The fall of man was near, and it was all his fault.
Not minutes ago, Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen swooped to the courtyard of Castle Black, met by Dolorous Edd and awed men of the Night’s Watch. Jon thought to comfort Daenerys, who stared at the sky in hopes that Rhaegal and Viserion would return. His tongue failed him. They stood together, ignoring exclamations of surprise and fear of the men in black, greeting questions with somber faces, until they stopped speaking and left.
Their eyes were teary, hearts broken. Jon thought to hug her, pat her on the back, or even, with a simple exchange of the eyes, communicate to her how sorry he was. But in every other second, his mind became repossessed with the giant monster plummeting to the snow, snow where the Night King stood.
Hours later, as a bleak sun rose, trying its best to break the night, with it came Rhaegal. Daenerys gave a shout of joy at his sight, which soon turned to fright when she saw the blood. The dragon was bleeding, albeit not profusely, but in dire need for rest. As they tended to it, in whichever way they could, Rhaegal’s screeches awoke other men of the Night’s Watch.
Dolorous Edd soon approached them. “Are you Queen Daenerys Targaryen?” he asked her apprehensively, not wanting to get closer to the dragons. Upon her assent, Edd gave her a sealed parchment. “A raven arrived for you last night.”
After looking at its contents, Daenerys requested for a private chamber, which was soon granted. The moment they were alone, she broke her oath of silence in an abruptly efficient manner. “There has been a battle at the Twins,” she said. “The Lannisters have emerged victorious. Cersei has reconquered the Riverlands. They need to be stopped.”
It took Jon a moment to register what she had said. Riverrun, Winterfell… they all seemed utterly irrelevant, trivial shards of minutiae no one would care for when the Walkers breached the Wall. “That is bad news,” he said, trying to show sympathy to Daenerys. “But not nearly as bad as the, events, at the Haunted Forest. It seems like the fall of man…” he said, before stopping at her fierce gaze.
“There will be no such thing,” she said. “Before me stands an avenger of Viserion, of men turned evil, of wildlings and the Wall. He is everything the Night King is not, and he will emerge victorious. Do you understand? If you need more men, command the northmen from Barrowton to aid you. I will also send you a thousand-and-twenty Tyrells. But if you wish to surrender, I will have your head.”
She was right. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. Facing the army of the dead with its ice dragon may mean certain death, but better die with Longclaw in hand than a flag of white. “Thank you for reminding me of the oath I once took. I accept your command,” he said, before adding the phrase he knew she would not miss, “… my Queen.”
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