So many battles had been recorded throughout the known history of men occupying the lands of Westeros. Hundreds of stories and songs had been passed down from one generation to the other, the memory of the deceased ones living through them.
However, it was not only battles and stories and songs that remained stable across the moving and ever-shifting history. Prophecies as well had been passed down, some talking of similar things and some of opposites.
Some prophecies connected with religion and others with living people that once roamed the lands, leaving their mark in the pages of history books the Maesters of the Citadel would write and store.
One could not count how many battles had taken place, how many lives had been lost over lands, riches, titles, and even prophecies.
There were always those who supported someone they believed was the one a prophecy talked about or even believed they were the ones someone had foretold of so long ago.
Yet, one never truly thought of the accuracy of those prophecies. After all, a person alone cannot save the world on their own. Help will always be needed and sometimes, it might take more than one person to truly make the difference.
Whether it be a Prince or a Princess that was Promised to be born through smoke and salt, whether it be the much-awaited Azor Ahai or even the Targaryen on the Iron Throne meant to unite the Kingdoms... one would never expect that perhaps all those prophecies talked of the same things... of the same people.
Mayhap it was never a single person but one could say it could be seven.
Each one brought something together into this Great Battle that had long been foretold. Each one did their part and they all united under a single goal, a single dream, and a single mission. Each role was different and yet together proved to be the pieces needed for humanity to be saved.
One could take as an example the Seven Faces of a Single God that many worshipped and believed in. Who was to say that all those prophecies talked of each one of its many faces, each side representing a part of the lives of mankind and of a role one had to play in the Battle of the Long Night?
The Father, who fought in the heat of battle and defended his children until his last breath. Whose strength made him stand like a rock and keep fighting, despite the wounds on his body. He could only rest when he knew that his children were safe from harm.
The Mother, who brought life into the cruel world and led her children into the heart of battle. She was the one who knew the beauty of giving and cherishing life but also the pain of losing it. Yet, she still took the risk and made a difference in this Great Battle.
The Warrior, who fought in the front lines without a single inch of fear in his body. His courage was his most powerful weapon, not once backing down even when his comrades and fellow soldiers perished under foreign blades made of ice. His strength helped to keep him alive and save not only those who truly mattered to him but also many others.
The Smith, who made the very same weapons they needed to fight such dark power. He carried his own weapon into battle, fighting alongside soldiers and fixing what his predecessor had ruined.
The Maiden, whose innocence was never one to be mistaken for weakness. She gave strength to the others and did not run away in the face of danger. Her tribute, in its own right, and her choices were her weapons that helped others to continue and keep going, despite the tiredness they felt across their bodies.
The Crone, who had lived a full life and knew it. Her experiences and pieces of advice helped unite everyone, her wisdom her most powerful asset. She fought amongst the others, she had seen so many things and she knew when she needed to truly act. She made choices she knew were dire but would not complain, for she had done her part and her own path in life... was about to reach its end.
Last but never least, the Stranger. They were often ignored or forgotten until one would come to realise that the Stranger is all that is left at the end of one's life. Many feared and others respected this figure, with very few truly believing in them. Yet, they made no exception, treated everyone equally and were the reminder that everything eventually had an ending, whether that be a plan, an animal, a human, or even... an Undead King of Winter.
Winterfell, The North, Westeros — Two Days After the Battle of the Long Night
Outside the tall and burnt walls of the mighty dark castle known as Winterfell, hundreds of pyres were ready to be lit. Endless pieces of wood had been placed, with so many bodies existing beneath and on top of them.
The ground was frozen and thus no one was able to be buried. With how everyone was injured and needed rest, it was also impossible for the bodies to be moved and buried elsewhere.
Thus, the only choice left was to give them funeral pyres that were also worthy of their sacrifice. It was thanks to them that the undead army never got to Bran, and that the undead soldiers never stopped Jon from taking down the Night King.
The torches held by many were burning bright, a small northern wind making the flames flicker, but it was nothing compared to the blizzard they fought in.
Sansa was the first to take a step forward, holding her own torch. She came to a halt in front of a pyre, on the very top resting the body of Theon. She had known the Greyjoy heir since they were children and she had always enjoyed his company, even though her mother was never truly happy finding them together.
Despite his past mistakes and actions, he bent the knee to her and Jon and then died, protecting them all and helping Jon. He died honourably, with only the thought that he had to make right what he had once done wrong.
Not that far away from her, others had also moved to stand in front of the respected pyres.
Amongst them was Daenerys, who would do the honours in burning Ser Barristan. She kissed his forehead before doing so, a single tear escaping her left eye as she fought hard to pull back and prepare herself.
Jorah would light the pyre of his cousin, Lyanna Mormont. The young girl had died valiantly by being crushed by an undead giant. However, she had used her last amount of strength to stab the very same undead giant in the neck, taking him down with her.
Oberyn would light the pyre for Obara and Trystan would for Loras and Lord Mace, both placed next to one another. Grey Worm had lost a lot of brothers and fellow comrades as well, whose bodies he would have to see burned.
All sides had suffered big casualties; many loved ones perished in the battle. Fathers and sons died side by side, old friends fought until the very end.
The last one to take a step forward was Jaime, who held the torch for his beloved uncle, Kevan. The Lion could still not believe that he had lost his last uncle, the one he truly liked and who had also been the one around him while growing up in Casterly Rock.
Tywin should be in his place but the Old Lion had not left his bedchambers. After Visenya had been brought in unconscious, Jaime had passed her to the first Maester to come. She was alive but currently unresponsive, and no one was able to tell if she would wake up soon or even wake up at all.
She had been placed on her bed and ever since, Tywin had not left her side.
Everyone looked at one another and then started to light up the funeral pyres, one by one. Then, once it was done, they stood back along with everyone else and silently watched as the flames engulfed the bodies and wooden structures, their bright orange colours offering illumination and even heat that reached them.
Smoke and sparks flew up to the clear sky as if the souls of the deceased ones were heading upwards to meet their respective Gods, to be happily welcomed to a better place, and honoured for their sacrifice.
Great Hall, Winterfell — The North, Westeros — 4 Days After the Battle of the Long Night
Tyrion was sitting on one of the many chairs, silently watching the people existing in the same room as him. There were not many, for no important meeting was taking place at the moment.
Jon, Sansa and Daenerys were sitting at the main table like all those times before. All three were tired, with some bearing more obvious wounds than others. They were listening to reports of the vacancies left by the deceased, of the provisions that would not last them as long as they expected, and so on.
Bran was not that far away from them, staring outside one of the windows. In the courtyard beneath, he could see soldiers helping one another or hanging out, no longer caring which house emblem they supported.
After the Big Battle, one could say that the men had come closer to one another. They fought next to one another, they saved each other, and that made them realize that in the end, they had more things in common than they originally thought.
In the same room, Jaime, Trystan and Oberyn also occupied the same table with Tyrion. Once again, Tywin was absent but they felt the need to be present, at least because some things concerned them as well.
A few other Lords had also been present but the majority were either dead or absent, finding no need to show up for now.
Suddenly, the door to the room was forced open and Tormund with Ygritte walked into the room. Along with some soldiers, they had been scouting the area around Winterfell for more forgotten bodies, dragonglass weapons, and so on.
While both had lost a lot of good men and friends, they had moved on as they cherished their memories and names by sharing stories each night around the fire.
"Look what we found!" he exclaimed, a smirk of pride and excitement forming on his lips.
Before anyone could ask him about it, he tossed it on the wooden table right in front of Jon, Daenerys and Sansa. To the surprise of many, it was a fine sword made of Valyrian Steel. The arm guard was carved with gold to resemble spread dragon wings and there was a single round big ruby at the base of the pommel.
Immediately, Trystan stood up and almost knocked his chair backwards.
"That is Mother's sword!" he exclaimed, capable of recognising it anywhere.
His revelation made his siblings stare at it, with Jaime also standing up. They stared at it as Daenerys stood up and took it in her arms. She silently observed it from close but did not hold it for long before walking around the wooden table.
She headed their way and to their surprise, she handed it to them.
"Then it belongs to you," she said, locking her gaze with Jaime, who carefully and gently took it from her.
"Where did you find it?" Jon asked, surprised that the sword was missing in the first place.
"You would not believe it even if I told you so," Tormund answered vaguely, but when he received serious looks, he focused on the topic. "I found it pinned right into the chest of that Ice Dragon. It was deep enough that it took me a few tries to pull it out of it."
Ygritte moved by his side.
"It took him more than a few tries to get it out. But in the end, we also got this," she added and showed everyone a few teeth taken from the mouth of the undead Viserion.
"Hold up," Jaime said, lifting his hand faintly to signal for the two Free Folk to stop talking. "What do you mean you found it in the chest of the Ice Dragon? How did it end up there in the first place?"
Tormund shrugged but it was Sansa who spoke next.
"Maybe she threw it in an attempt to harm the undead dragon?"
"With how deep that thing was, she must have stabbed it directly," the Free Folk leader argued, having seen his fair share of blades being stuck into the bodies of animals and unfortunately, people as well.
"You are saying somehow our mother moved from one dragon to the other and stabbed him?" Trystan questioned, trying to put everything in order and form the image in his mind but having trouble doing so.
The Free Folk shrugged his shoulders.
"Maybe... or maybe she just jumped on the other dragon and then stabbed him."
"That doesn't make sense," the Half-Lion argued. "If she dared to jump and pull such a move, she risked falling to her death. Why would she do it?"
"Because she knew where it would lead," Bran suddenly said, earning all eyes on him. He averted his brown eyes from outside to the small crowd in the room. "Taking down the Ice Dragon was essential in taking down the Night King. She knew the risks."
While some were troubled and others confused, only one of them seemed to make sense of things, merely because he had more information than the others.
As the pieces were finally put together, Tyrion found himself paling.
"Fucking Seven," he cursed loud enough for the others to hear him. "She had dreamt of it. She knew it would lead to her falling to her death, and that madwoman still did it."
"How do you know?" Oberyn asked, arching a single dark eyebrow as he was sitting next to the dwarf.
He had been silent all this time since his thoughts were almost fully on the unconscious Visenya, who was lying on a bed like a corpse. He saw no reason to interfere and merely listened, but even he could not remain passive when Tyrion said those words.
"She told me... one night when the two of us talked..." he licked his dry lips, somehow wishing there was a jug of wine for him to just empty in one go. "She said she dreamt of her death... falling off a dragon..."
At that moment, the dwarf truly felt like the biggest idiot in the known and unknown world. He should have realized that she knew more than she had told him, that she had lied to him to make him feel better.
He should have seen right through it and somehow found a way to stop her. He did not care what she said about dreams not changing. He was certain he would have found a way and saved her, changed the outcome so that she might never end up in the coma she was in.
Silence existed in the room, no one talking or daring to break it. Tyrion's words sank in, many now seeing the situation differently. Even more, they were put into deep thought at such a revelation.
Guest Chambers of Tywin & Visenya, West Wing - Winterfell, The North - Not Long After
Tywin was sitting on a chair but was hunched forward. He had been sitting at the same spot for hours, only moving to stretch his legs, but he did not leave the room. The chair was placed next to the bed, where Visenya lay unconscious.
More than half of her face had been wrapped in bandages, the wounds healing well and as fast as they always did. It was perhaps the only good sign that she was not gone yet, that and how her chest rose and fell with each breath.
Ever since Jaime brought her in, Tywin had not left her side. He kept her company, staring at her while his mind replayed the words the Maester had told him about her condition.
"She is unconscious but alive. However, I do not know when she will wake up and if... I would give her half a fortnight at best. If she doesn't by then..." the Maester had told him.
Tywin tried his best to contain his anger. If that Maester was working for him, he would have long been lying dead on the floor by the feet of the Old Lion. However, Tywin did not react as Trystan and Jaime made sure to stand by his side, ready to stop him if he lost control.
"What about her wounds?" Daenerys, who had also been present in the room, asked.
"The one by her face is rather serious. If she is to wake up, I am afraid vision from at least one eye will be entirely lost. Of course, the scars will not fade, not anytime soon at least... Her right arm has been broken and even if it heals, it will never work the same way... I am afraid, Lady Lannister will not be able to fight with it ever again..."
The Old Lion had been transported back to the day Visenya fell unconscious after the miscarriage. Once again, he had to stand back and listen to the injuries his wife sustained, then forced to wait in silence for her to wake up.
He hated that situation, for he could not control it or its outcome. He could not just heal her or wake her up, he could not do anything else but just sit there and watch her for hours, waiting for the first sign that she would wake up.
He cursed himself mentally and he had even hit his fist against the stone wall of the chambers to unleash his anger, a way to regulate the guilt within him.
He should have stopped her from riding that damn green beast. He should have kept her away from battle. He should have acted, instead of letting her take the risks. Had he done any of these, she would not be lying almost dead on the bed.
Damn you, woman... we agreed for you to land that beast when the danger became too high, he thought, eyeing the sleeping form of his wife.
He let out a heavy sigh and spread his hand, placing it on top of hers.
She was not deathly cold but she was not the usual warmth she usually was... she was... normal, or at least how a normal human should be.
It was a worrisome thing but also a sign that she was still there, somehow fighting to remain with the living.
His thumb gently caressed her skin, his eyes not once leaving her peaceful face. Despite the bandages, she was still as beautiful as she had always been in his eyes.
How many times had Tywin been forced to sit on a chair and wait for her to wake up? More than a man should have to in a single lifetime, that was for certain. One would think he would have been used to it, but each time was simply as brand new as the previous ones, the feelings of worry, self-guilt and grief never going away or being felt less.
Sometimes Tywin felt that this was the way the Gods were punishing him, their way to truly teach him humility and remind him that in the end, he was nothing but a mere mortal.
Why else would they send someone like her into his life?
Visenya had saved him from his grief after Joanna died and had been supporting him all those years. She bore him an heir, she stood by his side in battle and she genuinely cared for him. Despite his character, despite his temper... she genuinely loved him.
Her presence in his life had been so important and he was only made aware recently, after almost losing her on three different occasions. In a twist of bitter irony, he had almost lost her to someone who truly wished to harm him and his family.
She paid the price, she was harmed and risked her life... it was those moments of watching helplessly that were the true consequences of his actions. They would never come directly at him, for they worked better by harming the one person Tywin had truly learned to love; the only other person he had ever loved in his life other than Joanna.
The days had passed but he barely registered them, merely taking notice of his sons bringing him a tray of food every few hours, but he barely touched it. He was not hungry or thirsty, leaving it untouched almost all those times, barely taking small bites here and there.
He would not leave the room and merely sit on that chair, watching Visenya and waiting until she would wake up, like she had always done.
She had to wake up, now more than ever.
He barely focused on anything but her, until the sound of steps drew his attention. He knew the sound of steps of his sons and even Daenerys, having taken notice of them in those four days he had been locked in there.
That sound, though, was new to his ears and he was forced to lift his golden-flecked eyes, only to see Oberyn opening the door and entering the chambers.
Immediately, the gaze of the Old Lion turned cold and he withdrew his hand as he stood up.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, quickly going into the defensive. "You have no business in these chambers."
If his words offended Oberyn, it was not noticeable. The Dornish Prince remained rather calm and did not react to Tywin's accusing words but rather took a few more steps inside the room.
"In Dorne, we are taught not to get insulted by the words of a grieving man," he started, looking straight at him. "Only for that, I will not react."
His tone was calm and it did not seem to be hiding some more sinister plan behind it, or even mockery. Even the way his dark eyes were looking at the Old Lion, they were different from all the other times.
This time, Tywin did not see the mockery or the challenge within them; something that surprised him.
However, he was not a fool to go and start chasing this... treaty, if one could call it that.
"Hmmm," he exclaimed, after he sized up the Dornish Prince. "Then I will ask again. Why are you here, Prince Oberyn?"
Oberyn turned his head towards the direction of the bed, dark eyes growing softer at the sleeping and weak form of Visenya.
"To check up on her progress, among other things," he confessed.
When he learnt of the news, he had been the first to go see her and he had heard clearly what the Maester had said. He had been so furious at that moment but also so heartbroken at the uncertainty of Visenya's wellbeing and awakening.
He had lost enough loved ones, with Obara being his latest loss. He could not lose another one, especially the Dragoness that he had taken a personal liking to. He had heard that she had similar adventures, where she was at the Stranger's door but still recovered in the end.
Yet, none of those stories helped with the feeling of the current situation. Waking up every day, only to hear there is no progress. Only to go back to sleep hours later, without any news of recovery or change.
It reminded Oberyn of when his mother fell ill, a little before her passing.
He was young back then, not that young, but he had yet to fully live his life. His mother had been bedridden for days, with no sign of her recovering or growing stronger.
Eventually, Oberyn had returned to the Palace one day after training, only to be told the news that she had taken her last breath while he was absent.
He could not imagine reliving that, with Visenya of all people.
"There has been news," he added, after realizing that the Old Lion was not in the mood to comment on anything.
"About?" Tywin eventually asked as their gazes met again, each one of them standing at opposite sides of the bed.
"Her battle," he started. "Her sword was found deep in the chest of the undead dragon. They suspect that she jumped from her dragon and stabbed the other."
Tywin could not help but look at his unconscious wife, pressing his lips to form a thin line while he held back any comments. Hearing of the reckless move she pulled only upset him more because Visenya had once again risked her life, without caring how hurt everyone else would be if she were not to survive this time.
"Of course she did," he commented with some mockery, yet not fully surprised that she had pulled such a stunt.
A part of him, deep within him, was actually proud. Even after all those years, Visenya remained the headstrong, fearless and strong woman that Tywin had always known her capable of being. She had risked everything, pulling the impossible to do the right thing.
Even now, she still gives it all when she fights... always gives it all to take down the danger threatening her family, he thought, and he was once again conflicted on whether he should be angry and annoyed at her actions and character or even proud.
However, he reminded himself that he was not alone in the room.
Oberyn was still there, watching him in silence and that did not give him the privilege of privacy, to act differently and more naturally.
Indeed, the Dornish Prince had been silently studying Tywin. Struck with grief, he was not able to keep the mask he had long learnt to wear.
He was still the cold and ruthless Old Lion many knew him as, but there were cracks in this false image.
Much to his surprise, Oberyn swore he saw a few different tiny changes in him. It was clear that the mighty Tywin Lannister was not the cold man he had led people to think he was, at least not anymore.
Visenya had somehow changed him and now the Viper could see it clearly. It was an unexpected thing but he did not challenge or mock it.
Now it was not the time and perhaps never should be, all in the name and respect of Visenya, who was currently sleeping on the bed and was not waking up.
"You know," he started, once again breaking the odd silence that seemed to dominate the room. "She fought hard for you," he continued, earning the golden-flecked emerald eyes on him. "She went to great lengths to protect you from my wrath, to bring forward the truth of Elia's murder... I don't know why or how but she cares about you, much to my dismay."
Tywin was looking at him, hearing what he had to say. He could try to deny everything or react, but he was quite tired of faking everything.
Plus, with how certain Oberyn was sounding, it was evident even to a child that trying to argue would not change anything.
"Your point, Prince Oberyn?" he asked, trying to remain civilised but his patience was running rather thin these past few days.
"My point, Lord Tywin, is that you do not respect her efforts," the Dornish Prince said, sounding a little harsher than before. "She did everything she could to keep you alive and yet... you wither in this room, starving yourself... she would not be happy with that."
The Old Lion's lips turned into a snarl, aged wise eyes narrowing in warning at the blunt words of the cocky prince. He might be right but who gave him the right to speak to him that way?
To openly accuse him of something, whether that be the truth or not.
For a moment, Tywin really felt the need to fight him, either physically or verbally, just to teach him a lesson on the matters of respect. Yet, he held himself back as if he could feel Visenya's hand on his shoulder, passively and silently telling him not to pick a fight.
She was always the one to help keep his temper in check, hold him back and save him from acting on impulses when his patience ran thin.
"You should go eat, something quick," Oberyn continued, not showing whether he took personal amusement in his reaction. "If she wakes up while you are gone, I will personally come to inform you."
It may sound odd or suspicious, to hear the famous Red Viper passively looking after the Old Lion, considering the bad blood existing between them for years to come. However, one should remember why this conversation was going on in the first place.
Oberyn did not choose to visit Tywin or tell him to go eat because he suddenly cared for the older man. By the Seven, no; he would never stop hating the Lion across from him.
No, Oberyn tried to pressure Tywin for two reasons.
One, he wished to stay with Visenya, and he would not be able to do so with Tywin guarding her day and night.
Two, he knew Visenya cared for him. In the events of the worst-case scenario, where Visenya would not wake up from her slumber... he knew she would wish for Tywin to continue without her, especially after all she sacrificed for him and the Lion family.
The two men kept looking at one another like two goats ready to butt heads and see who would win. The tension between them still existed but they remained civil, purely out of respect for the woman lying on the bed between them.
Visenya had cared for both of them, with different emotions. She had been a big part of their lives; both men respected and even harboured feelings for her. For her sake alone, they were willing not to kill one another, but that would never change what they felt for each other.
Tywin was sceptical, clearly not wishing to leave Visenya's side, let alone leave her in the same room with Oberyn. His body, though, was complaining from the lack of food and the bad posture on the uncomfortable wooden chair.
He knew Oberyn was right and Visenya would not be happy if she found out how he neglected himself in his grief, similarly to how he had done when Joanna died.
He swallowed his pride.
"I will be back shortly. Dare to try anything and I will find out," he warned Oberyn and despite his wounded ego, he started to march with confident steps towards the door.