barely peeked from the sea. However, Tywin Lannister cared not for that, and had called for a meeting, making sure all the people that had to be there would come: the Small Council, Joffrey, Cersei, Tyrion and the Reach Lords.
"Why, in the name of all the gods, did we have to come to a meeting before there is any daylight?" Tyrion asked with a large, cracking yawn.
"It is very simple. With all the dead from the battle tended to, the siege will commence again soon. We must make plans to repel William's forces when that happens," Tywin answered with a frown.
"I'm disappointed this is even happening, grandfather," Joffrey spoke up with a sneer. "You should have beaten the traitor, but instead you foolishly agreed to a stupid truce when that thing appeared."
Tywin's gaze turned dark as it centered on Joffrey, who squirmed in his seat while everyone else held their breath as they watched the exchange.
"The interference of the Mythic Dawn and their Oblivion Gate could have caused the destruction of all our armies, your Grace. The situation demanded that a truce be made."
"We are fortunate that my sons, Ser Jaime and the Black Prince were able to close the Gate as quickly as they did. If they hadn't, the death toll would have been catastrophic," Lord Mace Tyrell added. "We are lucky that the final death toll was so low. The fact that these cultists have the ability to create such a monstruos thing... it is alarming."
"Lord Tyrell is correct," Randyll Tarly stated. "The Mythic Dawn cult has been declared an enemy of the Crown for several months now, but we have clearly underestimated the threat they pose to us. We must commit a greater effort in hunting them down and destroying them, before they can summon another such Gate."
"Fine, these cultists are a threat," Joffrey said with a sigh, and it was obvious to all that he certainly thought otherwise. "That doesn't change the fact that you made a mistake, and didn't end my brother's treason when you had the chance. What do we do now?"
"Before we continue, there is one matter I would like to bring up. The Royal Fleet was destroyed by wildfire... the wildfire we had stored." Cersei said, her gaze narrowing into Tyrion. "Clearly... there is a traitor who planted the wildfire on our ships."
"Are you blaming me, sister?" Tyrion asked with a raised eyebrow.
"You were one of the few people who knew about the wildfire," Cersei accused him, "and you are also under suspicion of sympathizing with William."
"I'm not sure whether to consider it a compliment or not that you think I would have been able to transport it all without being seen by anyone," Tyrion replied with a smirk. "Besides, I was in the Red Keep the whole time, sister."
"That is most certainly true," Varys offered up. "I spoke with Lord Tyrion during the battle, and nothing I can find indicates he had any hand in the disaster that occurred on the Blackwater."
"He wouldnt need to be there, he probably had someone do his dirty work for him," Cersei said, with her eyes still accusing Tyrion. "And what about the Stark girls? Someone snuck in several Blades who escaped with both Stark girls!"
"Do you have any proof that I'm responsible in any way for these things?" Tyrion replied, relaxing as Cersei just glared at him.
"We will later look into what happened on the Blackwater. As for the Stark girls, they are out of our hands, and there is nothing we can do about it. Now, we must plan our defense against the next attack," Tywin interrupted, his voice preventing other arguments from sprouting, as he gestured at the map of King's Landing and its surroundings, marked with small flags that indicated the position of William's forces. "Now that he has three new Legions, William can better surround this city, and Stannis Baratheon commands a fleet stationed in the Blackwater Bay, which means the city is completely surrounded. The closest allied force outside this city is the Reach's second army on the south of the Blackwater, but with a Legion guarding the bridge now, it will be unlikely for them to take it."
"That army, or perhaps part of it, could travel inland along the Blackwater to the next crossing. That way, they should be able to attack from the west."
"Yes, the thought occurred to me, but considering what I know about him, I am sure William has already prepared for that eventuality, and in either case we have no means of communicating with them. Now, we should have our cavalry prepare to launch sorties out of the city, so that-"
Whatever Tywin was going to say, it was interrupted when the door opened and a soldier dressed in red quickly entered the room.
"Your Grace, my Lord Hand, forgive my interruption, but Ser Addam Marbrand sent me with an important message. The Black Prince and his Legions are gone!" the soldier said.
Tywin stared at the soldier with his typical hardened gaze, but in his mind confusion reigned. His grandson had earned a tactical victory, and he had the upper hand right now: he would not give up the siege so easily unless he had a plan. And, if he had a plan, Tywin knew it would ill bode for him and his alliance.
He had no shame in recognizing – in the privacy of his mind – that his grandson had outmaneuvered him during the battle: hiding those Legions and springing them up by surprise had been a master move. As much as he hated it, he knew he had to be grateful for the Mythic Dawn's intervention, for, without the Gate, William would have destroyed the Tyrells and then taken the city. Only bad luck had prevented William from putting an end to the war, as victory was in his grasp.
However, if he had truly abandoned the siege, then that meant that William not only had changed his plans, but was already at least a step or two ahead of him... and the Black Prince had enough advantages already, as it was.
"Gone? What do you mean, gone?" Lord Mace asked, confused.
"Ser Addam is sending scouts to ascertain the situation, my Lords, but he has sent word that some of the forces, probably led by the Black Prince, have started to head back north in the direction of Harrenhal."
Joffrey laughed at hearing that, which Tywin knew meant he did not understand anything.
"Well, it seems that the traitor knows he has been beaten, and now he is falling back. We must run him down immediately!"
"No, your Grace! This could be a trick," Tywin interrupted, turning back to the messenger. "You said some of the Black Prince's forces are returning to Harrenhal. Where are the rest?"
"Ser Addam believes that at least five of the Legions, possibly led by General Tullius, are now marching west, following the Blackwater towards the Reach."
"The Reach?" Mace Tyrell asked in shock and confusion. Tywin immediately made the connection and slumped back into his chair, pinching his nose.
"Highgarden. They are marching on Highgarden."
"What? It's undefended! I shall gather my troops and chase after General Tullius at once!" Mace Tyrell declared.
"NO!" Joffrey shouted. "If the traitor is heading north, then he must be dealt with immediately!"
"Y-your Grace, I understand what you're saying, but the pride and joy of the Reach..."
"We won't march anywhere yet," Tywin interrupted, trying to gain control of the situation. "We will must first confirm if our reports are accurate, and not deceptions by our enemy. And then, we can plan as needed."
In spite of his words, a shouting match developed between Cersei, Joffrey, the Tyrells and pretty much anyone else in the room, save for Tyrion, Varys and a few others. Feeling weary, Tywin covered his face with his hands and realized what was his grandson's actual plan.
Well played, Willian. Divide and conquer. You're turning us against each other... and it is working. Very clever, indeed.
The Narrow Sea, near Dorne
It was amazing what a difference of a few days could do to an Ironborn's morale. Barely a week ago, this fleet had been sailing up the Westerosi coast, full of boast and song, convinced that the Drowned God would be proud of his followers taking the iron price.
Now, a calm northerly wind and the waves of the sea was all that could be heard as a small group of longboats and warships limped through the water, its crewmen completely silent as they listlessly completed their tasks on the ship. Even the captains just spoke their orders in a normal voice. And leaning on the ship's railing, Victarion Greyjoy stared out over the empty sea.
It had been a complete, utter disaster.
Before the Iron Fleet had even reached the mouth of Blackwater Bay, Victarion had already seen himself as victorious – it was in his name. He was confident that the Iron Fleet would take the fleets of the Black Prince and the Lannisters by complete surprise and crush them. They would have taken many of those ships and eliminated the threat of another invasion of the Iron Islands by the greenlanders. There was even the chance that he could have led reavers to land in King's Landing and take plunder by the iron price before withdrawing and returning to Pyke.
Instead... it had been a complete disaster. As soon as his ships started to hit the sellsails the Black Prince had hired, a storm, a fucking storm, had appeared out of nowhere, and lightning had started to strike his ships, as if the Storm God himself had protected that dammed boy of a prince's ships.
Out of the once mighty Ironborn Fleet of two hundred and fifty ships, the pride of an entire kingdom, now only a mere six and twenty remained, and many of them showed signs of what had almost befelled them. Both the vanguard and the main fleet had been struck by the storm, and only Victarion's ship and five others had somehow managed to escape through the confusion after the storm ended. Joining up with the rear fleet of twenty ships – which had been suddenly glad that they had not been on the vanguard – they had retreated west to reach the Narrow Sea and make the long journey back home.
Already, Victarion knew what his brother would say when he heard the news. 'You got scared by a fucking storm', 'You should have won against those greenlanders, Victarion! It was as simple as that!' and, of course, the always popular 'Why the fuck am I surrounded by incompetents!'. But, it was not as if he had a way to protect his ships from the storm, a storm that had discharged all of its furing on them without affecting the enemy: as much as the storm's brutality had stunned him, it had been worse when he realized the Lyseni sellsails that were practically touching his ship had pretty much got through the storm unscathed.
Now, as the small, battered and beaten remains of the strongest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms limped home, Victarion was left wondering one thing.
What would the Ironborn do next?
Water Gardens, Dorne
The sounds of nature from the gardens could be heard as Sara carefully stabbed a needle into Doran's back, joining the dozens of needles she had already placed, and twisted it in a precise way, while Areo Hotah was, as usual, standing vigilant against the wall.
Prince Doran, laying on his belly over a table with only a towel laying over his waist, let out a groan of relief as Sara's acupunture numbed the nerves from his lower back to his feet. The gout he was cursed with, that had been the bane of his existence for a long time already, caused enough pain that he could not even walk, at least not without help. He was thankful for the day he had met Sara, whose talent meant that Doran could enjoy, however temporarily, moments of painless bliss.
After placing the last needle in the correct spot, Sara then rubbed some ointment on her hands and began to massage Doran's upper back and shoulders. Doran had yet to encounter or hear of anyone who could give better massages than Sara.
"Yet again, words cannot express my gratitude, Sara," Doran murmured with content.
"You honor me, Prince Doran," Sara smiled as she continued her ministrations. "Although, I am certain you could find someone to replace me, if needed."
"Anyone with the skills to replace you, Sara, must either be a well-hidden hermit, or lives on the far side of the world," Doran chuckled before posing a question. "How is it that a young, beautiful woman with so many talents has not found herself a husband yet?"
"Perhaps the right man simply hasn't come along yet, my Prince," Sara replied. "He would have to be someone who truly appreciates my abilities... someone like you."
"That would be music to my ears... if I were at least a decade or two younger," Doran replied with a chuckle.
"I've seen plenty of men more than half as young as you, and none of them able to be half as handsome as you are."
Both of them shared a laugh with each other at that. Then, a small look of sadness found its way onto Doran's face.
"I miss my wife... I miss my beloved Mellario," Doran confessed. Sara also became sad at hearing Doran's tone.
"It's unfortunate that she decided to return to her home of Norvos. It was hard on your whole family when she chose to leave. You two loved each other very much."
"It was for the best. We married for love, but it wasn't enough to contend with the differences between where and how we were raised," Doran said with memories flooding his mind.
Mellario was a noblewoman from the Free City of Norvos, in Essos, whom Doran had met during a visit several years before becoming Prince of Dorne. They had fallen in love at first sight, and when Doran returned to Westeros, she had followed. However, in spite of the love the two held for each other, their marriage was not a good one, mostly because of the great difference in customs between Dorne and Norvos, which was the cause of many an argument between the two of them. Mellario, in particular, disliked the custom of fostering children in different houses of kingdoms, as she hated being separated from her children: for her, his having sent his eldest son, Quentyn, to foster with the Yronwoods, was unforgivable, and eventually she had returned to Norvos. They were still married, but they had not seen each other in years.
"I'm sure she still thinks of you, Prince Doran. Despite the issues between you two, I could see that the love was genuine," Sara encouraged.
"At the very least, I'm certain she thinks of her children," Doran replied before grinning. "She was never very fond of you, Sara. Perhaps it was jealousy, but it could be that she was uncomfortable in letting a spy live in our house."
"Oh, whatever could you mean, Prince Doran?" Sara replied with a grin of her own as she fixed a knot in Doran's shoulder. "Such odd things you say to a simple person like myself."
Doran let out a small chuckle. It was a game they played for years. A person with Sara's skills did not simply appear out of nowhere. Doran had long suspected that Sara was a spy and answering to someone else. He even had a strong suspicion on who that person was. However, as time passed, he found himself simply not caring. Sara had long proved herself capable in handling any task that Doran gave her. From her massages, to carrying messages for him, to reporting on any notable events taking place in Dorne, the list went on. She often acted as his eyes and ears in Dorne. Sara was perhaps the most reliable person that Doran had, besides Oberyn and Areo Hotah.
Despite knowing that Sara was most likely reporting to someone else, Doran secretly wished that no proof of this was ever brought to him. He simply did not want Sara to leave his service. He was too fond of her.
"You are a wonderful and capable woman, Sara. I hope that you never leave," Doran admitted.
"I hope to never leave your service, Prince Doran," Sara replied. They were silent for a moment, as Sara continued pressing into Doran's back, before he spoke up again.
"Sara, will you please have my brother sent for? Then, I regret I must end this session," Doran ordered.
"At once, Prince Doran," Sara said, leaving the room to ask a guard to fetch Oberyn, before returning and starting to carefully remove the acupuncture needles, putting them in a bowl full of water for later cleaning. It was as she pulled out the last one that Oberyn entered.
"You asked for me, Doran?"
"Yes, brother," Doran said as Sara helped him into his wheelchair. "Sara, please, have the rest of my family gathered, as well as Princess Myrcella, and have them wait for me."
After Sara left to do as she was bid, Doran turned back to his brother.
"Have you heard of the latest news?"
"Have I? It seems like there's a lot of rumors the people like to talk about, the market is full of them. Some say that the Lannisters and the Tyrells drove the Black Prince from King's Landing, but others say he willingly retreated to set a trap for them. Others claim that the Black Prince is a god in human form that destroyed the Lannister fleet with green fire and then summoned a storm to destroy the Ironborn armada. And even more are claiming that this cult, this Mythic Dawn, was able to open up the gates to hell, and that the Black Prince went through them to close them from the other side."
"It turns out that those of some rumors are true. The reports I have recently received indicate that there is a half-broken Ironborn flotilla trying to make its way around Dorne, and, most importantly, that the Mythic Dawn succeeded in opening what is called an Oblivion Gate, a doorway that leads directly to a realm in Oblivion ruled by the Daedric Prince of Destruction," Doran revealed with a serious face. "It concerns me deeply, brother, when bedtime stories and myths suddenly appear to be true."
"We should see if they have some sort of base of power in Dorne. If they do, we must eliminate it," Oberyn advised.
"I've already begun to look into it," Doran replied, with a bitter smile. "As for the Black Prince, he wasn't forced to retreat. A truce was called... and the Prince chose to withdraw. As to why he decided this, I do not know, but I do suspect. What I do know, is that the rumors about the Black Prince being Dovahkiin continue to grow."
"Dovahkiin..." Oberyn murmured as he gazed out a nearby window. "I remember reading stories about the Dragonborn when I was a child. People blessed with the soul of a dragon. I used to think that meant the Targaryens. Noble Rhaegar seemed like he did have a dragon's soul."
"There is a difference between having the blood of a dragon and having the soul of a dragon. From what I remember reading concerning the Dovahkiin, creating a storm is within their power," Doran mused.
"Then... do you think the rumors about the Black Prince are true? That he is Dovahkiin?" Oberyn asked.
"He might be, he might not. Either way, I believe that we have been uninvolved with the events concerning the world long enough," Doran revealed, surprising Oberyn. "With these events occurring, I'm changing some of my plans."
"This isn't like you, brother," Oberyn noted. "You've always choose patience and caution above all."
"And I wish I could now, but that was before I learned that dragons, magic, Daedra, and Dovahkiins are not only real, but becoming more and more common."
"What do you want me to do, then?"
"I'm sending you to King's Landing, immediately. You will assess the situation with your own eyes. And, you will meet with Tyrion Lannister, and see how much his offer is truly worth. His actual offer," Doran ordered.
Oberyn nodded before an intrigued look crossed his face. "Perhaps... we can request more from the Black Prince?"
Doran gave his brother a knowing look.
"And what would that be?"
"Justice. For our sister and her family."
"Agreed. Let us go share with our family that you are leaving for King's Landing."
Beyond the Wall
Jon's eyes scanned the land around him as he and the Wildlings continued their march. His hand rested on Dawnbreaker, ready to draw it in case of the threat he was looking for appeared.
"Why do you look so worried, Jon Snow?" Ygritte spoke up from behind Jon in a playful tone. "We've already decided not to hurt you. Afraid we'll change our minds?"
"That's not what has me on guard," Jon denied.
"You needn't worry. You're not a Crow, you're a Night Hunter. The Free Folk don't hate Night Hunters... well, most of us," Ygritte admitted. "You Night Hunters don't usually try to harm the Free Folk, just the creatures of the dark. If you were a Crow, we'd probably kill you on the spot. But, as a Night Hunter, most of us won't bother you because you don't bother us... usually."
"It's not you Wildlings that have me worried. When I escaped Castle Volkihar, I was told that I was prey. I expected the vampires to find me by now."
"You're with a band of the Free Folk, Jon Snow. The Nightwalkers aren't going to attack you when you will have help," Ygritte refuted.
"Maybe... although that didn't matter the first time we met, remember?" Jon pointed out.
"Your pet nightwalker may have had something to do with that," Ygritte argued.
"Serana has been helping us to fight our enemies. She didn't betray us."
"She's a bloodsucking vampire, Jon Snow. How many times does she go off on her own to feed? How many Night Hunters and Crows do you think she makes thralls out of?"
Jon couldn't help but let out a laugh at hearing that, causing Ygritte to frown in annoyance.
"Serana has already crippled at least two members of the Night's Watch for trying to lay their hands on her before I even joined the Dawnguard. I don't think she's interested in making any of them into a thrall."
"Maybe not them... but what about you? You think she'd enjoy sinking her teeth into your neck?" Ygritte said with a frown. "I'm curious... is an undead like her warm or cold to lay with in the night?"
"I don't know. I've never laid with her," Jon answered while rolling his eyes.
"Really?" Ygritte said with a hint of disbelief. She stared at Jon for a second before a look of realization crossed her face. "You've never been with a woman before, have you?"
Jon didn't reply. This time, it was Ygritte's turn to let out a laugh.
"That's surprising to hear. One of the famed Four Brothers of War, never spent a night with a woman," Ygritte mocked.
Before more could be said, the band reached the crest of the snow. Jon's eyes widened as he looked in the snowy valley below, filled with huts as far as the eye can see. A hundred thousand Wildlings gathered together.
"Hope you're ready to talk with the King Beyond the Wall, Jon Snow," Ygritte remarked.
Jon glanced at Ygritte as she began to walk down into the valley below. Jon glanced behind, still wondering why the vampire hadn't found him yet. If they weren't hunting him, where were they?
Fist of the First Men, Beyond the Wall
Icy wind swept over the Fist while dull grey clouds covered the sky. Lord Commander Mormont strode to the edge of the Fist and stared out over the icy wasteland before turning to a sentry.
"Anything?"
"No, Lord Commander. No Wildlings or anything out there except a few of our men gathering wood for fire."
Mormont grimaced before turning to Isran, who had just walked up beside him.
"No sign of Jon Snow... no idea if Mance Rayder got our message for parley... and no sign of our true enemy," Mormont summed up with a sigh.
"The silence won't last long. Our enemies won't ignore us forever and something will happen soon," Isran replied.
"Lord Commander, Grandmaster," spoke up the voice of Qhorin Halfhand. "Let me take some men out and see if we can cause some trouble. I'll see if I can find Snow and get our enemies riled up."
There was silence for a moment before Mormont glanced over at Isran.
"What do you think?"
"The Wildlings might think that Qhorin and his men are targeting them when we want to negotiate," Isran answered.
"Aye, that could happen," Mormont agreed. "From what I can see, we have several options. We either send Qhorin out, we wait longer, or we fall back to the Wall. Personally, I'm tired of waiting and I'm not ready to fall back with my tail between my legs."
"Nor am I," Isran agreed. "I'll pick out some Dawnguard to accompany you and..."
Isran trailed off as his eyes landed at the base of the Fist. Mormont followed his gaze.
"Two people... near the slope leading up the Fist," Mormont stated.
"And not from any of our parties," Isran remarked.
"Some of you bowmen, be ready!" Mormont ordered. Some men quickly moved to position while Mormont and Isran watched the two figures struggle up the slope. One of them was supporting the other one, whose feet were being dragged through the snow. Isran wondered how they managed to get so close without being spotted by sentries. As the two figures got closer, Isran's eyes widened in surprise.
"Are you people going to help me?" Serana yelled up the slope once she was close enough. "Or am I just going to have to carry him by myself?"
"Serana!" Sorine yelled in shock before they all moved forward.
"So, you're alive after all," Isran stated as they got closer.
"We were wondering what had happened to..." Mormont started to say before his eyes landed on the person Serana was carrying. "Benjen? Benjen Stark?!"
"C... commander..." the First Ranger weakly replied, as Mormont took in the man that he had not seen in months. He was a mess, his body skinny and showing signs of severe malnourishment. Red welts and jagged scars could be seen through the rags he was wearing underneath his cloak.
As a group of men began to carry Benjen up the slope, covering him up with fur cloaks and treating his injuries, Serana explained about what happened when they were captured and how Jon and her deceived the vampires.
"After my father released Jon, I waited until the right moment to free Benjen and escaped the castle through some of the hidden passages my mother showed me ages ago," Serana explained. "Of course, this probably means that my father now knows who really betrayed him in the past."
"You say your father released Jon Snow?" Isran pointed out.
"Yes... wait, you mean he's not back yet?" Serana demanded with sudden concern in her voice.
"We thought he'd be with you," Sorine replied.
"If he's still alive, I'll find him," Qhorin spoke up. "My men and I will find him and flush out our enemies."
"Not without me, you won't," Serana insisted.
"Before you go out there again, you are going to tell me the location of Castle Volkihar." Isran demanded, "which I remind you you never told me about in the past."
"There was a good reason, and that was that I was not sure if they were using the castle after all these years. I will tell you now, but you cannot attack the castle yet. There are dangers within besides vampires that can only be overwhelmed with good strategy," Serana replied.
"Understandable. But you know that I'm not some fool who rushes headlong into battle. I know that strategy is important. To plan a strategy, I need to know about the location and the land surrounding it."
"Fine. Castle Volkihar is..."
Whoooosh...
Serana stiffened as she felt the cold wind pass over the group. Everyone else had also stiffened as they felt an unnatural sense of dread. Serana then turned and looked out from the Fist of the First Men.
"Oh, Gods... they're here..."
At the foot of the Fist, Sam was gathering animal droppings for fire kindling alongside Edd, Agmaer and Grenn, and as he did, he was talking about Gilly, which was getting Edd annoyed.
"You know, the thing I find interesting about Gilly is that, after all that Crastor has done to her, she still hopes that life might get better," Sam remarked.
"The thing you find interesting about her is that she said more than six words to you," Edd replied.
"And the thing I find about you that is interesting is absolutely nothing," Sam shot back.
"Well, who knows? Sam might get lucky," Agmaer said in support, grinning. "And I doubt Grandmaster Isran will tolerate Craster forever."
"I hope so. I want to help all those poor girls and women," Sam said with a depressed look on his face, thinking about the horrible way Craster treated them.
Their conversation stopped as they heard a horn sound out from the Fist. Grenn and Edd looked up towards the Fist, confused, but Sam turned with a hopeful look on his face.
"Jon and Serana must be back!"
A second horn blaring proved Sam's hopes wrong. Immediately, Agmaer pulled out his axe.
"Wildlings," Grenn declared as he threw down a shovel and unsheathed his sword.
"You don't fight them alone. Come on!" Edd ordered.
They all began to follow Edd back towards the Fist... when the third horn blast sounded out. They all froze in place, remembering what Sam told them before about three horn blasts.
"Three blasts..." Grenn stated.
"By the Divines..." Agmaer murmured.
"RUN!" Edd shouted and they all took off.
"Come on, Sam!" Agmaer yelled as he grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him towards the Fist. The four ran as fast as they could through the snow and rock, knowing that every second counted, but as they reached the bottom of the slope, Sam slipped on a rock and fell.
"GRENN!" Agmaer yelled as he stopped and tried to help Sam to his feet. Grenn hesitated for a second before running back to grab Sam's other arm.
"Come on, Sam! Keep moving!" Grenn ordered, trying to pull him up.
Edd looked back as well and felt his blood freeze as he saw shapes in the fog that was rolling over the land towards them. After a moment of inner debating, he rolled his eyes and grudgingly unsheathed his sword as the others reached him.
"Grenn, Agmaer! Keep Sam on his feet. Sam, keep those pudgy legs of yours moving, before you get your ass frozen!" Edd shouted. Fortunately, Agmaer and Grenn managed to get their friend on his feet, and the four of them ran up the steep slope, just barely ahead of the encroaching fog and icy mist. At the top, both the Night's Watch and the Dawnguard were scrambling into their positions, as men were given torches and Sorine handed out crossbows from her sleigh to her fellow Dawnguard.
"Archers, get into position! Everyone else, grab a torch!" Commander Mormont ordered, grabbing one for himself from one of the bundles of torches that had been placed near campfires, lighting it. They had known they would be useful, and now Mormont was glad he had ordered them prepared.
"Remember," Isran shouted out for everyone to hear while hefting his Warhammer on his shoulder. "Wights cannot be killed with a sword unless you hack them into a dozen pieces! Use fire instead! Keep a torch in hand so that you can light the bastards on fire! Those of you who don't have a torch, keep the dead distracted so that those who do can finish them!"
Sam, Grenn, Edd, and Agmaer finally reached the top and moved behind the battle line that was forming. After the men were in position, Mormont glanced down the slope at the icy fog. It was silent for a moment... before an inhuman screech sounded out.
At the foot of the slope, on the east side of the Fist, the fog seemed to clear away to reveal a horde of shambling wights approaching. With the thick fog in the valley, it was impossible to tell how many there were in total, but there had to be at least a couple thousand. Among the horde, several figures on the backs of dead horses could also be seen. The tall, mummy-like White Walkers began to shout in unison and the dead army surged forth like a river.
"Sam," Isran spoke as he turned to face Sam. "Go send a raven to the Wall. Let them know we have been attacked!"
"Yes, Grandmaster!" Sam replied.
However, as Sam turned towards the back of the camp, where the sleighs that carried the ravens were located, screams sounded out. The men watching the camp were attacked by shadowy figures: one leaped on a Watcher and sank its fangs into his neck, while the others suddenly shot fire from their hands, incinerating the ravens.
"Vampires!" Sam shouted in fear as a dozen more of them climbed over the western cliff's edge at the back of their camp. A confident hand clasped Sam's shoulder, and he looked back to see Isran giving him a look of encouragement.
"Calm yourself, Sam. Get your crossbow ready, and do what you can. Dawnguard! Form up on me!" Isran ordered before he turned back towards Mormont. "Commander Mormont, you handle the wights. The Dawnguard will do what they do best."
Without waiting for an answer, Isran turned back towards the snarling vampires and let out a roaring battlecry as he led the charge, his fellow Dawnguards following while Sam and the other crossbowmen let loose some bolts, killing at least one vampire and injuring several more. And then, those who had been mortal enemies for thousands of years clashed into each other.
On the east, Mormont shouted another order, and the Night's Watch's bowmen shot a volley of flaming arrows at the approaching army of wights. Countless of them fell screeching as they burned up, but this was not enough to halt the advance of the encroaching undead.
Then, from among the undead horde, a spike of ice flew out. It was quickly followed by a hail of spikes that landed among the Night's Watch. Mormont's eyes then landed on the monster that was casting the spells: a figure holding a staff, floating in the air, wearing some sort of scale armor and with an ancient mask covering its face.
Then, two more similar undead appeared, one firing lightning spells at the Night's Watch, the other throwing fire balls. The undead magicians' attacks scattered some of the Night's Watch's ranks. Some men tried to fire arrows at the undead, but they floated through the air at a surprisingly fast speed, avoiding most of the attempts to attack them.
"What in the Seven Hells are they?" Mormont growled.
"Dragon Priests!" Serana answered. "They are extremely dangerous and powerful undead mages!"
"How do you fight them?"
"However you can!"
Sam was near the cliff edge on the north side of the Fist as he continued to fire bolts at the vampires fighting his fellow Dawnguard, when he heard a noise and looked at the cliff... only to see a figure he did not expect to see climbing over the ledge.
"Draugr! On the north side!" Sam yelled, recognizing the tomb-dwelling creatures that were somehow capable of climbing in spite of being long-dead corpses. The leading Draugr made to charge at Sam as more of its fellows appeared over the edge, but Sam's bolt caught it in the chest, stopping its charge and causing it to fall back out down the cliff. But Sam grew more fearful as he could not load his crossbow fast enough.
With a battlecry, Agmaer rushed and intercepted the Draugr, with several more Night's Watchers and Dawnguards, including Grenn and Edd, joining the fight to hold off the undead on the Fist's northern face.
Serana noticed what was going on to the north and west, and rushed as fast as she could towards the north, firing bolts of lightning at the undead or using her dagger to kill those few that had managed to get past the defenders' lines. She knew that they could not hold out for long, so he needed to find Isran to warn him that they needed to break free and flee south.
However, just as Serana spotted the Dawnguard leader, a loud thump signaled something landing on the ground behind her. Serana softly swore under her breath as she slowly turned with a hint of fear, facing her father in his Vampire Lord form.
"So... it wasn't your mother who really betrayed us. It was you all along," Harkon stated with a glare. Magic shimmered around him as he turned back into his regular form. "Your mother lied and took the blame, didn't she? She always was so soft on you. Tell me why, Serana. Why did you betray your family?"
"Two reasons. One, you actually made a foolish agreement with the White Walkers. They're only using you for their own gain. They will wipe you out one they don't need you."
"That's why I need the Elder Scroll, Serana! You don't even know the true power that is backing the White Walkers. With the Elder Scroll in our hands, we could bring about a new age. Our age!"
"You're still obsessed over that stupid prophecy that might not even be real? I never believed in it because it sounded foolish. A false hope for you to cling on to the idea that Volkihar could rule the world! Your blind ambition and lust for power was clear to me a long time ago," Serana shouted at her father.
"Serana..." Harkon growled, but was cut off by Serana.
"You want to know the second reason? I will never forget or forgive what you allowed to happen!" Serana shouted. Confusion crossed Harkon's face before Serana explained. "That day, ages ago, where you let that... that monster... Molag Bal, do what he did to me? I'm your daughter, but you let that thing do what he did to me? Your own flesh and blood?"
Serana's usual calm face was gone. Her face was filled with pain as she stared at her father with the weight of his past betrayal in her eyes. Harkon actually had a split-second of regret on his face.
"Yes... I did allow Molag Bal to take from you," Harkon admitted. "But have you not gained so much in return? Was the power you received not worth what you endured to gain it?"
"If you think I will forget or forgive the horrible wrong that was done to me, than you truly are a fool, father," Serana venomously replied.
"Then, you leave me no choice, daughter," Harkon stated as his face hardened, and he slowly pulled out his sword. Old and unique, the sword resembled a katana with a bat-like crossguard.
Harkon shot forward with inhuman speed and slashed with his sword forth. Serana jumped back while deflecting with her dagger. She tried to dart forward past his guard, but Harkon step-sided and brought down his sword on her, forcing Serana to block, but then she cast a bolt of lightning at him, getting enough space to breathe.
Serana was no slacker with her swordsmanship. In fact, she was better at swordsmanship then she was at magic. But her dagger did not have the reach that Harkon's sword possessed and she was forced on the defensive. Plus, Harkon was able to put more power into his strikes.
Then, a powerful blow knocked the dagger out of Serana's hands, as she screamed in pain as Harkon's sword impaled through her shoulder. Serana fell to her knees while gripping the sword in pain.
"It didn't have to be this way, but I won't hesitate in completing my goals," Harkon said, preparing the death blow.
But then Isran appeared, slamming his shoulder into Harkon and sending him flying. Harkon got back up to his feet while Isran readied his warhammer.
"Grandmaster Isran of the Dawnguard."
"You must be the leader of the Volkihar vampires. A displeasure to make your acquaintance, I assure you," Isran replied. "Now I'm going to make sure your threat ends."
Harkon merely hissed and charged. The vampire ducked under the swing of the warhammer, and then unleashed a furry of blows, which Isran rapidly deflected with the the haft of his warhammer. Isran then swang the hilt of the warhammer forth and caught Harkon on the chin, and brought down the warhammer's head, but Harkon barely step aside and slashed with his sword, which caught Isran's side but did not injure him thanks to the Dawnguard armor. Then, Harkon tried to charge again, but Isran decided to bring out one of his best assets: releasing the warhammer from his left hand, he cast Stendarr's Aura, and a sphere of sunlight apperaed around him.
Harkon started to yell in pain as the spell burned deeply into him. Isran took advantage of the momentary distraction and swung his warhammer, breaking through Harkon's haphazard guard and sending him flying back, losing his sword in the process.
As the Vampire Lord fell, Isran charged forward, seeking to finally put an end to the leader of the vampires, but as he brought the hammer down on the monster, Harkon's hand snapped and grabbed the hammer, halting it as dark energy started to form around him.
"You think your petty sunlight spells will stop me?" Harkon growled, and the energy burst forth, revealing Harkon in his Vampire Lord form, and as he still held the warhammer with one hand, the other backhanded Isran so hard that he fell several meters away.
Harkon then tossed the weapon aside and stalked towards the Dawnguard grandmaster, but Isran, for once, was faster, thanks to years of practice: tasting blook in his mouth, Isran managed to force himself to his knees and load his crossbow, firing it without needing to aim.
With inhuman speed, Harkon grabbed the bolt but a few inches from his face.
Next to one of the Dawnguard's sleighs, Sam shot a bolt into another draugr's eye, killing it instantly, before he saw Isran was in trouble. He also gasped upon seeing the form of the Vampire Lord as well as it catching a bolt out of the air. Unsure of how to help, he suddenly had an idea, and rushed to the sleigh, rummaging through it to see if what he needed was there.
Isran tried to load another bolt, but this time Harkon reached him before he could pull, and it grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground.
"Die, Dawnguard!" Harkon screamed as he raised his arm for what would have been a lethal attack.
That was when Serana grabbed her father's sword from the ground and stabbed him in the back, giving out a raging scream of her own while the sword pierced its owner.
With a roar of pain that was more animal than human, Harkon threw Isran away and tried to swing an arm behind him, in an attempt to strike Serana, but she managed to jump away and settle in a stance with the sword, trying to ignore the pain in her shoulder.
"You've disappointed me for the last time, Serana!" Harkon yelled while Serana readied herself.
"Serana! Duck!" Sam yelled from behind Serana as he raised his crossbow.
Serana dropped to the ground and Sam let the bolt fly. Like before, Harkon caught the cross bolt, smirking at the futility of the action.
That was when he noticed the bolt's tip was burning.
And then, it exploded.
Knowing of their enemies' vulnerability to fire, Sam and Sorine had spent some time working on what she had called a 'exploding firebolt', which had something in the tip that caused an explosion several seconds after shooting, long enough for the bolt to reach its objective. As it happened in this occasion.
The explosion covered Harkon in fire, which made the vampire let out a high-pitched scream of pain. He suddenly raised his bat-like wings and jumped off the edge of the Fist, gliding away from the fight. That seemed to be the moment in which all other vampires chose to flee as well, disappearing over the ledge and climbing down as fast as they could. While some of the Dawnguard with crossbows continued firing at them, the rest rushed to aid the Night's Watch against the army of the dead.
Qhorin Halfhand roared as he stabbed a wight, which nonetheless continued to struggle in an attempt to kill him, until Qhorin jabbed the torch in his left hand into the wight, putting it on fire and allowing him to continue the fight. Meanwhile, Lord Commander Mormont sliced a wight in half with Longclaw, only that this one did not get back up. He had noticed this during the fight, and how he did not have to kill them with fire, and wondered if maybe it was his sword, made from Valyrian steel, that was killing them.
Despite the efforts of the Night's Watch, it was clear that it was a struggle. A man screamed as he was overwhelmed by a group of wights, another fell as an ice spike from a Dragon Priest pieced his head, and yet another Night's Watcher was dumbfounded as his sword shattered from a White Walker's ice sword before his head was separated from his shoulders.
Taking a quick look around, Commander Mormont saw they were being quickly overwhelmed by the dead army.
"Fall back! Fall back to the next position!" Mormont shouted. The Night's Watch quickly did as ordered, abandoning their defensive line on the slope, falling back to a pre-prepared secondary line, with the dead army hot on their heels.
"Qhorin! Light it!" Mormont ordered.
Qhorin reached the marked spot on the snow and stabbed it with his torch, lighting up the line of oil that had been placed at the top of the slope leading up to the fist. The line of fire quickly lit up, forming a barrier of fire that separated the army of the dead from that of the living.
The wights halted before the line of fire, screeching an inhuman sound as their quarry escaped them behind their natural enemy. The handful of White Walkers stepped in front of the army, but they simply stood in place, staring at the Night's Watch and the Dawnguard.
"I don't think that's going to hold them for long," Qhorin stated.
"Everyone gather up! We'll have to break free and try to retreat south to the Wall!" Mormont ordered.
"How are we supposed to break free with an army of dead in front of us?" a Night's watchman said with despair in his voice.
"It's our only chance to survive!" Isran spoke up with a heavy gasp from the injuries Harkon had inflicted on him. "If we stay here, we all die."
Before more could be said, the screeching from the wights suddenly stopped. The Dawnguard and the Night's Watch look on uneasy as the wights suddenly stopped moving... save for several figures moving through the horde.
An icy figure stepped out from the horde. It resembled the White Walkers, but was wearing dark black clothing with silver armor. On its head, there were jagged spikes that resembled a crown. Two similarly dressed figures flanked him.
"High Others... and the Night's King," Serana whispered, although everyone heard her through the silence.
The Night's King's cold and unfeeling gaze passed over them. Then, the Night's King raised his arms and the sounds of rumbling ice could be heard. The Night's King then thrust his arms forward. A massive wave of snow suddenly flew up from in front of the dead army. It shot forward and slammed down over the line of fire, smothering it... and clearing the way for the dead army.
"Now that's fucking unfair," Grenn swore.
"Stand fast!" Commander Mormont ordered as they all prepared to fight.
The Night's King raised up a single hand, no doubt to order the horde of dead forward...
ROOOAAARRR!
Everyone froze at the sound of an unearthly creature ranging over the land. The Night's King paused and glanced at the sky before lowering his arm. Then, to the shock of the Dawnguard and the Night's Watch, the White Walkers and the dead wights began to back away.
"What's going on? What's happening?" Grenn asked in fear.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Qhorin muttered as everyone glanced around, trying to understand what was going on.
Fwoosh... Fwoosh... FWOOSH...
"What's that sound?" Edd muttered.
"It sounds like... a bird's wings," Sam said. "But, much louder."
It was Serana who looked up and saw what was coming.
"There! In the sky, to the northwest!" she shouted, and everyone looked to see what Serena was pointing to: once gain, they were shocked at what they were seeing.
"A dragon," Isran muttered.
The dragon was black as night, no, even the darkest night seen in the far north wasn't as black as the dragon flying towards the Fist of the First Men. It flew just below the clouds, like a dark shadow in the sky.
As the dragon reached the Fist, it suddenly dove upwards, disappearing into the grey clouds above them. The men of the Dawnguard and Night's Watch held their breaths, wondering what would happen next.
Appearing above the clouds, the World Eater hovered and looked back down, his red eyes piercing the clouds better than any hawk as he stared at the men below.
"Soon, my war shall begin. Until then, the time has come for this world to hear my voice once again," Alduin spoke before Shouting a Thu'um.
Still silent below, the Dawnguard and Night's watch continued to stare at the sky. Then, something began to peer through the clouds. An orange and reddish light. As it cleared the clouds...
"By all the gods..." Mormont gasped.
"Wh-wha..." Sam gaped.
"Sam... could you wake me up? I'm having this terrible nightmare..." Dolorous Edd asked.
Serana fell to her knees as she stared up at what appeared from the clouds. She had seen many things throughout her long immortal life. But none of it could prepare her for what she was seeing now.
"Divines... anyone... please... save us," Serana begged.
Serana, the Dawnguard, and the Night's Watch could do nothing but gaze in helplessness at the sky, as dozens of flaming meteors fell towards the Fist...
... Heralding death and destruction