Updated Jon Snow

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***

Standing in the throne room, Jaime Lannister stared at the empty Iron Throne and tried to figure out how much trouble his family would have avoided if Eddard Stark had sat on it the day King's Landing fell? The wolf of Winterfell could have declared himself king without a word from Robert, for Baratheon had no need of power. As a result, Stark would be sitting on the throne, wondering what to do about Daenerys Targaryen's armada that surrounded the capital on all sides. The Iron Fleet stood close to the Spears of the Underwater King, and now no ship could pass through the Blackwater to or from the capital. Highgarden's army marched along the Road of Roses, and the Dothraki horde swept along the Kingsroad, followed by the Unsullied.

The city was once again preparing for defence, but even the last fools knew that this time there would be no help. Tywin Lannister would not suddenly stab the enemy in the back, for the Old Lion was gone. Highgarden will not come to the rescue, for it is now the enemy itself, and the armies of the Commonwealth are marching on the capital. Yes, it was known that Randyll Tarly himself was in charge of the city's defence, a talented commander, one of the best in Westeros, but few believed that the Lord of Horn Hill would be able to cope with his duties.

The situation for the Lannisters was catastrophic. The banners of the Starks, who hated the Lannisters with all their souls, were once again flying over the North. Trouble had begun in the Riverlands, too - a letter had come from the Freys that the Ironborn had suddenly remembered their old holdings and were now busily engaged in robbery and plunder. Pirate ships have been seen everywhere, led by Euron Greyjoy, who once famously burned down the Lannister fleet during Baelon Greyjoy's rebellion. In addition, Jaime had recently heard a rumour that the Vale had sent ambassadors to meet Daenerys Targaryen, and the Kingslayer had no doubt that the Mother of Dragons would soon have a new ally. The Lords of Dorne hated all Lannisters without exception, and only the struggle for power in the kingdom had so far prevented the Dornish from opposing the Queen. The Aironwoods, Fowlers, and Daines, the most powerful houses of Dorne, were the main favourites for the crown.

Enemies surrounded them everywhere, North and South, West and East, and only Cersei in this situation could think that she was the great queen who would leave the greatest mark in the history of not only House Lannister but all of Westeros. The most amazing thing was that the mark she did leave was not the one she had dreamed of. It was a trail of pain, hatred, and tears for those who had died because of the Mad Queen, as many now called Cersei.

As Queen in name only, Cersei's power was limited to the walls of Castle Red, as she herself was well aware. That is why she rarely left the walls of Meyegor's Keep, and travelling outside the castle walls was out of the question, for if she did, neither Grigor Clegane nor the Kingsguard, who had lost the last vestiges of respect, would be able to save Cersei. The Queen was hated in the capital, the townspeople longed to see her head on a spike, and Jaime himself had no doubt that when Daenerys Stormborn's forces approached the city, the guards would open the gates and the people of King's Landing would applaud. The people waited for the army to arrive, they waited with anticipation.

But even more than that, they pinned their hopes on Jaime Lannister himself. They looked to him with a hope for which he himself was completely unprepared.

- Kill the Mad Queen, Kingslayer! - shouted from the crowd every time he rode into town. Amazingly, people now saw the nickname, once considered an insult, as almost a deliverance.

When Cersei was informed of Qyburn's murder and Bronn's disappearance, she immediately claimed that it was Tyrion's fault, whom the mercenary had previously served, and so a bounty was placed on Knight Bronn's head, which, however, no one was in any hurry to receive. Meanwhile, the rumour that Jaime Lannister had killed the Hand of the Mad Queen had spread through the city at fire speed, and now everyone was waiting with bated breath for the Kingslayer to live up to his nickname once more. Of course, Cersei knew about the rumours, but what she thought about it Jaime didn't know and didn't want to know. All the feelings he'd once had for his sister were long gone.

- I've always wondered what you think about when you look at the throne,' Cersei's voice came from behind him, echoed by Clegane's heavy footsteps.

She was dressed in black, walking toward her brother, her eyes glistening, and Jaime realised that Cersei had already had several glasses of wine. Disgust rose in a wave in the Kingslayer's chest. More and more, Cersei looked like the Robert she hated and despised, and the fact that there wasn't a queue of lovers at her door was the only thing that made her different from her late husband. Jaime had no desire to speak to his sister, and he clenched the hilt of his sword and started for the exit when he was stopped by the queen's imperious shout:

- I did not let you go, Ser Jaime! - Cersei's voice rang with anger, which was to be expected, for her brother only spoke to her when he was ordered to. The rest of the time he pretended the queen didn't exist, which had once amused Bronn.

- Your Grace needs something? - Jaime turned round, but he was looking over his sister's left shoulder, which pissed her off even more.

- Damn it, Jaime, can't you talk to me properly?! - Cersei stepped closer, peering into her brother's face. The scent of wine persistently wafted through the oils, and the Kingslayer grimaced.

- What does Your Grace wish to talk about? - The knight asked.

- About us!

Jaime's eyes darkened, his fingers clenched, and he wanted to feel the blood splatter on his face and hear the sound of the sword cutting through flesh and bone, but it was an effort of will that kept him from doing so. And though the ruined Great Sept of Baelor came back before his eyes, he managed to restrain his anger.

- Who's 'us'? - Jaime asked. - There is no 'us.' There's only you, and you don't care about anyone else.

- You're wrong,' Cersei snuggled up to him, but the knight recoiled. - I've always thought of you and me, of our children. I've killed and lied for us, done anything to protect our family. I went crazy without you when you were a prisoner.

- And to keep from going crazy, I slept with Lancel,' Jaime said coldly.

- That's an outright lie! - The queen exclaimed. - The lies of enemies who want to divide us! How can you not see that?

- You are a good liar, sister,' the Kingslayer replied, 'but the days when I believed you are long gone.

- Jaime, please listen to me,' the fear in Cersei's eyes. Fear of being alone and unwanted. - Yes, I've made mistakes. Many mistakes, damn them. Many of them I regret more than you can imagine. But I've always loved you and our children. Loved and protected.

- All you've loved and protected is your power,' Jaime hissed. - I've turned a blind eye for a long time, but don't think I'm blind. You're so obsessed with her that you're willing to kill anyone who gets in your way. Your blood is nothing to you,' his voice grew louder and angrier with each word, 'because if it weren't, Tommen would still be alive.

- He wouldn't! - Cersei exclaimed. - I loved Tommen!

- As long as he did whatever you told him to! - Jaime parried, and then he pulled himself together. - As soon as he was off your leash, all your love evaporated.

- Я...

- You threw his body in the fire! Like a stray dog!

Cersei shuddered as if she'd been lashed, and Clegane, standing behind her, grabbed his sword. The queen herself looked into her brother's eyes and saw no more love or warmth in them. Only hatred.

- You are what I once killed,' Jaime hissed, 'and the only reason you're still alive is because I don't kill my own kind, unlike you. Otherwise, I'd strangle you myself.

Cersei jerked back, her head thundering:

... And when you're drowning in tears, the Valonqar will close his arms around your pale neck and choke the life out of you.

Without waiting for a reply, Jaime turned and left the hall, while Cersei stared at his back. A sudden thought flashed through her mind, and she felt herself shaking with fear:

- He is the younger brother, after all...

***

The huge army was approaching Dreadfort in silence, its defenders hastily gathering on the ramparts, knowing full well that they were facing a battle to the death. Vats of oil and tar were boiling on the walls, soldiers were bringing out spears and arrows with dragon-glass tips, and some were taping wide, sharp pieces of black glass to long handles, making something like axes.

- Fucking hell, there are so many of them,' Tormund exhaled, looking at the approaching wychs, followed by the blizzard. The air was rapidly turning cold and crackling with frost, the fortress walls were covered with snow, and even the men assigned to them had no time to clear it away. The sky was darkening rapidly, and it soon became clear that this darkness would last for a long time.

- Not as many as there were at the Wall,' Harald Karstark replied, mentally praising himself for having sent his sister to Winterfell in time. - The White Wolf had thinned their ranks well. It was a shame he hadn't burned them all.

- With every victory, their numbers will only grow,' the wildling said. - We don't have the resources to burn our dead, so they'll become part of their army.

- I know,' Lord Carholda exhaled. - But let's be honest - we had no hope of surviving this battle.

- Well, I still want to live,' Tormund shrugged. - I still have things to finish.

- What kind of things? - Karstark grinned. - Fucking Brienne of Tarth?

- That, too,' the wildling didn't deny the obvious. - But I also want to live to see the day when all those damn things go back to the graves they crawled out of.

The warriors remained silent for a few moments, watching the preparations. The soldiers took their positions, checking their ammunition and supplies one last time. They knew the enemy would give them no respite, for the dead need neither rest nor food. They were driven forward by the monstrous will of their masters, and there was no power in the world that could frighten them into retreat. The dead themselves inspired terror.

- The news that came from Winterfell,' Tormund asked suddenly. - Are they true?

- I hope so,' Harald replied. - But I don't understand why Jon Stark is heading north.

- Something is leading him there,' Tormund said thoughtfully. - I don't know what, but I believe Jon knows what he's doing. He is not a coward to run from a battle, which means he has a purpose. Perhaps we only need to hold out until he achieves it.

- But what could it be? - Carstark objected. - What's out there besides snow and ice?

- I wish I knew,' Tormund only clenched his fists. - Even the Wildlings don't venture further north, across that line where they don't come back. There are no suicides among us.

The dead army came closer and closer, never stopping for a second, and the inexorable march made the soldiers' spirits drop and their insides twist like snakes in fear. It seemed that only a couple of days ago the scouts had reported that the Wycht army had reached the Last Hearth, and they had already crossed the Last River and crossed the Lonely Hills, the land of the Ambers. The White Walkers were driving their dead, though thinning, army forward, and now only Dreadfort and its defenders stood in their way.

Finally reaching the castle walls, the dead began to climb upwards, clinging with their decayed fingers to the small cracks and potholes, climbing on top of each other as if trying to reach the defenders of the fortress as quickly as possible. Not wanting to die, the soldiers responded with a rain of burning arrows, pouring vats of burning tar and oil on the heads of the Vihtas.

- The giants are coming! - shouted from the walls.

- Archers, prepare the glass! - Karstark commanded. - Aim for the giants! Don't let them get to the walls and gates!

Dragon glass was the most precious resource in the world at the moment, and so it was entrusted only to the best archers, from whom special squads were formed. Among them were the islanders from Skagos, who outnumbered even the Wildlings in ferocity. Taking up their positions in massive towers, the archers were to take aim at the White Walkers and destroy those they were pointed at.

Nearly two dozen arrows had to be fired at the first giant before they could bring him down - the thick skins in which he was wrapped prevented the dragon glass from reaching the dead flesh, and it was only when the archers began to aim at his face that they succeeded.

- Hit those things in the head! - The order was passed from mouth to mouth until it reached everyone. - Don't hit the body, we're just wasting arrows!

The Wychs surrounded the castle on all sides, and Karstark began to berate the dead Boltons for not digging a deep moat around the Dreadfort. He was also angry that he couldn't take the fight to Carhold, where he knew every stone, but then there would be nothing to stop the dead from reaching Winterfell and then spreading across the kingdom. Even now he wasn't sure that the entire army of the dead had gathered here-they might well have crossed the Northern Mountains and come to the Peak and Stone Hill, and from there they could have spread westward across the kingdom.

- Don't yawn, Southern Lord!' shouted Tormund, swinging his axe, the blade of which was a thick piece of dragonglass.

The dead kept coming, stubbornly climbing the walls, ignoring arrows, spears, and fire, and the cold followed them. It grew stronger by the minute, draining the men's strength. Skin burned as if it had been dipped in boiling oil. Frost covered their beards, eyelashes, and eyebrows, and the men shook with cold, which neither thick skins nor the fires that were lit everywhere saved them from. The muscles were stiff, and the soldiers were getting heavier by the minute, for the frost was wearing them out much more than the whirlwinds that were attacking them.

- Those things are here somewhere! - shouted Karstark.

- I've already realised! - came the reply. - But they're in no hurry to show themselves!

As if hearing their words, the White Walker appeared suddenly on the wall, and with a broad swing of his long ice sword, which he clutched with both hands, killed four of them at once. The frightened soldier rushed at him with his sword, but the first blow of the terrible weapon cut him in half, after which the Walker with incredible grace dodged the glass-tipped spear and struck the daredevil's head back. As he spun round on his axis, he missed several arrows, and in a moment the archers were pelted by the hordes of Wychts that came in waves after their lord.

His white hair fluttered in the wind, and his piercing blue eyes flickered with otherworldly fire in the growing darkness. With a commanding wave of his hand, he sent several troops towards the fortress towers, while he took cover behind the ever-incoming wychs, out of reach of the arrows they tried to hit him with. The dragon glass mowed down the dead like a sickle through wheat, but the walker could not be hit, and soon enough the wychs rushed into the towers.

- We've got to get out of here! - shouted some officer with a face twisted with fear.

- Where are you going to go, you wretch?! - roared the enraged Karstark.

- In boats, down the river! - was the reply. - The passage is still open!

Harald turned round, looking at the river - the heat from the depths was warming the waters of the Weeping and preventing the ice from binding its surface. During the mining of the dragon glass deposits and a thorough search of the Dreadfort, secret passageways had been discovered that allowed them to leave the castle unnoticed and reach the river. There was no time for second thoughts.

- Leave the walls! - was the order. - Retreat to the inner fortress! Take away as much glass as you can!

As if waiting for these words, the soldiers began to retreat, continuing to take casualties. Some dragged baskets filled with black glass behind them, others picked up quivers of arrows and dropped spears. The dead followed on their heels, killing everyone they could reach, and it was clear that it would not be long before the fallen rose to turn their weapons against their former comrades. A rumble from the main gate announced that the Wychs had completely surrounded the castle, and the giants had already begun to break down the last barrier in their path.

- Hurry, you sons of bitches! - yelled Tormund, standing at the door of the inner fortress. - Hurry!

There was a crush of people trying to get inside as quickly as possible, and the delay cost the lives of many of the soldiers who had not had time to take cover behind the walls of the fortress.

- Close it,' said Karstark, once inside. He was shaking, either from the cold or from impotent anger.

- But there are still men in there! - exclaimed a young soldier who had only recently begun to shave.

- Close the doors, you bastard! - roared the Lord of Carholda. - Otherwise we'll all die here!

The soldier's face twisted and he joined the others in closing the heavy doors, ignoring the screams and curses of those unlucky enough to be outside. Their cries cut like sharp knives, but Karstark saw no other way out. It was the bitter choice of many warlords and commanders, and today it was Harald's choice.

Outside there were shouts and the noise of battle, soldiers fighting to the last man, but there was no time to delay. Taking a torch held out by one of the officers, Kartstark commanded:

- Follow me. We have lost the battle, but not the war, and we will still have the opportunity to avenge the dead.

Soldiers, islanders and wildlings followed him into the darkness of the dungeons, for it was far more merciful now than it had been outside. The Long Night fell on the lands of the North. The battle for the Dreadfort was lost.