They were doing all they could to prepare.

Weapons were being mass-produced. Every single fighting man, woman, and child was training outside of Winterfell in groups, honing their skills. Jorah was practicing with Black Fist and Kavarro while Saera sparred with Arya.

"You cannot rely only on being quick," said Saera, knocking her to the ground. "Always assume your opponent is just as fast, at least until you see their pattern of movement." She pulled her back to her feet. "Men in steel armor, you'll usually have an advantage against. But our Dornish armor was made to restrict our movement much less. Oberyn was one of the fastest fighters I've ever seen. He was also strong."

She blocked a hit, and pushed forward while simultaneously kicking Arya's legs out from under her. "You need to buff up a bit more, little wolf. Strengthen your arms and legs. You are nimble but brittle."

Arya shot back up, trying to catch Saera off-guard. But she merely twirled and blocked every hit, until at last her spear was against Arya's neck.

"You're already very good for your age," Saera promised. "Loads better than I was."

"Is it enough to go against the Army of the Dead?"

Saera shrugged. "I doubt the Night King is training them like this. I doubt they know anything about fighting at all. Most likely... we'll all be in a good position if we don't get tired easily. Now come on, let's switch to swords. I need to practice and you're going to teach me."

Jamie had been watching them for a good while. He remembered Oberyn's fight, he saw his techniques alive in Saera.

He remembered Oberyn had said that his children lost a great deal because of what The Mountain did. Now Jamie knew that he hadn't only been referring to his eight bastard daughters.

The Dragon Raised by Snakes.

(And her new heir was The Dragon Raised by Wolves.)

When he thought Saera had been killed– being young himself despite having just become a Kingslayer– he felt an emptiness. He couldn't claim to have cared for Saera much, but he recalled a sweet, innocent girl who did no wrong to anyone. He was made to believe her body had been burned, made unrecognizable, and it sickened him.

Sweet Saera, he thought, had met a fate she didn't deserve.

Now he knew that she'd lived to hear Elia's screams, lived to hear the horrific stories that were told about the siege. Hid in Dorne like a commoner when she was on a Princess. Had to hide her silver hair, had to become someone knew because if she didn't, she wouldn't survive.

She lived haunted by the ghosts of every Targaryen who fell during the war. She lost her entire family in such a short span of time, a girl of five-and-ten who shrieked at the sight of mice.

Had her fate been better or worse for it? She didn't seem to be happy. Maybe in death she'd have gotten some peace. In life, well, everyone knew why she was here without her sister. Everyone knew that if Saera took the Iron Throne, Daenerys would come for her with two dragons to use against the one.

The sight of Viserion still left him dumbfounded. Sensitive Saera now rode a dragon.

He still remembered the day his father told him he might wed Saera. He thought she was silly. He felt himself already a man when he wasn't, and Saera was nothing more than a fragile little girl who followed his sister around like a puppy and played with Tyrion because she was afraid of the gardens.

Oberyn raised her and he turned her into a killer so she'd never be weak again. The little girl he knew had stopped being a child far too early. She had no choice in the matter.

Yet still she was the same Saera. He was taken aback by her skill; truly it was something else. She was right; he couldn't beat her. Not even when he had two hands, if he wielded a sword and she a spear. She probably could have had him flat on his arse in seconds.

But he watched her caressing Arya's face, propping her chin up and guiding her, smiling and ruffling her hair when she did something well. He saw her with Sansa, how she encouraged her and praised her, how she made sure the girl forced to grow up too soon never forgot she was beautiful, intelligent, and loved.

He watched her supervise a sparring session between small children and she promised to take each of them on her dragon if they worked hard. The children clung to her, testing her strength, wanting her to lift her arms while they hung onto them, and she managed it with ease.

And he caught a moment that her hand brushed against Ser Jorah Mormont's, the familiarity it carried, the way she smiled. That smile had survived her trauma.

He realized she would be a good Queen. No one else would've given him the choice she did. No one that he'd ever seen on the throne had ever been this fierce yet gentle, this wise yet willing to listen to others who proposed other paths. She was loved by her people, she inspired them. They didn't follow her only because they feared her power or because she was the daughter of a man who was once their King.

They followed her because she proved to be everything they needed. Everything Westeros required to be truly great.

Saera watched him for a good while, training alone before she convinced Black Fist to keep him company. He kept looking across at Brienne, and it became evident to Saera that those two had a certain tension between them. Jamie's eyes seemed full of longing.

"Lady Brienne didn't let you train with her?" asked Saera, coming up behind him as he massaged his arm. "Pains in your limbs already, Ser Jamie? I didn't think you were that old."

He managed a weak laugh. "Lady Brienne is occupied with students who need more of her support. My arm has grown weaker since I lost my hand. Can't quite use it as much. You're almost as old as me, Your Grace, five years aren't much."

"You can call me Saera," she said. "In private, at least. Ellaria doesn't like you much. I know Elia and Oberyn's deaths weren't your fault. Your father ordered Elia's murder... I doubt you would have condoned such a thing. And Oberyn... no matter what we feel, it was a fair death. In a trial by combat he chose to participate in. His arrogance was the end of him."

"You didn't inherit that," he said. "From your father or from him."

"Oberyn was a better father to me than mine ever was," she admitted. "Even yours treated me better, for a time. He grew annoyed easily because I was afraid of everything, but still... Lord Tywin was kind to me. I wonder what he'd think of me now."

Jamie huffed, suppressing a laugh. "A child who feared bees now turned into a dragon... he'd adore you. In hindsight, it wouldn't have been half bad to be married to you."

She chuckled, "Maybe, maybe not."

"You're not seriously going to marry Euron Greyjoy, are you?"

She couldn't trust him with the truth just yet. "I will marry whoever I need to. Unfortunately the other Heads of the Great Houses are far too young or far too old. Can you imagine me marrying Lady Olenna?"

"Maybe she'd smile for once." He became serious. "She'll want my sister's head. Will you give it to her?"

Saera winced. "It'll all depend on Cersei. How she reacts to the siege. She can't win this, Jamie. Not even with the Golden Company. The Lannister men at Casterly Rock surrendered easily. I'm told the ones at Riverrun did the same when they heard I'd arrive soon with a dragon. People are tired. Everything that has happened since King Robert's death has been... messy. Joffrey was... an easily disliked King. Tommen was too easily manipulated. And your sister is one of the mostselfish and narcissistic people I've ever met in my entire life. Even King Robert wasn't a good King. Nor my father. It has to end. It has to."

He was quiet. "Your Hand is in love with you, you know."

"And who, precisely, is my Hand?"

"Jorah Mormont. I take it you haven't named members of your Small Council?"

"Not exactly." She smiled. "You're the second Lannister to tell me he's in love with me, you know. Your brother burst out the same thing in Meereen."

"You love him, too."

"And yet I have a duty to fulfill," she said. She wished she could tell him and everyone that she loved Jorah and already intended to marry him, not Euron Greyjoy. She tapped his shoulder, "Keep working on that arm, Ser Jamie."

She was called to the Great Hall before she had a chance to eat. Sansa had been summoned, too, both of them meeting outside equally confused.

The doors opened to reveal Theon Greyjoy. He knelt down, "My Queen."

"I thought you were in Volantis," said Saera. "Where is your sister?"

"Biding her time," he said. "We trust you will hold your promise to give us the Iron Islands."

"Then why are you–?"

He looked at Sansa overhear shoulder, "I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa, if you'll have me."

Sansa rushed to hug him, crying on his shoulder. Theon buried his face in her neck, sighing in relief.

Bran alerted them less than an hour later that the Night King's army had breached the Wall and now marched to them. Wagons were loaded up with all the women and children that hadn't yet gone to Riverrun and didn't wish to be around for the fight. Sansa refused to go, as did Samwell Tarly's partner, a wildling named Gilly, with her son Sam. Lyanna Mormont was determined to fight, and had encouraged a few other children her age and some older to remain there.

They estimated they had two days before the dead arrived.

"I know many of us are frightened," said Saera as the War Council met that night, consisting of all the Heads of each House that brought their men. "I am, too. We don't know what to expect. We don't know how many days of fighting the 'Long Night' will consist of. Every single person here has been given a weapon of dragonglass or Valyrian steel. Many of you have fed Viserion so many goats and sheep that he is more than ready to roast the wights where they stand. We've made trebuchets and traps, we've added moats and surrounded the castle with barrels of pitch for flaming arrows."

"It won't be easy," said Jon. "There are too many of them. Far too many. Our enemy doesn't tire. Doesn't stop. Doesn't feel. We can't beat them in a straight fight."

"So, what can we do?" asked Jamie.

"The Night King made them all, they follow his command. If he falls, getting to him may be our best chance."

"If that's true, he'll never expose himself."

"Yes, he will," said Bran quietly. "He'll come for me. He's tried before, many times, with many Three-Eyed Ravens."

"Why?" asked Sam. "What does he want?"

Bran stared into nothing. "An endless night. He wants to erase this world, and I am its memory."

"Well... that's what death is, isn't it? Forgetting. Being forgotten. If we forget where we've been and what we've done, we're not men anymore. Just animals. Your memories don't come from books. Your stories aren't just stories. If I wanted to erase the world of men, I'd start with you."

"Forgive me," said Saera, "but how exactly will he come for you? We can smuggle you out of Winterfell tonight and he won't know."

"That's not quite true," said Bran. "His mark is on me." He rolled up his sleeve, showing four burns, as if from fingers. "He always knows where I am."

"We'll put you in the crypt," offered Jon. "Where it's safest."

Bran shook his head. "No. We need to lure him into the open before his army destroys us all. I'll wait for him in the godswood."

"You want us to use you as bait?" said Sansa, bewildered.

Arya was just as upset by this, "We're not leaving you alone out there."

"He won't be," said Theon. "I'll stay with him. With the Ironborn I brought with me." He looked at Bran. "I took this castle from you. Let me defend you now."

"That's nowhere near enough men," said Saera. "You came with less than fifty." She leaned down, cursing internally, wishing she had all her sister's men, wishing she had all her sister's dragons. "My sisters..." she looked up at the Sand Snakes. "I need you with him."

"You're only saying that because you don't want us on the front lines," said Tyene. "You already made Dorea and Loreza go to Riverrun. We can fight! You know that!"

"I know that. But I would rather you do not face the enemy head on. You will help the Ironborn and with any luck, someone will kill the Night King before he reaches you."

"I agree," said Ellaria. "My girls, I would rather you are in the godswood saving your strength."

Tyene and her sister shared a look, the six of them accepting it. "You, too, Ellaria," said Saera quietly.

She was silent. "If it is what you require, my Queen."

"I don't want to lose you."

She nodded, relenting.

"We'll hold off the rest of them as long as we can," said Ser Davos, looking down at the map, their planned formation spreading the men of all the houses out, with the majority of men concentrated at the main gates of Winterfell. "And when it is time, I will light the trench. Viserion should give us an edge in the field."

"If he's in the field, he's not protecting Bran," said Jon. "We need to be near him. Not too near, or the Night King won't come. But close enough to pursue him when he does."

"Dragonfire will stop him?" asked Arya.

"I don't know," said Bran. "No one's ever tried."

Saera cracked her knuckles. "I... think it would be better if we started by trying to incinerate as much of the army near the back as possible, far enough away to keep our men safe but also diminish the amount of dead coming near him. The Night King almost hit Viserion with his icy spear before. I can guide Viserion back and forth, a bit of fire on the wights, circle back to the godswood and peer down. Perhaps there can be some sort of signal for me, to let me know when the Night King is near enough to the walls."

"If it gets to the point that we must light the trench... then stay hovering over the castle," said Jon. "Otherwise... go back and forth."

Tormund let out a snort. "We're all going to die. But at least we die together." He smirked at Brienne, who did not find this amusing.

"Let's get some rest," said Jon. "It's almost time. And during the battle, if you can... stab the dead with your weapon, even our own. With any luck, an injury from dragonglass or Valyrians steel will prevent them from coming back. We can't risk them coming back and being used against us."

Saera couldn't find sleep no matter how hard she tried. She kept walking through the balconies, looking down at their armies, all in a tighter formation, tents packed and everyone ready for the battle to arrive at any moment. A sea of thousands of heads, bobbing in a sea of all colors, men and women from rival and distant houses united for this fight.

At one point, Lady Brienne's squire, Ser Podrick Payne, came to check on her.

"Your Grace," he said kindly. "A group of us are in the Great Hall drinking and sharing stories, if you wish to join."

"Thank you, Ser Podrick," she said. "Your offer is generous. Tyrion told me about you, you know, said you were a wonderful squire and that you saved his life at the Battle of Blackwater Bay. I had no idea who you were before then, the only 'Payne' I ever met was your distant cousin, Ser Ilyn, and that was an unfortunate meeting indeed. I believe I fainted after my father's guards removed his tongue. Yet I see you've grown into quite the swordsman. Lady Brienne trusts you, and you've served her faithfully. I wonder, what plans do you have if we survive this battle?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure, Your Grace. I suppose I imagined myself being a knight."

"Do you plan to have a wife? Children?"

"I admit I'm happier in the company of friends."

She smiled. "Then I hope you will consider being a member of my Queensguard, when the time comes."

"My...my Queen?"

"There are many, many capable men and women, of this I am sure. I've heard stories about many of the fighters today. I believe I've almost made my selections. My most faithful friends, Black Fist the Unsullied and Kavarro the Dothraki have already agreed. I have three others who have asked for a position– Gryzdala and Shiklaz, two woman you might have seen with my Astapori and Meereenese soldiers. Meezhar, he leads the Yunkish. I realize a Queensgaurd requires sevenfighters. I've thought it over and I realized you and Lady Brienne stand out to me. Think about it. When we survive this battle... tell me your answer."

"Thank you, Your Grace," said Podrick shyly. "Thank you."

After he left, she walked into the courtyard looking for her friends. Black Fist and Kavarro were drinking with a few of the Northmen, apparently in a competition to see who could handle their liquor best. She saw Jon with the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Edd.

And then she saw Jorah. Handsome as ever, and mid-argument with Lyanna.

"We have all we need to win this war," he was saying.

"I have trained my men, women, and children," insisted Lyanna. "I have fought before, I can fight again!"

"Please, listen to me, you're the future of our house."

"I don't need you to remind me of that."

"You'd be safer guarding the crypt where Princess Sansa will be–"

"I will not hide underground!" said Lyanna sharply. "I pledged to fight for the North, and I will fight."

"Lady Lyanna," said Saera, smiling and walking up to them. "Perhaps you'd like a more important task, then? Defending the Three-Eyed Raven with my sisters and the Ironborn? I realized in hindsight that I mixed the two groups without placing someone in charge. You may be best suited both to fight with them and to prepare their formations if the Night King brings the battle to them. Are you up for this task? If not, I may need extra eyes on my dragon. I can only do so much while trying to focus Viserions's fire. It might be useful to have someone who can sit behind me and monitor the battlefield, to tell me where I need to turn my attention to."

Jorah smiled, something that did not escape Lyanna's notice. It made her frown, but she didn't seem to really hate Saera's suggestions.

"I will ride on the dragon with you, then," said Lyanna, perhaps as a challenge, thinking Saera would not actually let her. "And when you take your turn to fight with the rest of our men, so will I."

"I am glad to hear it, Lady Lyanna."

The girl's face remained serious as she turned to Jorah. "I wish you good fortune, cousin."

He smiled, bowing his head. "Thank you, my lady."

"She's a fierce girl," said Saera quietly. "Reckon our daughter will be like her?"

"Oh, I don't doubt it," whispered Jorah.

She turned when she sensed a presence behind them. "Yes, Samwell?"

"I don't mean to interrupt," he said awkwardly, holding out a sword. "This sword is called Heartsbane. It's my family sword."

Jorah blinked. "You still have a family."

"Yes. And I'd love to defend them with it. But I can't really hold it upright. Your father, he taught me how to be a man. How to do what's right. This is right. It's Valyrian steel. I'd be honored if you'd take it."

Jorah smiled weakly, accepting the sword and unsheathing it. "I'll wield it in his memory. To guard the realms of men."

Samwell nodded. "I'll see you both when it's through. I hope... we win."

"As do we," said Saera softly. She looked at Jorah once Samwell had walked away. "What do you say we try to get some rest? Lately, I can only sleep when you're with me."

"You go in first," said Jorah, strapping the sword to his side. "I will be there soon."

She couldn't sleep even when she was holding him close, even when she could feel his heart beating steadily in his chest. He kissed her head, then her lips, and they decided they might as well tire themselves out. But even that only made them both more anxious.

What if it was the last time they'd be together? What if they both died and they never got to know what happened to the Iron Throne?

Saera didn't want to think of it, but she wanted to be prepared.

"If I die and Jon lives," whispered Saera, resting on top of him, "I need you to beg him to tell everyone who he is. Tell them I chose him as my heir. Please, they must know. Make him claim Viserion before he can go back to Daenerys. Promise me, Jorah."

"It won't happen," he said firmly. "You won't die, I won't let you. We will both live. I don't intend to die until I am old and grey, until you've sat the throne for a few years and we have two children who are finally old enough for us to take them somewhere new. Where will you want to live? Essos? Bear Island? Dragonstone? Dorne?"

"Anywhere," she said. "As long as it's with you. Don't leave me, Jorah. Ever."

"I won't, Saera. I am with you until the very end. Try to sleep, my Queen. We both need it."

The more she tried, the less she was able to sleep. The following day was the same. Checking on everyone, distributing food, waiting for the army to get closer. Jorah held her as she listed all her worries, caressed her back and tried to soothe her.

And then, the horns began to blow.