This story is an alternate version of season 8 in which Cersei did send her amies north and the army of the dead wasn't defeated in one night (English isn't my mother tongue so I'm sorry if I made mistakes).

I hope you will like it!

The sun has drowned in his congealing blood

oOo

It's snowing when they arrive in King's Landing.

Riding his horse, Tyrion looks around. The falling snow covers the landscape as it has covered his memories. He can't recognize anything.

They see many peasants walking in the opposite direction, heads down.

"Where are they going?" he asks, unsure.

Sansa gives him a tired look. The light is gone from her eyes.

"South, I guess."

Something casts a shadow over them. They look up to stare at Drogon's clumsy silhouette. He can barely fly with his torn, wounded wing. From the corner of his eye, Tyrion sees Daenerys lowering her head and Jon trying to comfort her.

Riverrun's attack has been long and bloody. The army of the dead is coming for them, slowly but inexorably. There is nothing left of the former Tully castle.

Brienne, who's riding a few feet behind them, catches up with them.

"How is my sister?" Sansa asks at once.

Brienne's face is serious.

"Not well, I'm afraid. If she's not treated shortly..."

Tyrion turns around. Clinging to the Hound, Arya looks like she's about to fall off the horse. The two stabs she took have not killed her yet but death never gives up so easily.

Ser Jorah, who had gone ahead, comes back to them.

"The city gates are open, Khaleesi. I didn't spot any dangers."

"Let's hurry, then."

She rides faster, as if she were running away from death itself.

.

Daenerys feels like she's dreaming. The silence in King's Landing is only broken by the crackle of their horses' hooves on the snow. Drogon's shadow is soon out of her sight - her child is probably in search of a place suitable for landing.

"It's like everyone's gone," Jon notices.

The only people they see are leaving the city.

"There's nothing left for them here," Daenerys says softly.

Is there anything left for her? She has dreamt of this city. She closes her eyes and tries to picture the blue sky, the never-ending ocean of words in the colorful streets.

When she opens them, her visions disappear. There's only snow.

Jon has seen her blank expression and puts his hand on her swollen belly.

"Is everything alright?"

"It is," she comforts him, covering his hand with hers.

She had lost all hope, had refused to believe it for months, telling everyone it was impossible over and over but her growing belly couldn't be ignored forever.

"It'll be here soon."

Jon's voice is a worried whisper. He's right, it's only a matter of weeks now but none of them are able to take any joy from it.

Oh, my sweet winter child. Will you see the next summer?

Jon keeps looking back.

"I'm worried about Arya."

His jaw tenses. So many dead... will the gods be cruel enough to take his dear sister from him? Daenerys thinks of Grey Worm and Missandei and ice crystals stab her through the heart. He died at the beginning of the war, at Winterfell and she died too when they fled the Eyrie, two years ago. The cold of her loneliness is deadlier than the one who's been freezing Westeros.

Finally, they can see the Red Keep. Jorah and Jon help her dismount and they enter the deserted courtyard. The snow keeps falling down on them.

In her dreams, Daenerys would see a place crowded with people and laughs. She would see a prosperous kingdom under the rule of a fair Queen.

"Dany?"

There was never snow, nor this deafening silence.

"Let's go."

.

"You stand in the presence of Cersei Lannister, the First of her name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms."

Qyburn sounds unconvinced by his own words as Cersei's mind seems to be far away from here. She's on the Throne but it's as if it doesn't even matter to her. Is she resigned?

Tyrion hasn't seen her for five years. Although her eyes are somewhat lifeless, she looks pretty much the same. She looks at each and every one of them and a worried light shines briefly in her green gaze.

"He's fine," he responds to her silent question. "He's leading the rest of our soldiers. They were a few miles behind us, they'll be here soon."

She may be relieved but she doesn't show any sign of it. As silence lingers, Jon steps forward.

"Your Grace. My sister Arya has been badly hurt while we were running away. She needs to be treated. "

The Hound is carrying her. She's still unconscious.

"Qyburn will take care of her."

Cersei's Hand asks Sandor to follow him and they both leave the Throne Room. Jon seems tempted to follow them but he doesn't move. Sansa looks worried.

Two children storm into the room. Tyrion hesistates for an instant but the golden hair and the green eyes make his heart beat way too fast. He knows, of course he knows.

Cersei talks but he barely listens to her. All he can focus on is the light coming from Alysanne and Damon Lannister.

His sister closes her eyes and kisses them before sending them back to their room. She looks at Daenerys's belly with pity.

"What happened?" she asks at last, crossing her hands in her lap.

They used to send ravens to the capital a long time ago, but then all the ravens died or flew away to better places. It's been three years since the last scroll.

Jon begins to sum up their run to escape death. How they left Winterfell and found shelter in the Vale. The Night King's unexpected attack in the Eyrie when they thought they were safe. Their travel to Riverrun and the fight during which almost all their soldiers died.

Finally, the road to King's Landing, crushed by the weight of snow and death.

They're all looking down by the time Jon finishes his story. Cersei closes her eyes and thinks for a few moments.

"I see."

After a few more moments, she stands up.

"I guess you need to rest. We'll talk tomorrow."

She walks away, her back bent.

"Dark wings, dark words," Tyrion whispers.

.

Cersei watches the twins' peaceful sleep. Her sweet winter children.

"Cersei."

She dares not look around. Maybe they're all dead already. Maybe she's dying, hallucinating. Yet, the two arms wrapping about her waist have never felt so real. Tears that aren't hers roll down her neck.

"They're beautiful."

She turns around and brushes slightly Jaime's face with her fingers.

"It's you."

Their lips meet and they intertwine their fingers. For the first time in five years, she's finally whole.

"Come closer."

She takes his hand and leads him to the bed.

"They're like us, nothing can keep them apart."

As she reaches out to wake them up, he holds her back.

"Don't."

"I want you to meet them," Cersei says. "I want them to know who their father is."

"There'll be plenty of time later."

"No!"

She lets go of him and takes a few steps back, as if he had slapped her.

"We don't have time," she weeps. "We don't-"

"Cersei."

He ignores her protests and pulls her into another embrace, trapping her.

"At least we're together."

He tries to sound confident but his broken voice betrays him.

"Until the end?"

"Until the end."

.

Sansa and Jon are sitting on Arya's bed. Her burning forehead is covered with sweat.

"Do you remember the day Father came back badly wounded?" Jon asks.

Aegon Targaryen is a ghost who doesn't belong here. Only Jon Snow matters.

"Of course," Sansa answers, wiping the sweat away.

It's a day she liked to remember before, before the White Walkers, before the war, before winter.

"Tell me," Jon asks.

"What for?" she says almost harshly.

Jon doesn't respond and just lowers his head, as if he were crushed by the snow falling outside.

"I can't bring hope to anyone any more. How could I expect the opposite of you, or anyone else?" he sighs, defeated.

He stands up and walks away before he can see the tears in Sansa's eyes.

"Jon."

His hand on the door handle, he freezes.

"Please sit back down."

So Jon does.

.

When Sansa remembers this day, the first thing she sees is the chimney fire in her parents' room.

Her father had come back wounded from a trip to the Wall - he had run into Wildlings on the way. He had been uncounscious for two whole days and Maester Luwin feared he would never wake up. So, while Lady Catelyn was praying the Seven, Sansa, Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon and Jon had all crawled into his bed and had lied down beside him. When Catelyn had returned into the room a few hours later, she had found Ned wide awake, watching over his six children who had fallen asleep, lulled by the sound of the flames.

Sansa had opened her eyes for a few seconds.

She had never seen smiles so bright.

.

She tells Jon but it seems distant, strange. It's like looking at the scene from the outside, like having her memories covered by frost. The children in the bed, the smile of Ned and Catelyn Stark, the fire in the chimney. It all seems made up.

Before the end of the night, Jon tells her one last thing. He tells her that he believes, he really does, that if he was with them right now, Father would be proud of her.

That, at least, seems real.

.

No one has been around the small council table for a very long time. Cersei looks at the strange gathering feeling so tired.

Tyrion is playing with his cup filled with water, probably longing for the the taste of wine. Jon put a protective hand on Daenerys's belly. Jorah holds on to his sword as if an invisible threat were looming. Sansa stares blankly. Jaime and Brienne are whispering to each other. The Hound remains silent. A veil is hanging over Bran's eyes.

Qyburn following her, Cersei sits down at the end of the table with all the dignity she can gather. She feels like she's looking straight into death's eyes.

"How many soldiers do you have left?"

Someone answers but she can't even say who. The cold clouds her mind.

"About two thousands."

"The Iron fleet?"

"Gone."

"The golden company?"

"Most sellswords died at Winterfell or in the Vale."

"The Lannister armies?"

"Same thing."

It's like she's not even here any more. The weight of these years of cold and waiting crumbles on her.

"So it was all for nothing."

As if she's in a dreamlike state, she stands up and slowly walks away.

"Cersei."

Tyrion grasps her hand.

"You're Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. We need to cooperate. Please stay."

Without bothering to glance at him, she makes him let go and keeps walking.

Her crown feels like thorns digging into her skull.

.

"Sansa?"

Sansa is dreaming of spring. She wanders in a field of purple flowers with Lady, cheerfully barking. She smells their heady scent before laughing, sealing a promise of sun and blue sky.

"Sansa?"

She opens her eyes. The candles have gone out hours ago but even with no light she's still able to recognize her.

"What are you doing here?" Sansa says. "You're still weak. You shouldn't-"

"I've had a nightmare."

Arya doesn't look like the merciless faceless girl. This one is gone. The one who cuddles up with Sansa is just a scared little girl.

"What did you see?"

"Gendry."

Something wet falls down Sansa's shoulder. Arya's tears are like blades.

"He died because of me."

"No he didn't. It wasn't your fault, Arya."

As they were fleeing Riverrun, Arya had already been stabbed twice when Gendry had cast himself before her.

He hadn't survived.

"There's nothing you could have done," she says again.

"I know, but it doesn't make me feel any better."

She sounds like she has a lump in her throat.

"I'm sorry."

About Gendry, about Theon, Yara, Sam and Gilly, Podrick, Robin Arryn, Davos, Lyanna Mormont, Melisandre, about what is gone and will never come back.

"What are we going to do now?" Arya whispers.

Sansa's lips tremble but she doesn't cry. She has run out of tears.

"You still have your list."

Arya sneers.

"You want me to kill Cersei?"

Sansa would have nodded at once, before, but she has run out of hatred too.

"She's always with her children. It wouldn't be right to do it while they're here," Arya says.

It looks like she's using the blankets as a shield.

"I guess she'll die anyway, won't she? We're all going to die."

Sansa kisses her forehead before hugging her. There's nothing she can do to fight winter but no other nightmare will disturb them this night.

.

"You've changed."

Tyrion is sitting at Cersei's desk as she lights the candles in her room. He's certain he has seen this scene before, certain that if he closes his eyes and opens them a couple of seconds later, everything will have gone back to the way it was.

So he tries.

He closes his eyes but when he opens them, he doesn't see the long hair haunting his memories. He sighs.

"You too," Cersei responds.

"I have more wrinkles now, and I may have lost weight."

His attempt at humour is pathetic but the shadow of a smile twists her lips. It's the first time they've been face to face since he arrived in King's Landing. They're like two strangers kept apart by a snow wall.

"Alysanne and Damon seem to be good children," he offers.

Cersei sits down on her bed. She doesn't drink wine. There isn't a drop left in the capital.

"They're good, and beautiful, and intelligent."

Pride isn't enough to cover the fatigue in her voice.

"I was beginning to think you were dead," she says.

She sounds accusing now.

We're already dead, Tyrion wants to respond, but he remembers the twins smiling so he doesn't.

"Five years," Cersei insists. "Three spent in ignorance. Do you have any idea of.. "

She doesn't finish her sentence and lowers her head, almost shameful.

"I know," Tyrion says.

She weeps. So does he.

.

"How much time?" Daenerys whispers.

Jon can't see the tears in her eyes because of the darkness in their room, but he can perfectly hear them in her voice.

"A few months, I suppose."

He runs his fingers over the skin of her belly, full of something today, maybe empty tomorrow.

"This is not much."

In her mind, her sweet winter child rides Drogon in a clear blue summer sky.

"This is not enough."

Daenerys wants to fight but what can she do? She closes her eyes, tries to think of Jon's laugh, the way he smiles and their child's smile and her beautiful kingdom but all she can see is the Throne covered with snow, the death of any promise for the future.

"We are enough," Jon whispers as he puts his head on her shoulder, trying not to sob.

She'd like to cry but the tears won't come. How could she while Jon is with her? So she sings a song she made up to him, a song of ice and fire in which dragons rule the world and winter ends forever. A song in which their child grows up safe and sound.

"Marry me."

His voice is like a plea.

"Marry me, while there's still time. Please, Dany, say yes."

This time, Daenerys sheds a tear.

.

Sansa looks in the old, broken mirror. Her shattered reflection stares at her with weariness. Behind her, shadows are lurking in her room – the one she slept in the first time she was here.

The sun doesn't light it up any more.

There's a knock on the door.

"Come in."

In the mirror, she watches Cersei stepping forward but she doesn't turn around. They haven't talked to each other since she arrived a week ago. Actually, since she fled King's Landing more than ten years ago.

Cersei doesn't say anything but takes the brush on the dressing table.

"May I?"

Sansa nods slightly before closing her eyes. She sees Winterfell, summer, Lady, Catelyn and imagines that it's her own mother who's brushing her hair.

"You've changed, little dove."

She didn't remember Cersei's voice being so soft.

"I know."

The Queen is braiding her hair up on her head.

"I used to be easier to manipulate."

Cersei laughs faintly.

"Good, good. You've learned something useful."

"You're the one who taught me."

Cersei's fingers freeze. Is it the shadow of a proud smile that Sansa sees in the mirror?

"I'm glad."

There is no trace of the irony or the sarcasm she expected in her voice. She's baffled when she realizes it makes her sad.

"You've changed too."

Cersei makes her turn around but keeps looking at her hair, avoiding her eyes.

"Five years is a long time."

When their eyes meet at last, Sansa only sees the reflection of her own disenchantement. Cersei gives her a sad smile and lets her know she can stand up.

"Let's go. It would be a shame to be late on your brother's wedding day, wouldn't it?"

.

"They're beautiful," Jaime says for the tenth time – at least.

Damon and Alysanne are playing in the snow. Tyrion smiles with patience.

"They are."

Their laugh is like a dream of spring.

"I remember the day the raven came."

Tyrion remembers too. The memory didn't disappear under the snow.

"Tell me," Jaime asks. "You're the one who has a gift for telling stories."

His smile gets broader.

.

He has told Jaime this story before. Actually, Tyrion is sure his brother knows it as well as he does, because every time Jaime wanted to give up, lie down on the snow and wait for the sweet hereafter, too tired to keep moving, Tyrion would lie down beside him and whisper it to him. Then, Jaime would get up and start walking again.

It was before Winterfell's attack. It was snowing and Jaime was training with Brienne in the courtyard. Arya and Tyrion were watching them absently, their eyes turned to the sky. It was Sansa who had given him the scroll. A raven had come from King's Landing, she had said. So Tyrion had done a quick calculation, understanding at once what it was about. He hadn't broken the lion seal, he wanted Jaime to be the first to read the message.

He had went down before giving it to him. Jaime, feeling so tired, had looked at it without understanding, then something odd had happened. He had dropped his sword on the ground, his eyes had lighted up and a smile had twisted his lips for the first time in months.

"Twins," he had whispered, as if he couldn't believe it. "Twins."

Tyrion had read the scroll too. I forbid you to die, his sister had written. It was so Cersei that it had made him laugh.

They had organized a feast that night. Snow was still falling but it didn't matter. For a night, only a night, they had forgotten all about it.

They had dreamt of spring.

.

"Thank you," Jaime says.

Getting tired, the children come to them. Cersei told them about their father, of course, so when they saw him for the first time, standing above them after they woke up, they literally threw their arms around his neck.

"Let's go, we're going to be late," Jaime says as he takes their hands.

Tyrion watches them and he thinks of Myrcella and Tommen. Alysanne and Damon could be like them, if they had the time, if death wasn't coming for them. Good children.

He doesn't see Joffrey.

He doesn't look.

.

"Needle, really?"

Arya raises her eyebrows defiantly before putting the sword back in its sheath.

"Nothing will ever keep us apart."

Jon understands what she really means and runs his hand through her hair. He used to do it all these years ago, at Winterfell, when Arya was still a little girl escaping her sewing lessons to go shooting bows and arrows.

Time has gone by but the gesture is still there as a reminder of this time lost forever.

"You've scared me," he continues more seriously.

She tries to conceal it but her wounds are still painful.

"I know."

Jon wants her to promise she'll be more careful in the future, but how could she? Danger is coming at them. How he'd like to protect them, Dany, Arya, Bran, Sansa and the others, to take them far away, far from winter, in a place where they would only know summer.

His powerlessness makes him shiver.

"Don't cry."

Arya takes his hands and squeezes them.

"Don't cry, don't."

.

The Sept of Baelor is obviously no longer an option so Cersei offered the Red Keep's Godswood for lack of a better place. Jon worships the Old Gods anyway and it doesn't really matter to Daenerys.

Sansa stands beside Tyrion. They both watch emotionally Daenerys advancing at the arm of Jorah. Her belly is so big that it looks like it's about to explode and she can barely walk but her smile is so broad and she looks so happy that she almost floats toward Jon.

The vows are pronounced quickly. Wind blows softly through the trees, carrying away their words to the sky. Sansa is crying but not out of sadness, this time. Tyrion notices and briefly squeezes her hand.

They are running out of food but he wants them to organize a feast. A few hours later, Sansa thinks that his idea is not so bad after all. It reminds her of her own wedding feast, years ago, and so she tells Tyrion, sitting next to her.

"You're right, but I was drunk, that day..." he says, glancing sadly at his glass of water.

Alysanne and Damon run around the tables to Daenerys. Sansa is too far to hear what they say but it seems they're asking permission to touch her belly. She agrees at once, smilling with tenderness.

Cersei is watching them, looking upset. As if she couldn't bear it any longer, she stands up and storms out of the room. Jaime runs after her.

"She hasn't told them," Sansa says.

She looks at them and it's almost unbearable, all this innocence smelling like sun and soon turned into ice.

"She's protecting them," Tyrion sighs. "It is what she's always done."

The twins are now on Jon's lap and he and Daenerys tell them a story. Probably something about dragons. A song of fire and light – not ice, never ice.

"It is what she'll do until the end."

"What do you mean?"

But Sansa knows. She knows because she would do the same, because her own mother would have done the same. She knows but she's scared to admit it because it would make the situation too real, too cruel.

"Do you really think Cersei would let monsters freeze her children alive?"

Of course not, Cersei would freeze them herself long before that, but Cersei was never made of ice.

Sansa closes her eyes and pictures rivers of fire, a different end of the world.

.

"You should rest, Khaleesi."

Daenerys moves about the room, her arms folded in an attempt to protect her unborn child from the rest of the world.

"I can't."

Jon is attending the small council meeting where everyone keeps saying empty words to maintain the illusion that they still have a chance, that their lives aren't about to shatter to pieces.

"I'm no longer a Khaleesi," she sighs. "I no longer have a khalasar."

What does she have left?

"Do you remember the day we met?" she asks, sitting on her bed.

"Of course," Jorah answers.

"I was terrified. I was sixteen, surrounded by strangers. My own brother scared me. I was watching the sun going down in the sky, fearing the night and I was trying so bad not to cry, but then I saw you."

A smile appears on his wrinkled face.

"I saw you and you smiled at me. And I knew I wasn't alone, I knew someone would watch over me."

Jorah lowers his head and sighs. Looking as old as he really is.

"I failed."

He kneels before her and takes her hand.

"Forgive me. I wish I could do something, anything. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Daenerys says. "Don't be."

Her tears are falling quietly now as she rubs Jorah's warm hand against her cheek.

.

"How long will it take?"

There's a new scream as Arya asks her question. The light coming from the torches on the wall makes the shadows dance over her face.

"I don't know. I hope it'll be over soon."

Sansa yawns, playing with the end of her hair. In the dead of night, only Daenerys's screams break the deafening silence in the Red Keep. Arya and Sansa's rooms are right next to the Dragon Queen's so it was impossible for them not to hear. They're waiting anxiously.

Sansa shivers in her dressing gown when a third person joins them.

"I've been told the child is coming."

Cersei is not as impressive now as she is in her luxurious dresses.

"I guess Tyrion told you," Sansa says.

"He can't keep still," Arya continues. "He won't stop walking around the Keep."

"Reminds me of someone..." Sansa teases her.

Arya smiles and it's so rare that it brings tears to Sansa's eyes. Since when is she so emotional? Cersei looks at them, unsure, so Sansa motions to her to sit down beside her.

"She's been in there for hours," Arya sighs.

Qyburn, Jon and Jorah have not come out since it started. Daenerys's screams of pain seem to crush Sansa from the inside and she can't help glancing at Cersei. So is it how she's felt all these years? This feeling of powerlessness facing an unbearable wainting without any news? What did she think while giving birth, having no one around to hold her hand and to wait outside the door?

"It can take more than a day to bring a child into the world," Cersei responds.

Surprise briefly replaces hostility in Arya's eyes. It so strange, seeing them face to face. If she wanted to, Arya could kill the Queen right now without leaving her a chance to defend herself. Cersei doesn't suspect a thing, of course. She doesn't know about the list and she never will. It's better this way.

Arya's curiosity defeats her hatred for an instant. That didn't change and it is so, so comforting.

"It took you a day to give birth to Alysanne and Damon?"

"It did."

She frowns.

"It must have been painful."

Arya is used to a different kind of pain, this one remains a great mystery. Cersei nods. She's looking amused, Sansa notices.

"There is no greater pain in the world."

Daenerys screams again.

"I didn't think they would live," Cersei continues and it's as if her words had a deeper meaning. "They were born too early and they were small, so small..."

"But they did live," Sansa says. "They're fine."

She was afraid when she saw them for the first time, afraid to see Joffrey come back to haunt her, but then they looked up at her with their kind eyes and she knew Joffrey would remain a shadow of the past.

"That's not surprising. You Lannisters are hard to kill."

Her own words make Arya laugh and then Cersei is laughing too and Sansa can't help but do the same.

Here, at the end of all things, where one smile is a victory, Sansa has stopped shivering.

.

"She's beautiful."

Jon kisses Dany's forehead. She's covered with sweat, her hair is tangled and she can barely keep her eyes open but he thinks she has never looked more beautiful.

"A daughter, Dany. We have a daughter."

She frowns and smiles.

"I always thought it would be a boy. A little Jon."

Jon smiles and brushes the baby's dark hair before getting lost for an instant in her lilac eyes.

"What should we name her?"

"Lyanna," Dany answers.

A tear of joy rolls down his cheek.

"Lyanna Targaryen," Dany whispers.

They stay like that for a while, skin to skin, forehead to forehead, heart to heart until there's a knock on the door.

"You're going to meet your family, Lyanna," Jon says.

.

"You're not wearing your crown."

Daenerys's voice is only a whisper. Alysanne and Damon, bending over Lyanna's cradle, don't need to understand what this conversation is really about.

"You're right."

"Why?"

Her question remains suspended in the air like a cloud.

"You're younger and more beautiful than me," Cersei notices.

"I..."

Her words die before being said, like an unfinished kiss.

"Do you still want the Throne?"

Daenerys wants to say she does, looking forward to her coronation day. She can see the crown, not Cersei's, her own fire and dragons crown, her people acclaimaing her and calling her Mhysa, King's Landing celebrating, the smell of lemon cakes, Lyanna flying through the sky with her father.

She's been imagining all these things for so many years and yet she now feels a lump in her throat and there is water gathering in her eyes.

"When I was a child, I lived for some time in a house with a red door in Braavos. There was a lemon tree outside the window of my room. We had to run away. When I turned sixteen, my brother made me marry a Dothraki Khal. He promised me a crown, a castle, the return of our dynasty but all I wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside my window, the childhood I had never known."

Cersei listens to her quietly.

"Afterwards, my dragons were born. I conquered cities and I ended up forgetting about the red door and the lemon tree. When I arrived in Westeros, they were only shadows, fading echoes. And then the snow came."

Cold, never-ending and deadly snow.

"I'd like to see the lemon tree again, now."

Cersei closes her eyes and thinks about it for a while. Does she have a lemon tree somewhere in the world?

"I seem to remember we have some dried lemons left. Maybe we could use them to make cakes."

She has raised her voice. Her children, hearing her, run to her looking happy and eager. Daenerys smiles.

"It's a good idea."

.

"Whose idea was it?"

Sitting at the small council table, Sansa is eating her lemon cake, careful not to lose a crumb of it. Tyrion has finished his long ago.

"Cersei's."

He can see she doesn't believe him. He shrugs and starts dreaming of a glass of wine.

"Cersei Lannister wanting to make some cakes? Really?" she insists.

Tyrion would have laughed about it, before, and they both would have agreed it must be a joke.

No one really laughs any more.

"I don't recognize her. It's as if a stranger had slipped into her body."

Tyrion is certain Sansa isn't as surprised as she'd like to be. Maybe it's her way not to give in to fear – wondering about what is not normal, hoping it will go back to the way it was.

"She has lost," he responds at last. "She's stopped wearing her crown. It can only mean one thing."

Sansa glances sadly at what's left of her cake.

"Maybe we should have stayed married," Tyrion says.

"You were the best of them," Sansa smiles.

He laughs as if it were a terrifying thought. He doesn't believe he ever was the best of anything.

"It could have worked between us."

And she takes another piece of her cake, savoring it like she'll never eat one of these again.

.

"What are you doing?"

Arya is standing in the middle of the Red Keep's courtyard. The Hound stops walking away.

"I'm leaving, don't you see?"

She catches up with him and blocks the way.

"Why?"

"The dead are coming. I'm heading south before it's too late."

He pushes her aside and starts walking again.

"You're lying."

He freezes and sighs.

"I'm no hero, girl. I fought beacause I thought I had a chance to survive but it's over now. The dead are coming and I intend to breathe as long as I can."

He must think she's disappointed.

"I never fought for anyone but me."

Arya isn't disappointed, not really. She feels sad.

"You fought for me."

He turns around, staring at her. Is he wavering?

"The Queen sent my brother North with some soldiers a few monts ago. They never came back."

"He must be dead."

"I know he's not dead."

He puts a hand on her head to say goodbye before moving away.

"Sandor?" Arya says before it's too late. "Thank you."

He nods. Snowflakes start falling, leaving wet traces on Arya's cheeks – or maybe she's just crying.

Sandor's silhouette is now just another shadow in the snow.

.

"I'm sorry, Dany."

Jon is unable to do anything but watch her tears burn her purple eyes, as helpless as he always is. Dragonpit has changed since the last time he was here. There wasn't snow, five years ago. There wasn't a dragon corpse casting his shadow over the ground either.

"He starved to death," Dany moans. "Or maybe the cold killed him. It must have been so painful..."

Wrapped up in thick blankets, Lyanna dozes off in Jon's arms, unaware that one of her mother's dreams has just died.

"I used to picture her on his back, flying through the sky..." she says. "I used to picture so many things."

"Me too, me too..."

She comes near him and puts a hand on Drogon's cold scales.

"Burn him," she commands a few soldiers. "I won't let them take another child from me."

.

"Where is he now?"

Bran's eyes are empty, lost in the past or the future, but never here. Arya turns Needle between her fingers, absent-minded. Jon watches her, his back bent. Sitting on her bed, Sansa stares at the Three-Eyed Raven.

"I don't know," Jon answers.

He puts his head in his hands.

"We can't stay here for much longer. The dead will be here soon."

Sansa suddenly feels very fatigued. Leaving another shelter, and for what? It's a race they cannot win. The end of the road will appear shortly.

"Aren't you tired of running?" she says.

She's been running all her life. A part of her just wants to stop, lie down in the snow and fall asleep.

Arya sits down beside her and squeezes her arm, almost hurting her.

"Don't give up," she commands. "Don't, not yet."

"We can't defeat them. We've tried, again and again and we've lost every time."

Jon comes and sweeps them into an embrace. Sansa is too tired to pull away from him – she's warm here.

"It's not over," he promises.

And they all pretend to believe his words.

.

"It's dark in here."

Cersei shrugs, drained, as absent-minded as she always is.

"We are running out of candles."

She lights one before laying it upon the desk. Shadows are like scars over Tyrion's face. He plays with the abandoned crown. He doesn't ask why she has stopped wearing it – he doesn't need to.

"Why didn't you let your hair regrow?"

"To remember everything I lost."

Cersei glances at her crown, wondering how long it would take for it to melt down if she threw it into the fire. She wanders around the room aimlessly.

High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts...

"The others thought you were going to betray us."

He doesn't know why he starts talking about that now, a few days before the end of the world.

"But you didn't."

It's not a question.

As if she were exhausted by her never-ending wanderings, Cersei sits down on her bed. She used to be made of fire, unquenchable wildfire. The fire has gone out. What remains is an ice statue that keeps melting and melting.

The ones she had lost, and the ones she had found, the ones who had loved her the most...

"I know why," she says slowly. "You thought you convinced me because you've always wanted me to love you."

He almost drops the crown.

"All your life you've wanted me to see you as my brother."

There is no disdain in her voice, not even sarcasm. There's no time for this and Tyrion doesn't think about denying it. Instead, he just sits down beside her, staying with her until the candle has burnt away, and long after that.

And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave...

.

"We're leaving for Storm's End in a few days."

Daenerys feels like she's becoming immaterial, like she will soon be a ghost no one will ever remember.

"Good," she responds to Sansa, looking up.

She gets the feeling that everyone feels like they are turning into ghosts but they don't talk about it, even though they should.

"Isn't there at least one ship left?" Daenerys asks, a little more desperate than she was yesterday, far less than she will be tomorrow.

"There isn't, otherwise Cersei's children would be far away from here."

They both stare at the Iron Throne. Daenerys wants to scream.

"What do you think would have happened without... without the snow?"

Sansa doesn't say the words they all have agreed to forsake. They don't talk about death, as if it were enough to keep it away.

"I don't know."

Why thinking of something that will never happen?

At sixteen years old, one is far too young for desillusions. That's why Dany would dream of her enchanted kingdom like the child she was.

Now, at twenty-eight years old, Daenerys watches it crumble like a dream broken by time, her head down.

"Thank you for letting me be your friend," she whispers to Sansa, the fire-haired Ice Queen. Maybe she could add her to her song, the one she sang to Jon. If there's enough time left.

"Thank you," Sansa whispers back before taking her arm and walking toward the door.

They move away from the Throne but Daenerys doesn't look back.

.

"The King in the North. To what do I owe the honor?"

Cersei's words are not sharp. Jon closes the door behind him.

"There's no North any more, Your Grace."

He doesn't say that very soon there will be nothing at all. North, South, King, Queen, Throne. They're all snowflakes melting on the ground.

Cersei is thinking. She looks at him but doesn't see him. She's holding a little vial.

"What do you want, Jon Snow? You should be with your daughter."

He can't bring himself to say that he can't bear to look into Lyanna's lilac eyes and see the reflection of his failure so instead he answers:

"My name isn't Jon Snow, not really."

He sees he finally gets her attention. He can barely swallow.

"My name is Aegon Targaryen."

He always feels like a stranger when he says it. It never sounds real, it's like talking about someone else.

"My father was Rhaegar Targaryen and my mother was Lyanna Stark."

Cersei's green eyes widen.

"That's impossible."

So Jon tells her all about the lie upon which Robert Baratheon's rebellion is built. Afterwards, Cersei stares at him as if he's a ghost returning from the past to haunt her.

"Is it what you want?"

She pushes the crown she no longer wears towards him.

"No, I'm not interested, I never was. It should be... should have been Dany's."

He told her his name but he still doesn't feel he's a Targaryen, just like he has never felt he was a Stark. Aegon Targaryen is a lie, a name whispered in the ear tasting like tears and smelling like blood. Jon Stark is a fantasy, something dreamt under the moon and only heard by the stars. Only Jon Snow looks real, only Jon Snow really exists.

"I... I just wanted you to know."

Cersei's eyes don't burn him, he turns away long before they do.

.

She should have known the moment she heard the baby's name. Lyanna Targaryen.

Cersei turns the vial between her fingers, watching the clear liquid. Two sips, that's all there is, like two ghosts from the past.

Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark come back and sing their song of ice and fire to her.

Their voices are deafening echoes making her tremble from the inside.

.

"You're good."

Daenerys watches Tyrion cradling Lyanna.

"I used to take care of Cersei's children when she didn't look."

His memories belong to another life, now, long gone, soon forgotten.

Tyrion likes looking at Lyanna. He sees Jon's dark hair, the bastard of Winterfell who became the King in the North with bravery as his only weapon, Daenerys's purple eyes, the exiled Queen who believed in him like no one else had before her, and the smile of innocence, Myrcella, Tommen, Damon and Alysanne's.

"When do we leave?"

"In three days."

They'll take nothing with them. In three days, snow will fall over the deserted city in which the wind will blow like so many dead conversations. In a week, maybe two, the dead will be here. Maybe the Night King will sit upon the Throne.

This is not what Tyrion had in mind when he became Daenerys's Hand.

"Thank you."

"What for?"

"For accepting me. I don't think I've told you enough times."

They smile with melancholy. Tyrion wonders if his tears will utter his goodbyes for him when the time comes.

.

"You never told me how you chose their names."

Jaime slipped behind her like a draught. Cersei feels as if she sees a ghost who has returned from the darkness when she looks at him.

The children are playing with Brienne and Arya – probably something about being a knight.

"I seem to remember Damon is one of our ancestors?"

"Yes."

"And Alysanne?"

The little girl looks up at Brienne with such admiration in her eyes that something in the scene makes her feel sad.

"Alysanne Targaryen was called the Good Queen Alysanne. I wanted... I thought..."

She can't even finish her sentence. Jaime wipes her tears away before saying:

"It's alright. I'm here now."

He pulls her into an embrace but she can't stop thinking about the warrior behind her.

"She's in love with you."

"I know."

Silence.

"You love her too, don't you?"

It drove her crazy, waiting, all those years of uncertainty, having her other half ripped away from her, maybe forever. As she was screaming her pain away on her birthing bed, she had also screamed all her rage before the twins' screams had combined with hers, little angry things born in the darkness of winter.

"Yes," Jaime admits.

Cersei wants to scream now, and maybe the ice will finally break.

"But I don't love her as I love you."

He smothers her scream with a kiss.

.

"Don't you want to try?"

Sansa surprised Daenerys staring at the Throne, making her jump.

"We're leaving tomorrow. It's now or never."

So, like she does in her dreams, she walks the distance between her and the Throne and finally sits on it, but when she does, all she can hear is silence, all she can see is the empty room, all she can feel is the cold biting her skin. There is no crown on her head but her back is bent, crushed by an invisible weight.

"So?" Sansa asks.

"It's what I wanted, but not like that."

She stands up.

"You should try too."

Looking amused, Sansa does what Daenerys told her.

"You could have been the Queen in the North."

"Would you have let me?" she says slowly.

They both know the answer but it doesn't really matter. Not any more.

A silhouette comes out of the darkness. As soon as she sees who it is, Sansa stands up and steps aside from the Throne. Cersei Lannister joins them and stops between Sansa and Daenerys, like she's facing an invisible wall. They stay like that for a while, heads down, mourning a frozen dream.

"The War of the Three Queens," Cersei says at last. "What would have been without the army of the dead."

Sansa and Daenerys know she's right. Their fingers brush slightly Cersei's.

.

"Tell us a story, Mother."

Sansa isn't supposed to be here but she glances inside the room anyway. Sitting on the bed, Cersei strokes her children's hair.

"They say the Fire Queen is touched by ice. That her hair is like snow, and that she has a cold look. But her smile tells a different story. Her smile is like fire, like madness in her heart. She's the Queen they followed into war."

Sansa feels she has a lump in her throat. She sees this silver-haired Fire Queen, dragons, broken chains, the hopes of an entire people.

"They say the Ice Queen is kissed by fire. That her hair is like flames, and that she has a warm smile. But her eyes tell a different story. Her eyes are like ice, like wilderness in her veins. She is the Queen they went to war for."

Sansa wants to cry but for what exactly? She sees Winterfell, Lady, her family, the Godswood, her childhood going up in smoke, all the goodbyes that have ever remained stuck in her throat.

Someone is sobbing but it takes her a while to realize it's not her. She pushes the door open. The children have fallen asleep. Cersei's bending over them, holding a vial.

"Don't."

She doesn't even glance at her.

"I have to," she whispers as her tears fall quietly. "I would have drunk some too but there's not enough of it. I-"

"Cersei."

It's the first time Sansa has called her by her name. It tastes bittersweet on her tongue.

"Everything isn't lost. Please."

She wants to believe what she says, she really does. Maybe a part of her believes it, maybe she's finally convinced herself.

"I wanted them to be neither fire nor ice, just happy, and I didn't want their joy to turn to ashes in their mouths."

"There are no ashes. Not yet."

She sits down beside her on the bed and she closes her hand on the vial. Their eyes meet, and the queen almost smiles through her tears.

"Maybe I was wrong, after all. You burn harder than a sun, little dove."

She lets go of the vial.

.

"Cersei?"

His whole body is trembling. He says her name again, like a long forgotten prayer.

"Cersei?"

She opens her eyes, still sleepy. His heart doesn't stop, not yet.

"Tyrion?"

Alarmed, she sits up.

"I'm sorry I've woken you up. I've had a nightmare. You were dead and I was shaking you to wake you up but you were dead and then you opened your eyes. They were blue. You were one of them and... you tried to attack me and I had to choke you to defend myself."

He's feeling restless and short of breath. Horror keeps Cersei quiet.

"I... it was only a dream but I had to be sure. I'm sorry I woke you up."

He turns around and walks toward the door.

"Tyrion."

He freezes.

"Come back."

She makes room for him as he crawls into her bed quietly, stunned.

"I tried to crawl into your bed once, when we were children... I never tried again," he says.

"I know. I remember..."

The heat coming from her body is like a shelter in the frozen wasteland of their helplessness. They stay like that for a while, lulled by the beating of their hearts.

"I agreed to help you."

There is anger in Cersei's voice, desperate and agonizing anger.

"I could have lied and betrayed you but I agreed to help. I agreed to help and it was all for nothing. My crown is just a useless piece of scrap. My children are going to die and there's nothing I can do about it."

She's crying now, they both are, for the family they couldn't save.

"Have you ever thought about what would have happened had we gotten along?" he asks.

"I have. We would have made Westeros tremble."

It's a pleasant, tempting picture, the two of them sitting at the small council table, united against the rest of the world.

"Definitely."

This idea makes Tyrion smile and he starts dreaming of Seven Kingdoms ruled by the lions of Casterly Rock. The flame burning inside Cersei, her love for her family with his wit... they would have made quite a team with Jaime looking after them.

Before he falls asleep Cersei tells him one more thing.

"I'm sorry I couldn't love you."

She was right, after all. He had only ever wanted one single thing from her.

"It's not too late," he whispers.

.

Not long before dawn, when Jaime finds them like that, asleep together like scared children, he dares not make another step, afraid to wake them up. Should he die now, he'd be happy to take this last picture with him, his siblings at peace, tranquil, far away from death's frozen whirlwinds. He crawls into bed with them and he thinks that maybe this is how it was always supposed to end, maybe this was their fate. He wants to close his eyes, never open them again and wishes for them to leave this world together because he loves them like the corruption, thirst for power and hatred they are, for the same miserable Lannister blood running through their veins.

.

Ultimately, they have to run.

How did it happen? One moment they were just lying asleep in their beds and the next, they were running out of the castle, eyes widening, panic showing, chased by death's cold breath. Bran's warning broke their frail shelter.

The Night King is coming and Jon runs.

He doesn't even know what he's doing, it's like being surrounded by mist, but he runs. He takes Lyanna, grabs Dany by the waist and he runs.

Is he making up the screams he can hear or are they real? Maybe it's already too late to flee, maybe they'll never manage to escape but Jon runs anyway. When they make it to the Red Keep's courtyard, Arya and Sansa put Bran on his horse, Tyrion and Jaime try to comfort the scared children and Jorah and Brienne make an attempt to gather the dispersed soldiers.

"Hurry, Dany," Jon rushes her, pushing her towards the first horse he sees.

What did Bran say? A few hours, a few minutes? It doesn't really matter. When death is coming for you, eternity seems to last a second.

He mounts his horse and leaves at once, the others following him.

They run away without looking back, without carrying anything out with them. They don't even have the chance to take one last picture with them, something to cherish like a treasure. Lyanna in the crook of his arm, he imagines Dany's invisible tears, the ones she sheds for the crown she will never get.

They are soon out of the city. As they still can't see the army of the dead, they might have some time to organize, to figure out what to do.

When he thinks they are far enough, Jon stops his horse.

"Bran? How long?"

"They'll reach the city when the sun rises," the Three-Eyed Raven answers with a blank expression.

Lyanna begins to cry. As he hands her over to Dany, Jon wonders if her tears are the ones they can't shed.

When Arya catches up with them, she throws her arms around him, short of breath, and she glances around.

"Jon, where is Sansa?"

He wants to answers but the words won't come.

"She was right behind me," Arya insists as she keeps looking, again and again, as if Sansa were about to appear from nowhere like a flame.

When everyone is here, the little Alysanne, sitting in front of her father, eyes red, asks a question and his blood freezes in his veins.

"Where is Mother?"

Lyanna keeps screaming.

.

The tunnels beneath the Red Keep are almost too quiet after the screams of panic. Sansa walks slowly, her eyes narrowing.

She was already riding her horse right behind Arya when she looked back. Cersei, standing as straight as a statue, didn't look worried nor afraid, and it seemed she wasn't planning on going anywhere.

Sansa left the courtyard but she knew. She knew and it made her turn back after only a few minutes.

There is almost no light on her way but she knows where to go. Down, always down.

And then light returns. Torches light up the room. There are dragon skulls but it's as if they were invisible. Sansa only sees the green pools on the floor and the barrels aligned against the wall, the last blow of a desperate lioness.

Cersei is standing in the center of the room. She's wearing her crown again. Qyburn is standing back, his head down. Sansa wants to say something but she can't find the words.

"I hoped I wouldn't have to come to that," the Queen says. "It looks like I have no choice."

"You don't have to do this."

She ignores her and lays a candle on the big green pool.

"Someone has to stay to light the candles. There is wildfire beneath the entire city."

She laughs softly.

"Do you realize I'm going to execute the Mad King's last order? The one that got him killed, the one that made Jaime put his sword through his back. Burn them all."

"Come with me. Jaime, Tyrion and the children must be wondering where you are."

Cersei sighs, looking sad.

"They won't be alone."

"They need you," Sansa insists.

But she knows it's pointless. She knew before getting down here, perhaps the moment she arrived in King's Landing.

Cersei was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and would die as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Do you believe in fate, Sansa? Destiny?"

"No."

"I have, for a time. I thought everything that would happen to me was written... I was wrong."

She takes off her crown and stares at it for a long time. She holds on to it, an act of final resistance against the explosion that is about to take her away. Then, she comes near Sansa and puts it on her head.

"I choose you."

"What?"

"Look after all that I hold dear."

Cersei turns around and walks away. Sansa feels like she's back in her worst nightmares, when the White Walkers are coming at her and she cannot make a single move to flee.

"Run, little dove."

So Sansa runs.

.

"They're going to destroy that city."

"Have you ever run away from a fight?"

Jaime tries to ignore Brienne's pleas, ready to mount his horse when she grabs his arm and makes him look at her.

"You sister has made her choice but you don't need to die with her. Stay... please."

A few minutes ago, Sansa caught up with them at last, coming out of the darkness on her black horse. An omen of death. Jaime saw the crown on her head and he refused to understand. He was too scared to understand.

"We promised each other we would leave this world together, as we came into it."

"That's not what she would want. Think of your children... stay with them..."

Alysanne and Damon have burst into a flood of tears, desperately calling their mother. Tyrion keeps uttering meaningless words but he can't conceal his baffled look.

A part of him wants to stay and wants to be their father, to see the reflection of the sun on their golden hair and the moon's in their eyes, to hear them laugh and to wipe away their tears but another can only see Cersei's corpse, the destruction of his other half. He cannot live while she's dust and ashes, it doesn't feel right.

"Stay with me..." Brienne whispers.

She touches his cheek and he thinks of the five years he's spent by her side. He loves her, he knows it, he even told Cersei. It's not the same burning, passionate and destructive love, it's something more pure, more innocent, like a distant star in the dead of night, the trembling flame of a candle, a gentle breeze carrying the smell of spring.

Jaime closes his eyes and hopes the wind will carry the goodbyes he couldn't say.

He stays.

.

Green.

They got as far away from the city as possible but even from where they stand they can see the green in the sky. When they stop, they catch a glimpse of the dwindling light of the wildfire - or it may just be an illusion.

"I guess there's nothing left," Daenerys sighs as Jon joins her.

Cersei isn't the only one whose ashes have been dispersed by the wind. The Throne must be gone too, now. The Red Keep. Dragonpit. The last pieces of her dream.

She did see the crown on Sansa's head before she took it off to give it to Alysanne and Damon. Inseparable, they hold it in their small hands and weep in silence.

"Do you thing they... do you think they're gone?" she asks.

She doesn't want to allow herself to feel hope but she does anyway. It grows and spreads its wings like a dragon.

"It's hard to say."

He glances at Bran whose eyes are still miles away from here, looking at the remains of King's Landing.

"I want Lyanna to see spring," she says.

"She will," Jon promises before kissing her forehead.

.

Storm's End isn't so bad.

This is what Tyrion thinks when he gets there for the first time. After all, it's a castle like the tens there are in Westeros. It's not bad and yet he feels he doesn't belong here.

It's not Casterly Rock, nor the Red Keep. It's not home.

It's dark. He's leaning over a window, letting the frozen wind spiral around him, turning his tears into ice crystals. Something moves on his right and he thinks a fire storm has come to devour him but it's just Sansa's hair.

"It's a horrible way to die," he says." Wildfire. Not because of the pain, it's almost an instant death, but it's as if you never existed. One moment you're here and the next, every trace of you is gone. It's like a snowflake melting on the ground."

Tens of thousands must have fallen over King's Landing now, or what's left of it. Maybe they have covered the ashes or maybe they have mingled with them.

"I tried to convince her..."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"Sansa... I know."

He gives her a weak smile, his heart beating painfully.

"I miss her. Sounds crazy, doesn't it? She's hated me since the day I was born, she's tried to kill me several times, she's never shown any affection for me but I miss her. Not for what was, it wouldn't make any sense, but for what could have been. I wonder if it wasn't a last cruel trick to torment me one last time, because she gave me hope. I thought something was possible... I believed it, I really did, I even think I was happy, as much as one can be happy currently anyway. She gave me hope and boom... it all blew up, as if it never existed and it hurts really, really bad, Sansa."

He wishes the wind would take his pain away. He feels empty. He's mad at Cersei as much as he misses her. Maybe if she had just pushed him away instead of calling him back that night, everything would be more simple.

Sansa kneels and their noses slightly brush each other.

"You're not alone."

Her smile warms up his numb heart.

.

"The army of the dead was almost entirely destroyed but the Night King survived."

Bran's voice strikes Daenerys, leaving her short of breath. She doesn't want to believe it. It's like a snow storm surrounding her, preventing her from breathing.

"Thank you, Bran," says Jon.

Her turns to her. They're the only people in the room but Daenerys is suffocating.

"I don't want to tell the others," he sighs, touching his temples.

Jon is tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of despairing.

"Let's not tell them, then. Not now. I think... I think they don't really want to know."

She'd like to float in the bliss of ignorance too, eyes looking up at the sky, counting the stars and kissing the world.

"Let's go back to Lyanna."

As they walk toward the door, Bran stops them.

"Jon. Stay a bit longer. I need to talk to you."

He gives her a reassuring smile and promises he won't be long but as Daenerys closes the door, she gets the feeling that an invisible gap is about to separate them.

.

There is some wine left at Storm's End.

It is one of the first things Sansa learns as she walks into one of the dining rooms. Tyrion is busy emptying a second carafe - or maybe a third one? Jaime would like to drown his sorrow too but Brienne dissuades him with insistent looks - not in front of the children, she seems to say.

She sits down next to her former husband and pours herself a glass. The forgotten liquid almost burns her throat. Next to her, Arya is eating a slice of bread, absent-minded, looking at Needle lying on the table.

"Jon has had an odd behavior these past few days, don't you think?"

He's sitting beside Daenerys. She's talking to him but he barely listens and avoids her eyes, tormented by invisible demons. Finally, he stands up and leaves the room without looking back. Desperate, Daenerys gives Lyanna to Jorah before following him.

"I don't like this," Arya insists. "What do you think is going on?"

"Nothing good," Tyrion answers for her between two sips.

She feels dizzy. Sansa is scared but she doesn't know why. Is it possible that she still has something to lose?

.

"Please, tell me what's wrong."

Daenerys followed Jon out of the castle. Snow falls quietly but the night isn't peaceful at all.

"I know it's about what Bran told you the other day."

He turns around to face her.

"There's a way. A way to stop the army of the dead."

"That's... that's wonderful."

He gives her a tight smile, making hers die on her lips.

"There must always be a Night King," he reveals.

Daenerys frowns.

"But you said..."

She doesn't finish her sentence. She refuses to believe it, refuses to even consider it but she cannot look away from Jon.

And Daenerys sees the whole truth in his eyes.

.

"There has to be another way," Tyrion insists.

"There isn't," Jon repeats, weary.

That's what he told Dany yesterday, over and over as he was trying not to notice the tears falling down her cheeks, and that's what he will tell Sansa and Arya when the time comes to announce his decision. Tears yesterday, more tears tomorrow.

"You can't leave Daenerys and Lyanna," Jorah says.

"I have to. The Night King must be stopped, whatever it takes."

He doesn't want to think about Dany and Lyanna alone, abandoned, crying over his absence because he knows he might change his mind. He pictures their frozen corpses if he does nothing, the sun lighting up their purple eyes if he bows to his fate.

"I know they won't be alone. You'll look after them, as you have for all these years."

Tyrion and Jorah have been by Daenerys's side for so long than Jon sometimes got the feeling he didn't belong to this trio. Sometimes, in one of his rare moments of selfishness, he was a little annoyed but now he feels like bending the knee to thank them.

"Are you sure it's going to work? If it doesn't and Daenerys sees you've sacrificed yourself for nothing-" Jorah says.

"Bran says there can only be one Night King. Once the ritual is fulfilled, he will vanish and I will replace him."

Bran has spent months lost in the past or the future exploring every possibility. Jon trusts him, he has to.

"When?" Tyrion asks.

"In a few days."

Just a brief instant to say goodbye before facing an eternal frozen loneliness.

.

"That's impossible."

Sansa wants to cover her ears with her hands like an angry child. She doesn't want to listen to Jon, she wants to bury his words so deep in the snow that they would remain forgotten forever.

"Sansa-"

"No!"

She backs away from him like he's just burnt her.

"I don't want you to do it," Arya says weakly. "There has to be another way. Or someone else can do it."

"There isn't, and Bran was very clear. It has to be me."

Arya bites her lips, shivering.

"It's not fair."

She storms out of the room. Sansa finds herself alone with Jon. It reminds her of the beginning of the war at Winterfell, a lifetime ago. She almost misses it now as she knows what's going to happen, as she pictures the future and all she can see is a frozen wasteland.

"I'm sorry, Sansa. I wish I didn't have to leave you..."

She has lost so much already. Why does Jon have to be taken from her? Does she even have some tears left to shed for him?

"Arya is right," she says. "It's not fair."

But nothing has ever been fair in Westeros, why would it be different this time?

"When it's done the war will be over. You'll live and see spring."

Sansa's smile is bitter. Spring is a dream that seems unattainable but she can see it so clearly. Blue sky, sun, flowers... there will always be a shadow over this perfect picture.

She turns around to look at him.

"What about you, Jon? What will you see?"

The ice breaks suddenly and tears start streaming down their cheeks, and then Jon is holding her tightly, in search of the heat he will forsake way too soon.

.

"Don't do it, Jon, please..."

Daenerys is freezing in the bed – it even seems empty already in spite of Jon's ghostly presence and Lyanna lying between them.

"I wish there was another way," he says. "You know I have to do it so you and Lyanna can live."

She grits her teeth. He made her promise not to cry, not this night, his last one before his final journey.

Daenerys Targaryen is the queen who was born of fire, the fearless conqueror, the silver-golden sparkle everyone looks at. Dany is just a scared little girl watching her sun dying before her and in her heart.

"You'll be alone forever."

"And you and Lyanna will have a long life. A happy life."

Eventually, he's the one who starts crying first. Water pearls fall on the blankets.

"I love you, Dany. I'll always love you."

Other pearls start falling – maybe fire pearls, this time. Hers.

"Always," she repeats.

.

It's a cold and clear morning. Everyone lined up in the courtyard to say goodbye. As he walks by them, he feels like he's heading to his execution.

He's doing the right thing, he knows it. So many years of war... they're all his family, now. He's going to keep them safe forever.

He shakes hands with Jaime and Jorah, kisses Brienne's. He runs his fingers through Arya's hair, touches Sansa's.

His sisters. They give him a weak smile through their tears.

"I love you," he whispers.

He doesn't know how he gathers enough strength to face Dany. He kisses their daughter's forehead one last time and then her lips.

"I can come with you," she repeats once more.

"No, I don't want you to see this."

Jon looks at her like he never has before, engraving every detail of her face in his memory. Nothing else matters now.

"Always, do you remember?"

She nods painfully.

"Always."

Bran waits, Tyrion by his side. When he offered to go with him, Jon couldn't manage to refuse.

Jon walks away from Dany.

If I look at her, I'm lost.

Every step is harder than the previous one but he keeps moving.

If I look at her, I'm lost.

Dany and the others are soon moving shadows behind him. Pieces of his past forever inaccessible.

.

Bran has chosen a small clearing. Even with all the snow, Jon understands at once it's Storm's End's Godswood.

They stop under the heart tree.

"Let's do it."

He stares at the piece of dragonglass that Bran is holding – the destruction of his future, the salvation of everyone else's. It's the only way, he thinks again to give himself courage, not to run back to Dany and the heat coming from her body. It's the only way.

He glances at Tyrion and nods one last time, leans againt the trunk of the heart tree and closes his eyes.

Dany won't be alone, Jorah will never leave her. He'll be like a father to Lyanna. His daughter will probably become friends with Alysanne and Damon... he pictures them playing in a field of flowers and he can almost hear theirs laughs rise towards the sky and tickle the clouds. Jaime and Brienne will raise the children well, he knows it. Tyrion will never be far, with a pile of books and thousands of stories to tell. Maybe he will get close to Sansa... he can see his sister ruling a castle with firmness and gentleness, a crown on her head. And Arya... his little Arya will go travelling and exploring unknown lands, with Needle of course.

Jon finds the strength to smile.

As the dragonglass pierces his heart, he's humming Dany's song of ice and fire.

.

Tyrion watches the end of the ritual anxiously. A part of him hopes it will be another failure in their desperate fight against death.

He's wrong, of course. He knows the moment the new Night King opens his blue eyes. Jon Snow is gone.

The sun has drowned in his congealing blood.

.

More than a month has gone by when, as she is out in the snow, Sansa feels drops of rain falling down her face. She closes her eyes and looks up at the sky, as if the water were going to wash away her sorrow.

"Rain," she says to Arya. "Do you know what it means?"

"Yes."

They are soon soaked to the skin.

"Winter is coming to an end."

They have to wait two more months to see all the snow melt. Sansa goes out of the castle more and more often. She feels nostalgic when she sees an increasing number of Northeners going home, returning from forced exile.

"Life is returning," she whispers.

.

Tyrion broaches the topic one night, after dinner.

"The war is behind us. Winter has come to an end. Maybe it's time to think about rebuilding the kingdom."

Daenerys puts down her fork and folds her hands in her lap.

"Yes, you're right."

Jon's shadow follows her wherever she goes. She sighs, feeling melancholic.

"There is no Iron Throne any more but the crown is yours," Tyrion continues. "You're the Queen."

She leaves everyone baffled when she answers:

"No."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want it."

Tyrion stares at her, eyes widening.

"I don't understand."

Daenerys's smile is sad. Of course he doesn't, how could he whereas she is still so confused?

"It was a sweet dream, ruling the Seven Kingdoms... it was my dream, but the dream shattered the moment I saw the first White Walker. Wherever I go, I only see death and grief, even now. I only see Jon's absence."

She thinks of his silhouette walking away in the snow and the goodbyes leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

"You're my Hand. I trust you to rule the realm in my name."

Then, Daenerys turns to Sansa.

"Cersei chose you as her heir when she put the crown on your head... and I think she was right."

Tyrion and Sansa's puzzled eyes meet.

"You'll be far better rulers than me," she concludes. "Jorah and I are not going to stay here."

Jorah, holding Lyanna in his lap, briefly looks up at her and Daenerys knows she's made the right choice.

"Where will you go?" Sansa asks.

She gives her an enigmatic smile.

"Home."

.

It will take time.

This what Sansa thinks on her coronation day when Daenerys puts the crown on her head. It's not Cersei's, she left it to Jaime and the twins. This one represents a wolf, a lion, a dragon or a trout among many other sigils. She laughs watching Tyrion feeling uncomfortable with his.

"Sansa and Tyrion Lannister!" someone shouts. "Queen and King of the Andals and the First Men, Protectors of the Seven Kingdoms!"

Two new thrones have been built for the occasion. They're much plainer than the Iron Throne was but it doesn't matter. They will do just fine.

"Congratulations," Daenerys tells her shortly afterwards, during the feast.

When she notices the cloak she's wearing, Sansa understands that she's saying goodbye. Her smile is sad.

"Do you really have to leave?"

"We'll come back, I promise."

Sansa brushes Lyanna's cheek one last time.

"I believe you."

Daenerys kisses her cheek before walking away elegantly, followed by Jorah. Sansa keeps staring at the door long after it's been closed.

"Sansa Lannister?"

Arya looks amused.

"I suppose," Sansa answers.

They both glance at Tyrion who's telling a story to Damon and Alysanne. His nephew and niece listen to him with interest, eyes shining.

"Do you love him?" Arya asks. "He doesn't look like the prince you used to dream of."

Damon took advantage of his uncle's moment of inattention to steal his crown. Alysanne is wearing her mother's. Tyrion, pretending to be outraged, runs after them to get it back. Jaime looks at them, a melancholic smile floating on his face. Brienne puts her hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

"I do," Sansa says at last. "I do. I'm way too old to wait for a prince."

Tyrion catches her eye and smiles at her, and Sansa knows she's made the right choice.

"Where will you go?" she asks.

They've never talked about it but it's obvious that her sister is planning to leave.

"Exploring. No one knows what's west of Westeros."

"Jon would be proud of you."

"He would be proud of you too."

Talking about Jon is like a strike in her heart. If she ever has a son, she'll give him his name. The White Wolf will never be forgotten.

"Will you stay at Storm's End?"

"For now. King's Landing is a field of ruins. One day, we will start rebuilding... but not now."

Ashes are still haunting the capital. It's not urgent. They have time. All the time in the world, thanks to Jon.

Later in the night, Tyrion follows her out into the gardens.

"You look thoughtful."

"I was dreaming."

"Of what, if I may ask?"

She looks up at a lemon tree and smiles.

"Of spring."

.

"Are you sure this is the right place, Khaleesi?" Jorah asks.

"Daenerys. My name is Daenerys," she smiles.

"...are you sure, Daenerys ?" he repeats, smiling back at her.

"I am."

Braavos is still asleep at this early hour. Their ship has just sailed into habor but Daenerys knows where she's going.

She will miss Westeros, in a way. She will miss Sansa, Tyrion, Arya, Brienne, Jaime, the children. She will miss her past dreams as well but she still has one left, the most important one.

Most of all, she will miss Jon but she's taken her most precious memories and the fruit of their love with her. When Lyanna is babbling, she can almost hear him laugh.

Jorah keeps glancing around, suspicious. When Daenerys told him her decision to leave, he didn't hesitate for a second.

"I'll go with you," he said with conviction.

He could have stayed in Westeros, becoming the Lord of Bear Island, starting his own family, but he didn't.

"I'll go with you," he repeated.

It's one of the most beautiful things she has ever been told.

Daenerys walks confidently across the narrow and colorful streets, holding Lyanna tightly. It's been years, an eternity, but she is guided by an invisible force.

And then she finally sees it. She almost cries out of happiness.

"It's here, Jorah."

She shows him the big house with the red door, her childhood home. She knows that if she enters and looks out of the window of her former room, she'll see the lemon tree.

Daenerys kisses Lyanna's forehead.

"We're home."

Her daughter smiles at her and Daenerys catches a glimpse of her dream of spring coming true.

The title comes from a line of the poem "Harmonie du soir" (Evening harmony) by Charles Baudelaire.