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Jimmy had no intention of giving the Night King time to recover. He snatched up Cloudsplitter and charged straight after him.
But the Night King had no interest in standing his ground.
He had to die eventually.
Just not today.
The moment Jimmy came for him, endless wights hurled themselves into the path without hesitation. If anyone wanted a definition of reckless sacrifice, this was it.
Jimmy spat in the direction the Night King had fled, then bounded back toward the forked island.
"Move, everyone, onto the dragons. We're heading back to the Wall first."
He took Cloudsplitter back from Horus and ordered the others onto the dragons' backs.
Despite their slower speed, Daenerys's three dragons clearly outmatched Horus when it came to carrying people.
…
Atop the Wall, the three dragons stood in a row along the battlements.
Viserion, the one missing half a horn, kept letting out miserable cries. The bleeding had long since stopped, but the broken horn was not coming back.
He was clearly offended by the whole thing. Even the eagle had horns, and now the dragon only had one and a half.
Daenerys stood beside him, stroking his head while Viserion made soft, pitiful sounds under her hand.
"Your Grace," Jimmy said, "since you're already in the North, would you care to come to Winterfell?"
"Gladly," Daenerys answered at once.
Horus flew ahead to deliver word, and the rest mounted the dragons and set off for Winterfell.
…
Compared to Cersei, Daenerys earned goodwill far more easily.
If nothing else, she had brought three dragons north without hesitation to help them.
That alone put her far ahead of the queen in King's Landing.
Though, to be fair, there was every chance Daenerys had come partly to see with her own eyes whether the White Walkers were real.
…
Daenerys leapt down from Viserion's back, and the dragon immediately took to the sky again.
"Your Grace, next time you should try flying on Horus," Jimmy said. "Much more comfortable than a dragon, and no wind in your face."
"Your Grace, welcome to Winterfell."
Ned stepped forward with the others to receive her.
Nearly all the northern bannermen were already at Winterfell. War with the dead could break out at any moment, and they needed to be close enough to answer the call immediately.
And everyone understood one simple fact.
The dead could only be killed with dragonglass weapons.
Right now, the only place producing those in real numbers was Winterfell.
If nothing else, people wanted to secure their weapons and spares before the fighting began. Against the dead, there was no such thing as too much dragonglass, especially since it was brittle enough to shatter easily in battle.
…
Daenerys's arrival, the sight of the three dragons, and the fact that she had helped save the wight-hunting party all left a favorable impression.
The North welcomed her warmly, and she felt it.
At the feast, the northern drink lacked the refinement of Arbor gold, but it carried the fierce, sharp edge of the North itself.
Outside, Horus was entertaining the dragons.
Whole roasted elk were brought out for them, and they swallowed them down bone and all.
Between the three of them, they devoured twenty-four giant elk.
And these were not ordinary animals. The elk beyond the Wall were enormous, far bigger than horses.
Magnificent creatures, yes.
But gods, they could eat.
…
Winterfell had many strengths.
Its feasts were not one of them.
Compared to King's Landing, with its performers, mummers, and singers in abundance, Winterfell could only manage a few wandering bards and traveling minstrels.
At the moment, Beric Dondarrion was singing, and the rough Riverlands folk tune he had chosen was doing no favors for anyone in the room.
Daenerys was clearly unimpressed.
Even the old wolf looked like he was struggling to sit through it.
So much for giving them a chance.
Jimmy took a small wind instrument from someone nearby, something like a recorder, and tested a couple of notes to find the pitch.
Then he lifted it to his lips.
A low, clear note drifted into the hall.
A haunting melody drifted through the hall, vast and mournful, rising and falling like a sorrow too deep for words.
Daenerys quietly brushed the tears from the corners of her eyes, thinking of her brother.
There was something in the music that carried the agony of watching something precious slip away while being powerless to stop it.
When the final note faded, the entire hall broke into applause.
Music, after all, belonged to no single land.
"That was beautiful," Arya said. "What's it called? I've never heard it before."
She had never paid much attention to songs in the past.
Jimmy hesitated.
The Last of the Mohicans.
But who in Westeros would know what a Mohican was?
Then his eyes landed on Daenerys, seated at the center of the hall, and inspiration struck.
"The Last Targaryen."
At that, the room's attention shifted toward Daenerys. She raised the back of her hand to her lips, tears still shining at the edge of her eyes, her voice unsteady.
Ned could only shake his head inwardly.
That bloodline really was stubborn.
Rhaegar had once made Lyanna weep with song, and now this young man had done much the same to everyone in the room.
It was obvious that after that performance, Daenerys's attitude toward Jimmy improved so dramatically that even Jimmy found it unsettling.
So he slipped out of the hall.
Arya quietly followed him and came to stand beside him.
"Why'd you leave?"
"Too noisy. And I'm not drinking, so it's not exactly my kind of place."
Arya glanced at him.
"The song really was beautiful. But why call it The Last Targaryen? Jon's a Targaryen too, isn't he?"
"Jon?" Jimmy let out a breath. "He doesn't even believe he's a Targaryen himself. Compared to that name, I think he's far more Stark."
"Yeah." Arya's expression shifted. "Speaking of Starks… Bran's been strange lately. More distant from all of us."
"And when I talk about the past, he reacts like he was only watching it happen. Sometimes… it doesn't even feel like he's really Bran."
Jimmy's eyes sharpened.
"Right. There actually is something I need to prepare for…"
…
The wooden crate holding the two captured wights was sent on toward King's Landing.
This time Tyrion came along as well, and Jimmy brought Robb with him.
Horus carried Jimmy through the air. Then, halfway down, Jimmy flipped off his back and dropped to the ground below, landing in a crouch hard enough to throw up a burst of dust like some armored legend out of a song.
Horus beat his wings once, blowing the dust aside, then settled proudly onto Jimmy's shoulder as he rose.
Cloudsplitter hung at his waist. Horse-Cutter rested across his back.
Jimmy walked over and sat beside Robb, giving him a brief nod.
Cersei was the first to speak.
"Westeros truly has fallen, These days, it seems anyone can attend a gathering of importance."
Jimmy answered without missing a beat.
"True enough, though I suppose that's what happens when the Seven stop watching over King's Landing. Lying to the gods, burning the people alive, plotting to violate guest right…"
He was never the kind of man who let an insult pass unanswered.
"Has the queen not arrived yet?" Robb asked, hoping to shift the conversation before it got worse.
He also genuinely wanted to know. Daenerys and Jimmy had gone to Dragonstone together to collect a few people, but only Jimmy had arrived so far.
Jimmy turned to him.
"Which queen do you mean? The one who rides dragons, or the one who rides her brother?"
"The queen who rides her brother is already sitting right there. The one who rides dragons will be a bit later."
He patted Horus's neck lightly.
"You understand, Horus is much faster than those three."
The color drained from Cersei's face, then returned in a flush of purple fury.
Ser Robert Strong, the monstrous thing that had once been a man, sensed her rage at once and laid a hand on the hilt of his sword.
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