IRON FROM ICE

Asher stood sitting on a rock, watching as his men finished setting up camp. He had only brought a small number of them with him, knowing that bringing the whole army would look suspicious and would take more than just the small boat they got. Asher only brought the ones he trusted the most, the remaining of his army stayed on the main land. They had arrived in Westeros a few weeks back and after gathering information about what was currently happening, Asher decided it was time to travel to Dragonstone, where he knew the mother of dragons had taken residency. His plan was to ask for an audience with her, offer his services and his company to help get the Iron Throne back. The Starks had become allies with her and the Forresters had been loyal to the Starks since forever so maybe this would be a step in the right direction, to show his father that he had grown up, that he wanted to come back home. With Dragonstone on the horizon, as the background, Asher used a whetstone to sharpen his sword, while thoughts about Gwyn, his family and even the war went through his head. There was a part of him, deep down, that questioned if this was the right step to make, or if he should’ve just stayed in Essos, away from the war but the other part of him, there was no way Asher would ever turn down a good fight, mostly if it was for the right reasons. 

Asher was brought back from his thoughts when one of his men came rushing towards him. “There’s people approaching the camp, should we get ready for a fight?” Asher shook his head at the man’s words before standing up and putting away his sword, back into its scabbard. “No need.” He answered before walking towards the edge of the camp.

-    She had grown used to talk of war. There was enough of it in Winterfell, and the only thing which had changed is who they were fighting. But even with the necessary, but temporary peace which had been brokered between waring Kings and Queens, her hatred of the Lannisters remained, it produced a warmth which could starve away even the deadliest chill. Mira sat with an embroidery ring on her lap, completely disinterested by the task, but several ladies had sat in a circle encouraging one another to engage their minds in something less worrisome. Mira reckoned that with her luck of spouses and betrothals, she would survive but Lord Umber would not. “ Milady, I have word that your brother has come ashore, ” she shot up, not caring for the politeness of excusing herself. 

Mira could not recall the last time that she had seen Asher, it had been so long ago. But as she rushed over the encampment, her heart pounded with anticipation. She saw him standing on the edge, and it took all that she could muster not to throw her arms around him in relief.  “              Asher,  ” she gasped in near disbelief. Had they been children when they saw one another? He was a man grown and yet she knew it was him.  “  I am not easily shaken. But I must say that seeing you again is a great bloody shock. What the pissing hell are you playing at?  ”

A lone ship and a lone sailor were nothing around the choppy waters of Dragonstone. Even if that one, lone sailor bore a golden kraken upon her breast and was armed to the teeth. The wind was strong and it whipped strands of soaking flaxen hair against the stretched back of a leather wind breaker. She was a sight to behold, the wild woman with her weapons and black sails. She only stopped when the dark haired girl caught her attention. The sharp arch of a pale jaw and a sweet face. The girl was pretty and Yara stopped her marching stride just short of her. “It’s not that nice.” Yara replied, her smile bemused and her eyes twinkling azure like the summer sea. “-you’ve never seen the free cities….or Sunspear in the long summer….or Highgarden in the spring.” Yara cocked her head to the side, her smile turning wolfish. “-do you let the fancy Southern Lords kiss you on that Mouth My Lady.” Yara arched her scarred brow and laughed gently, arm coming to rest upon the hilt of her sword.

 -    There was something about krakens, they were otherworldly and they sliced through the water unmoved by currents and all other sea beasts. She understood why the seafaring Greyjoys chose such a fearsome creature to be their sigil. Her own was simple, but then Forresters never claimed to be able to tame the elements or any shit like that. Mira was always amused by the pomp and splendour which followed a sigil. She had grown up mostly in Highgarden, where paintings of golden roses were in abundance - there was nothing fierce about a rose, especially since the sweet ladies never painted their thorns. She did not know the woman, but she knew that the blonde haired lass was clearly from the Iron Islands. 

“ While you are right about those things, I have spent many springs in Highgarden, ” she responded, curling her fingers over the grey stone which formed a barrier between her and certain death. She glanced at the woman with a smirk struck across her bowed lips, there was something rather wild and uncouth about the fair-haired woman, Mira enjoyed it. “ Far too many have tried to kiss me, the amount that I’ve allowed...well that’s another conversation. If you believe the rumours of my time in King’s Landing, then many Lannister men were lured into my bedchambers and never left with their lives. ” 

The woman had caught Jon’s eye - no, not like that, and he could almost hear Robb mocking him, in that small part of his brain that was generally dedicated to what Robb would say in any situation - but because she was out in the lashing cold alone. Jon was too, but that was besides the point; however grim Dragonstone could be, it was nothing compared to the cold beyond the Wall. It was a different sort of cold, and he thought that he perhaps disliked it more, the general damp, the roaring wind and the crash of the waves. Sometimes he longed for the simple crunch of snow beneath his feet. Still, he approached with a general sense that he should be doing something gentlemanly. He opened his mouth - to introduce himself, perhaps, or to recommend that the lady move inside, or at least to somewhere more sheltered - before she spoke.

Her words were almost whipped away from him on the breeze, but he heard them well enough, and laughed, the sound surprising even himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed like that in a stranger’s presence. “I came here to ask if you were quite strong enough to be standing in such weather,” he said, a little self-deprecatingly now, “but I have been proved completely wrong. Madam, I applaud your swearing.” With a grin, he bowed his head to her, and joined her against the wall. His gloved hands curved easily around the stonework, but the roughness felt strange under his palms; he always expected the smoothness of ice. With a sideways glance, still smiling, he added, “and I cannot disagree with you. Though I’d say that perhaps now is exactly the time to appreciate beauty - when we’re fucked to the seven hells, I mean.”

 -    That familiar Northern twang caused her head to instinctively turn, it was a soothing balm to any burn that she could ever suffer. When she was saved from her execution and became a prisoner in her marriage to Ser Morgryn, she longed for the familiarity of the voices which she had grown accustomed to in her youth, prior to her blossoming in the South. It was a voice that made her feel like home - it could have been any Northern voice, it just happened to be Jon Snow. He was not the tallest of men, but he still proved to be an imposing figure. “ I think perhaps, Lord Commander, you thought to confuse me with some perfumed flower. But I’ll forgive the oversight, ” she responded smoothly, eyes meeting his. “ It is welcomed to know you appreciate my candour, most would whip out a fan to conceal their abhorrence behind the floral patterns           as though that will make them more comely. As if they’ve never heard the word fucked fall from a woman’s lips... they clearly have not lived hard enough. ” 

“ You caused a few soiled breeches today, Jon Snow. All those Southern lords were hoping to sit on their powdered arses and argue over land...but instead, they were faced with the realisation that they are not immortal.  At least they did not kill the messenger, ” she smirked at him, turning so that she could lean against the stone wall. “ Mira Forrester. You may not remember me, I did leave the North when I was eight, but lately, your childhood home has given me protection from those gold shitting Lannisters. ”

For years Garrick had thought himself unshakeable. As steady as they came, unmoving and unyielding in his manner and beliefs. A mountain of a man who gave just as little as those stone faces. And yet after hearing the Lord Commander’s words the Flint had felt something in his soul tremble. Fearless was not something he had been vain enough to call himself, bold or reckless perhaps when he would always run towards a fight instead of away from it, but the chill the tales of the Night King had brought was tangible. 

He had never been a man to spiral out of control and so he found himself some ale and took himself away to a corner with his weapons. Over and over he honed all the blades that he possessed - starting at the largest and working his way down to his smaller daggers. The rhythmic motion easily settling once more, taking a break now and again to take deep gulps of ale. Things easily slipped back into perspective as he found himself no longer worried. The Night King might have been the stuff of nightmares but he had faced enough battles in his life already, this would simply be just another one. The stakes were still the same - always life or death.

Icy blue gaze flickers upwards as footsteps approach and for a moment he is tempted to let the low rumblings of his tone intimidate them into going away but something thaws him instead. Perhaps the knowledge that they all might be dead soon anyway or perhaps just the knowledge that they could all do with a drink. If there was any sense to be had then they should all be marching North and there seemed little sense in making enemies needlessly only to broach tentative peace later. “I believe there’s more ale.” Blade shifts to point instead of fingers in some unconscious reminder to them that although he is being welcoming, he is far from harmless.

 -    Despite the masses which filled Dragonstone, it felt eerily quiet within the castle. She walked past far too many who were sat in silent contemplation with pensive expressions marring their features, something which she had never felt a particular pull towards. Jon Snow’s words had shaken even the hardiest man, and many drunk themselves into a stupor as they tried to grapple the idea of their impending doom. Oh, she wondered how difficult it must have been someone with barely any thoughts in their brain, to begin with, she wagered that they’d spoiled themselves in fear. 

The large room was illuminated by a crackling fire, and there were many bodies sat hunched over benches swallowing in large gulps the plentiful amounts of ale which were being wheeled in by the barrel. Mira recognised a familiar Northern face, so she decided it would be best to sit with them, rather than bumping into a Lannister which she would rather not encounter.  “ While ale is not my preference, it’s sufficient for my needs, ” she responded, picking up an empty tankard which looked strange in her petite grasp. She filled it with the amber looking ale and took a tentative sip.  “ It tastes like feet, ” Mira decided, wincing as she took another sip.  “ How anyone can drink enough of this to forget their wits, I will never know! ”

“ Not scaring too many of the locals are you, Garrick ?  ”

“ It is beautiful here, ”  she sighed, resting her hands on the grey stone wall, while the growing winds rippled her long strands of sable hair. Some might not think that the grey structure and the crashing waves were much to look at when compared to other places around the world, but she appreciated the simple beauty of it.  “ It’s too bad that we’re all fucked to seven bloody buggering hells, ” she added after a moment, to remind others that while she could be a gentle lady, she also had the callousness which was gained from her straightforward Northern ways and the influence of King’s Landing. Her mother would be aghast at her favourite child. 

             You look like Lyanna. Her mother commented after not seeing her youngest daughter after for many years. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her. She remembered her father’s words as a child and just like back then, arya answered her mother just as she told her father. Lyanna was beautiful, Everybody said so. It was not a thing that was ever said of Arya. At least it wasn’t something she believed. She missed it all. Missed her family. Her brothers. Her sister. Jon. Most of all her father. 

            There was so much change in her. The things she is capable of now and the bag she carried with her with faces, she was sure no one would understand what she had to become in order to survive. But it felt right. She was never meant to be a lady. Though it didn’t stop her mother from trying. But this time, Arya decided to please her. Just this one. Wearing a dress that made her seem like a princess. her hair she fashioned it herself. It was longer than when it was first cut when her father was killed. It was the only girlish thing she knew how to even do among small bits of other things. though her curls were left wild. Yet it was a wildness in her that was a bit breath taking.  

           There she stood in the WAR ROOM as she looked at the map table. All of kings landing was there to see. THE WHITE WALKERS coming down south. She should be surprised yet part of her didn’t really find that all that surprising. She wasn’t as shocked as most seem to be.          An army of the dead… it’s amusing to think that this accord would follow through to the end. Arya didn’t speak her thoughts out loud. Her hand just took hold of the dagger, holding it by the hilt but never drew it. Her mother making her leave needle behind. Waiting for the one who entered the room to speak.  

-    Her nerves were frazzled as she walked past a Lannister guard, his breath close enough that she could feel the warmth on her shoulder. They all watched her and remembered what she did to their comrade, to one of those lion printed shits, who dared to try an murder her in the palace gardens, as though she was something easy to dispose of. Her deep sky-blue eyes narrowed on the armoured man, as she brushed past him. ❝  Excuse me,  ❞ she spat icily, her clasped hands twitching with rumbling anger. She would happily have struck the guard for the way he looked at her, if not for the accords. They spoke of peace and togetherness, but it only left a bitter taste in Mira’s mouth, as she recalled her time in King’s Landing.  

She walked through the large opening of the Room of the Painted Table and noticed that the She-Wolf was stood over the figurines and Sigils of all the Northern houses.  ❝ Princess Arya,  ❞  she acknowledged with genuine warmth, the fellow Northerner had certainly gained Mira’s respect. In the hazardous months which followed the murder of Ser Morgryn, her deplorable husband, Mira had feared for her safety and so she had sought sanctuary in Winterfell, where she surrounded herself with war talk and hatred for the Lannisters.

❝ What do you think of these tentative peace talks? I will personally be surprised if there aren’t at least three killings within the next day. ❞