A/N: I have not read the books so this story is based only on information provided in the show, if it is different from what is in the books I'm sorry. I had a weird idea for a story and I wanted an excuse to dive into the back story of a couple of the characters; plus as much as I hope my favorite characters survive the new season I doubt it will happen. And yes, this is a Daenerys and Jorah fic, I'm torn between loving their friendship and shipping them together. It picks up directly after Season 7 left off.

Disclaimer: All characters and setting/ universe belong to the author George R.R. Martin and or the writers for the show, I write for fun; no copyright infringement intended.

Chapter One

Daenerys stood in the chamber Jon had given her, toying with the idea he had put in her head. As a Queen she needed an heir, but as a woman, and someday as a wife she wanted a child. Her pulse pounding as the man stepped into the room. Samwell Tarly was not a maester, but he was a man Jon trusted, he was well read and had just returned from the citadel; though he looked uncomfortable just now.

"Do you know anything of blood magic?" She asked quietly, Jon had told her that Sam knew of what had happened when she dealt with the Lannister's army, he'd also told her what Lord Tarly had done to his eldest son. She did not regret what she had to do in war, knowing what the man had threatened to do to his own son did not give her any more cause for sorrow.

Still a part of her was surprised he'd agreed to see her, let alone help her. But Jon had made her wonder, made her curious enough to seek out an opinion; and there were only so many who would even consider what she had to say.

"A little, most of it is nonsense, herbs and plants used to make people believe they've been cursed; some poisons too." Sam started, Daenerys only nodded, of course he would dismiss it; anyone would. While the Dothraki feared the blood magic of those they enslaved they avoided talking about it, avoided learning about it out of fear. "There are a few documented cases of magic, maesters were unable to explain them but I'd guess more often than not it is a trick of some sort."

"What documentation?" She questioned.

"I have some scrolls, I brought them up here. On the wall we saw things no one said were real, but they were and now we are facing them. Legends and myths, stories told to children, but a maester a long time ago believed they were real enough to write them down. Blood magic is no different, we fear it because we do not understand it, but some have also written about it, I haven't read all of it…"

"Does it say anything of making a woman barren?" Daenerys asked softly, others may question her belief; but she had not carried a child since she lost Rhaego; she had not taken precautions. Her way of testing it perhaps, of hoping that she was wrong. "Of anything that can be done about it?"

"I will try to find out. Can you tell me when it happened? What happened?" He studied her. Daenerys took a steading breath and told him about that time. "Did she give you anything?"

"I don't know." She whispered, Jorah had been there, but she knew that he would not have watched.

"I'll find out what I can." Sam murmured.

Daenerys nodded, now her focus needed to be on the true reason they were in the North. News was filtering in from throughout the seven kingdoms; Varys' birds were flying and Jon's friends from the wall had come south; it was past time for all of them to meet.

They had breeched the wall; the dead were coming, but so were mercenaries from Essos. The reports from Varys' informants were disheartening, they had sailed North to meet with Jon Snow's forces and fight the war that was coming. But Cersei's truce was a farce and the southern army was not coming to help them, if they came at all it would not be to their aid. The wights and the Night king had breeched the wall at Eastwatch by the sea and had begun marching south.

Ser Jorah had stood silently in the shadows of the room as they discussed the information that had made its way North, his presence was reassuring for her. Westeros had been his home, he may have spent the last years in exile, but he knew more of this place, and these families than she did. He had come here for her and he had come back to her; after everything that had happened between them and to him.

The meeting ended and as everyone began to slip away Jon put a hand on her arm; drawing her to the side. Jorah glanced to her before he slipped out, Jon wanted to talk to her alone; she trusted him. The meeting was a blow, but what Jon shared in private left her reeling and she stepped back from him.

They had been together, she cared for him, but he was family; that he was her nephew. He'd been given proof and given how her dragons had responded to him she could believe it. A memory of Viserys' cruelty crept through her, he had been the only member of her family she'd known; Jon was so different.

He was brave and kind, stubborn and loyal, all traits she had admired, she had begun to love. It soured what they had shared, yet as she looked at him, she did not want it to change their friendship; this was a man who believed in his people.

"Daenerys, I've sworn fealty to you; and I will help you. We don't have to tell anyone else of this, Sam and Bran won't; we can trust them. We need to focus on the war ahead." Jon reassured her quietly and she believed his words; if the man would lie a little it might have helped them in King's Landing. "I don't want the Iron Throne, I will support you."

"Your Northern lords may feel differently." She murmured.

"You have no idea." He sighed and paused as there was a knock on the door.

She called out a greeting and Jorah stepped into the room. "With respect Khaleesi, there is something I might suggest. I know the coasts quite well, I grew up on Bear Island and I spent some time in the East before I left Westeros; that land is sparsely populated."

"Go ahead, please." She stepped aside, relieved at Jorah's interruption and Jon nodded eagerly as he stepped towards the map spread across the table.

Jorah indicated the location where the Night King's army had last been spotted. "If we could delay the Night King's army, we might be able lower their numbers before we have to face them."

"How?" Jon leaned over the table, his eyes scanning the terrain indicated on the map, Daenerys shifted closer, she had always counted on Jorah's advice; but never seen him giving it in a place that he knew.

"This river creates the narrows, it hasn't frozen yet and it will keep their army on a direct course that we can control." His eyes rose subtly to hers, she knew how he intended to ensure the river didn't freeze. "The Night King will stay with them, meaning Viserion will be with them and he must be destroyed."

Jorah's voice softened at the last words, and she felt her heart tighten; she hated to think of her dragon as that horrible thing's slave. "It is too dangerous for us to use your dragons until we know Viserion is gone. There is an old watch tower, it is abandoned and crumbling; it was built to guard the shale caves. The land above them is like glass; it shatters with any weight."

"How do you intend to use this terrain?" Jon asked following Jorah's indications.

"Those caves have been used by poachers targeting the Islands for many generations, I used to be thankful we didn't have them on the West coast. Shale is wet rock; it splits when exposed to heat. Rock slides are common, if we drive them over that pass, we have a chance at eliminating Viserion and destroying a portion of their army. Hemmed in by the sea on one side and the river on the other they will have no choice but to march on until the caves fill with bodies or retreat; lay a bed of coals in the caves and the ground above will collapse. Put every archer we have on the Southern side with dragon glass arrow tips and tell them to aim for the white walkers. Put your best marksmen in the tower with dragon glass bolts."

"If we can eliminate Viserion we could at least consider bringing the other two dragons into play." Jon jumped in and as he began to plan Jorah glanced to her. "We could use the catapults and other siege works on the West side of the river; avoid losing men."

Daenerys nodded and watched as the two began to plan for the battle, in this war guerrilla tactics were their best bet, to keep the army of the dead as far north and away from communities which could add to their number and to preserve the lives of their own men. Jon confirmed that the river had not frozen, wide and deep it was always one of the last to freeze over; to be sure he would arrange scouts to watch it even as they mobilized to head east.

As they planned how to make it work, she listened, it was good; it was better than anything they'd had so far. And Jorah thought about how to preserve the lives of their men. They had to win, and they had to come away strong enough to face the fight the South would bring when they were weak.

But as she listened, she winced, her head ache had returned, as time passed, they became worse and she knew the nightmares would come tonight. It scared her more than a little, but she said nothing, no one could think her weak; or that she might go mad like her father. Right now, she could not think about that, they had very little time to prepare and every moment counted.

"You will need to speak to Lady Mormont about that." Jorah murmured, she heard a little sadness in his voice; Jon had suggested attacking from the sea; the Mormonts were used to living on the water.

"We will do that." She offered him an out, it could not be easy to be back here, he'd once told her he longed for home; but she wondered if being here was any comfort. A child stood at the head of house Mormont and she knew him well enough to believe he felt responsible for the burden placed on such young shoulders.

"I will take some men and ride east, we will take shelter under the cliffs and begin work; it is going to take some time." Jorah murmured.

"I'll send scouts to check the river and ask Bran to do a fly over on the army again." Jon nodded to both of them and then glanced back to her. "I'll go with you to speak to Lady Mormont, she's than pleased that I've bent the knee."

Daenerys nodded, she was looking forward to meeting the young Lady Mormont, she couldn't help being a little curious about her loyal advisor's family. Within the hour both Jorah's team and the scouts were preparing to ride out and she went to meet with the young Lady of Bear Island; even with Jon's introduction the girl was clearly skeptical.

However, she was willing to support the war effort and offered her own men who were used to being out on the bay for the attack by sea. Daenerys could admit that she liked the child, she was strong, and she did not flinch as they spoke of war; she wanted to fight for her home.

"How did you know of the tower? Of the caves?" Lyanna Mormont studied them for a moment before looking back to the map before them. Bear Island was situated in the bay on Western coast, the large island was densely forested and sparsely populated, but the East Coast was rocky, difficult ground; the waters rough.

"Your uncle, Jorah is in my service." She watched for the girl's reaction, she was not sure if they had met yet. "He has taken a crew to begin work in the caves."

"My cousin." Lyanna murmured. "He is my cousin, not my uncle."

"He is important to me, whatever he did before, however wrong it was; I do not believe he is that man today." The girl did not know him, not the way Daenerys did; of course, she would judge him by the stories she had been told.

"If you believe that then how well do you know him?" Lyanna looked at her, a secret in her eyes and Daenerys frowned, caught off guard.

The young girl slipped away, flanked by her maester and advisor as she went to inform her men of their part in this war. Daenerys took the moment alone to rub her temples, this was the worst possible time for her headaches to be a distraction; everything hinged on the battles to come.

…

With no time to spare they had teams working around the clock, every bit of dragon glass that had been mined was fashioned into weapons; hundreds of arrows were made. Siege works from all across the north rolled east; being stationed along the west side of the river. Their soldiers camped along the river and the rocky beaches, in the shadow of the cliffs as scouts patrolled the river's course.

They destroyed a bridge once their men crossed, eliminating every route across the river, except for on the back of a strong horse, but even that was risky. Men camped in the tower, fires burning and a man always ready with the heavy bolts; one of the men from the Night's watch had brought the powerful weapon down from the wall. It was their best chance against Viserion and the giants, they had spears tipped with dragon glass and staffs wrapped in oil rags; their two best defenses.

Jorah spent most of his time near the caves, they had piled dry wood, drenched in oils and fats, whatever was at hand, almost five feet high for the length of the underground passage. At the first sight of the army it would be lit; any wights that stepped onto the ground above would plummet into the fire.

"Ser Jorah." A familiar voice called to him from the mouth of the cave, he had been placing the small and precious pots of wildfire they had managed to acquire at intervals through the wood.

He backed out carefully, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the daylight again; he hadn't dared carry a torch with him. "Samwell Tarly."

He offered his hand, he owed this man his life and it was not something he would soon forget. He shouldn't be surprised to see the maester up here, he belonged to the Nights watch after all.

"You look well, Jon said you were the one who planned all this." The young man gestured to the rocky hills, hidden behind them was the bulk of their strength; all they could do now was wait.

"I am well, thanks to you." Jorah studied the young man, Sam was a man of the Nights watch, and a talented young maester, his own health a testament to that; but he wondered if the young man might be better suited tending the wounded.

In this war there was the grim reality that as soon as a man died, he must be burned, lest their enemy gain another soldier. That meant everyone not able to fight was tasked with dragging the wounded and the dead back from the line; the young maester might serve better there.

"I brought you something." The young man held out a sword belt that had been slung over his shoulder. "I'll be in the camp, but this might do some good, Jon says Valyrian steel can destroy wights, I would be honored if you would use it."

Sam fumbled with the weight of the belt and Jorah reached out, grabbing it before it fell. It was a fine sword, a sword meant for battle; but not for him. "This is your family's sword, it should be with you, or your kin."

"No, my family is gone, my father and brother burned at the battle in the south. But they washed their hands of me a long time ago, it was meant to be here, just like you and I are." The young man spoke with conviction and Jorah pulled it from the sheath, it was a good weight and well balanced. "I want it to do some good."

"Thank you." He murmured. "Whatever happens to me, make sure you get it back."

Sam rode away, presumably down to the camp and left him looking at the weapon; he'd seen what a Valyrian sword could do first hand. He had a pair of daggers made of dragon glass, but a sword was an advantage; he'd been swinging one since he was old enough to hold it. His father had seen to that, he sighed, he'd thought of coming home often in the years since he'd left; he hadn't expected it to be like this. In truth a part of him had never really believed he would see Westeros again.

Yet he was here, and if he closed his eyes, he could see the outline of his home through the fog; he was standing on land he'd walked as a boy, trying to keep up with his father's long strides as they travelled towards a battle; a different war. And he was preparing for battle again, a war they had to win.

Suddenly a distant shriek split the air, a sound he knew all to well; anyone who spent enough time around the dragons would. But this time it sent a chill up his spine and sent him running for his horse; he could already see the smoke signal coming from the west; the army was approaching.

Jorah tied his horse to the post and climbed the steep rocks quickly, into the tower and up. Already the men scanned the sky, trying to spot the dragon; he looked for the army. And had to swallow hard, he'd seen them once before, but this was different, they marched for as far as the eye could see across a wide stretch of land from sea to riverbed.

Steeling his nerves, he watched their approach, his eyes roaming up as the dragon's calls drew closer; the signal from the tower would begin the battle. It was his call to make, but suddenly a fire ball burst from the darkness of the bay, and he cursed under his breath as it flew west until it struck the beast; flying above the army.

"There!" Men called and even as they spun their heavy weapon to take aim the men of Bear Island fired again at the dead dragon.

Dread gathered in his throat as Viserion wheeled towards the bay, balls of fire rained from the sky and many struck the dragon; many more dropped into the vast ranks of wights beneath it. The flame it breathed was terrible blue and blasted across the rocks sending smoke and rock flying; striking some of its own wights.

Jorah gave the signal and black smoke billowed from the tower, the army was nearly on top of them now. But he lingered a moment at the top of the tower, watching the dragon swoop over the water as the Mormont boats danced low across the water; one just barely missed the dragon's icy flame. Bolts flew from the tower, deep blue dragon glass glinted at the tips as flame consumed the shafts; all trying for the same thing.

The beast howled and its wing caught fire, for a moment hope rose inside of him. If the dragon was consumed in flame the Night king would be as well; this would be over before it truly begun. But it twisted back to shore, firing a last blast at the boats that had targeted it and made land.

Their bolts struck it, but it clambered across the ground, crushing wights as its master drove it on; in horror he realized where it was going. Blue fire burst from its mouth, across the river, freezing what was in its path; wights began to pour west across the ice. Across the river that was meant to be their protection.

"Ser Jorah!" A man called as he started for the stairs, drawing him back to look in amazement as the land just south of them fell away, smoke billowed up and wights dropped into the green flames of wildfire. It worked. They had stopped the march south, and the archers on that flank took up the fight with vengeance.

He climbed down from the tower and pushed his horse hard through the shallow waters, past the flaming cavern that continued to consume the wights that stumbled into it and up onto the southern line. Viserion's blue flames destroyed siege works but he could no longer see the Night King on his back.

"Light a barrel." He ordered, stepping to the lever of a catapult and adjusting the target. He waited a long moment and then released the lever, sending the flaming missile high above the fight before it crashed over the dragon; joined by others along the line.

The creature screamed in agony, as though it was dying again, making his heart tighten as fire spread over it's back. Suddenly the bright flame of a living dragon cut a path along the river, and his chest tightened more; Drogon soared high above the fight.

Only one would be riding him and Jorah willed her back, she was meant to watch until they had neutralized that threat. But as its brother's flame poured upon it the creature, the wights surrounding it and the ice on the river melted away. The second dragon followed the same path, destroying a wide swath of wights before turning to the east; swooping away from the battle.

Jorah could not see how many wights had breeched the western boundary, but he saw men meet them; defending the siege works. And that had to be enough, the army they faced was vast, they were destroying countless wights and yet more poured forward as though there was no end to them.

Daenerys returned with her dragons, having circled far north she blasted a path through the middle of the army, keeping the dragons high and moving fast. Fear crept into him as the flame poured towards him, towards everyone manning the southern line, but the dragons stopped breathing fire and pulled up, soaring high over their heads, heading for horizon.

She had started a little early, but she had heeded their advice, stay high and make single passes; follow no pattern. The scant hours of daylight faded and soon it was not dark smoke that blanketed them but night itself. Yet the battle wore on, they held their ground, fires burned everywhere as dragon glass arrow heads became prized and flaming arrows traced eerie paths through the darkness.

Everyone was tired yet none gave up, he took over for a young archer who was nearing exhaustion. Barely more than a boy, the young man did not leave the line but took up a torch. Jorah nocked his arrow and held steady for one of the boys to light it, then tipped it up; there was little aim involved. He simply pointed it north across the ravine that still burned with wildfire; the occasional wight stumbled in trying to avoid their arrows.

Again, and again they filled the sky with arrows, he felt a surge of pride as the men at sea launched their fiery barrels of oil at the giants, in the field that they could see only one remained upright and three ships were targeting it now.

Hour after hour passed, he reached for arrows mindlessly until someone grabbed one from his hand. Jorah turned to look back, a young girl stood behind him. She held out a canteen, and he took it gratefully. "This whole line is changing out, you should go back to the camp."

"I'll stay." He said firmly, his body begged for rest but there were men who needed it more; nodded to the young man who had been lighting his arrows. He'd known long battles before, many of the young men here were children; this was their first. "You go on, we may need you back up here before too long."

The boy took off all to eagerly and Jorah took another gulp from the canteen before offering it back; the girl didn't take it but reached for the one strapped to his side. He nodded in thanks and switched them out, it might be winter, but it was all to warm up here, his skin was covered in soot and ash from the fires and he had lain his heavy cloak over his saddle for fear of lighting himself on fire with a misstep. As he reached back again for an arrow the girl stepped forward; taking the torch that had been left behind.

"You're the only one who didn't leave the line." She observed, holding the torch to the tip of his arrow. "What house do you belong to?"

"I don't belong to any house." There was a very good chance he had stood beside his own kin at one point or another tonight. "You shouldn't be up here, we've enough men without putting children on the line."

"Has a wight made it past that yet?" The girl glanced towards the ravine that still threw smoke and green flame.

"Not yet."

"Then I'm safe enough, the men need to work in shifts if we are to hold the line." She spoke with authority only dimmed as she tipped her head up to watch the dragons make another pass; awe written across her face.

He watched as well, he saw a spear fly up, but it went wide. Drogon responded easily to his mother and changed course, both dragons disappeared out over the sea unharmed. The girl said little more but stayed with him for a time, expertly lighting his arrows.

Dawn broke, though the heavy smoke made it hard to tell, made it hard to breathe too but it meant they were holding on. There was a lull on his side, the wights seemed to realize they were stuck and so the men rested for a little while. Jorah intended to join them for a moment, his arms ached when he picked out a distinctive figure in the formation and quickly reached for an arrow.

"Do you see that one, with the blue skin?" He pointed it out to the girl as he fastened one of the few dragon glass arrow heads he had left onto the tip.

"Is that the Night King?" She followed his gaze.

"No, but it is a white walker. They are the ones we need to destroy." And if he could make the shot, he would make his point.

Holding for a moment he watched the smoke billow up and then loosed the arrow; watching its path. He glanced to the girl with a wince as the arrow pierced the white walker's skull; it was violent business for a girl. But she had been on the front line for over an hour, she'd seen violence and she gave a little nod as it struck true and gasped as a large section of the western flank crumbled to the dust and bone. "Those are what we want to hit, watch the field and tell me if you see more."

She nodded, and encouraged volleys came from the east and the west, arrows and flaming barrels of oil crashed into the sea of the dead. Suddenly another group of wights collapsed to dust without warning, though they destroyed many of them the narrows was still full of the creatures, tens of thousands of them; yet on a far hill he thought he could see an end to them. A group of horses stood, outlined on the horizon, he would lay money that it was the Night king and his generals watching the battle.

This was not the battle to win the war, they were still badly outnumbered, but they had eliminated some of the Night king's strongest weapons and proved to themselves, to their men that this was an enemy that could be beaten back. A group of men approached from the camp, they couldn't be called fresh but at this point no one could and took over the line.

Jorah handed off his position, he needed a better view of the battle field, and then he needed to see what the western flank looked like. He took his horse down to the bank and into the water, not wanting to risk the shore in case any wights decided to try the rocks.

As he rode past the enemy ranks his eyes roamed up, he did not understand what compelled these creatures to fight, or what magic bound them to the white walkers. But as he approached the tower, he heard a distinctly human, living human shout and saw a man dragged from the base of the tower.

Climbing and scrambling up the cliffs he glanced to the fire they had lit at the entrance, had the tower been breeched? Drawing his sword, he cut a path into the wights, they clambered over each other to attack the man they drew deeper into their ranks.

However, he noted that while these wights were disfigured, they hadn't been dead long; they were wildlings. Only then he realized it was Tormund they had, the wildling who had gone north with the party from Eastwatch; brought the news down from the wall. It was very possible the wights trying to kill them had been men that man had known, men his own father had fought; Jorah pushed it from his mind as he forced his own path forward.

He didn't dare look back to see how far they were from the tower, each step meant it would be harder to get back. His sword sliced through the skull of one and cut another in half before he swung it up and sliced off the arm of the wight that pulled Tormund down; a beast bigger that the wildling himself. But under the Valyrian blade it fell, finally in the sleep of death.

The wildling stumbled forward as Jorah whipped around, he felt the man hit him, using his frame to regain his balance. For a moment their eyes locked, his father had spent years trying to gain control of the wildlings beyond the wall; had lost his life beyond that wall. He and the wildling had come damn close to dying side by side once already, it wasn't going to happen today.

On his feet again Tormund took up weapons from the ground and step by step they edged towards the fire until a hand grabbed at him. Hauling him into the safety of the tower, Jorah leaned against the stones warmed from the fire and took a steadying breath, Tormund met his eyes and nodded slightly.

What would his father think of this? It had been so many years since he had spoken to the man he didn't know, had he come to see Jon Snow's way before his death? Had he seen the threat they faced? Jorah could never ask him now, he could never put that right and it did no good to dwell on it; the wildling fought with them. After a few moments he accepted more water from the men who guarded the base and some bread before climbing the steps to get a better view of the field below; it was the only break he would get.

"What do you think?" The wildling had followed him up. "Hell of a lot less than when we started."

"They all have to be destroyed." He sighed, this wasn't a war that could be won with survivors swearing fealty to their Queen. Was it a kindness to send what was left of these men to the peace of death, or simply a matter of survival? Either way the tide was turning, and an eerie sound had the wights beginning to fall back; perhaps the Night King did not intend to mindlessly sacrifice them. "We need to head west, it is time for the Dothraki to help."

The Dothraki were held in reserve, likely feeling impatient by now, armed with dragon glass blades they would cut through the rear of the troops. He knew from first hand experience how effective they could be as row after row of powerful horses and fearless warriors hit with force. They were not to push deep into the ranks, only to keep them moving and thin out the flanks where they could; a unit of Unsullied would follow to take care of any who fell.

Tormund rode with him as they swung south of the battle and around, crossing the river to ride up the western flank. They passed the waste where Viserion had destroyed siege works and men, and the bones of wights that had made it across before they were slain; any of their own dead had been pulled from the bones to be burned.

The wildling left him for a group of his own archers and Jorah continued to ride North looking for Jon, his eyes occasionally scanned the sky for any sign of the dragons. Suddenly a scuffle caught his attention, some wights had fallen near the shore, the cries of a girl had him turning his horse into the river. But his irritation dampened a little as he realized who was caught in the ranks this time, it was the Northern king; and the man had killed yet another white walker.

Not all the wights surrounding the young man belonged to it, as some disintegrated others attacked, and the man fell. The young man was supposed to be the King of the North, he was going to get himself killed at this rate. First beyond the wall and now across the river, kicking his horse hard to fight the water Jorah swung down and drew his sword again; it was one thing for a soldier to take a risk, another for a King.

The wights had thinned out here, many already marching North on command, he cut through the ones that were closest, his horse trampled some, charging blindly into the throng. Jorah left the animal, hauling the young man up onto his shoulder he turned back to the river; he wanted to put the water between them and the wights as soon as possible.

But the river was chest deep, and the long battle was catching up to him; he struggled under the young man's weight. Only a will to live kept him putting one foot in front of the other, glaring at the men on shore who seemed afraid to wade in to help; their eyes glued to their supposed king draped unconscious over his shoulder. None moved, until a young girl broke through, racing towards him; he recognized her as the youngest Stark.

"No!" He shouted but it was to late, the water was up to his chest, it was taking all his effort to keep Jon's head above the water; he freed one hand to reach for the girl.

Wincing as Jon's head slammed into his back, the unconscious man limp and heavy but the girl caught hold of his wrist; he saw the fear in her eyes. The water was nearly to her neck, he gripped her tight as they struggled, and Jorah stepped forward; eyes on the far bank. The girl was strong, nearly upsetting his balance as she pulled herself up his arm, there was fear in her eyes. She would have been wiser to push off and try to make it back; he wasn't sure he could get them to shore.

Suddenly two of the fearful soldiers went flying and the redhaired wildling pushed through. He nearly sighed in relief as Tormund waded towards him; lifting Jon's weight from his shoulder. "He's still alive?"

"Yes." Jorah growled, angry that it was a wildling that came for the man the northerners themselves had chosen.

Free of the weight he lifted girl higher and followed the wildling to shore, it was irony somehow, the bastard and daughter of the man that had once wanted his head had been in his arms in that river, but it was the wildling they all had feared who came to help.

But the girl turned back to him. "Come with us to Winterfell, if you don't get out of those clothes you will freeze."

He knew that, he knew it all to well and nodded, glancing back to the battle once more; the Dothraki had begun their assault and the Unsullied marched behind in tight formation. The battle was done for today, and they had won this round. Jorah climbed numbly into the wagon with the Starks and the wildling, he helped lay hot stones around Jon Snow, the man had taken a hard hit and had yet to come around.