GOT: House Redwyne

Paxter Redwyne stood around the Painted Table in Dragonstone's torchlit chamber, hands planted on the carved coastline of Westeros. The great wooden map stretched out before him, an artifact from Aegon's Conquest, its surface painted with faded greens and blues.

Candles set along its edges made the painted rivers and forests seem to flicker and move. At the head of the table stood Queen Daenerys Targaryen, and just beside her, Jon Snow—King in the North. Paxter noted how closely they stood together, shoulders nearly touching as they peered down at the map.

There was an ease between them now that hadn't been there when Jon first arrived on the island; Paxter could sense a new familiarity in their shared glances and the quiet confidence with which they addressed one another.

Daenerys's voice was calm but laden with wonder as she recounted what Jon Snow had discovered in the dragonglass caves beneath Dragonstone. "The Children of the Forest left markings on the walls," she said, her violet eyes sweeping over those assembled—Tyrion Lannister, Varys, Ser Davos Seaworth, Ser Jorah Mormont, and Paxter himself. "Pictures… of the White Walkers. Thousands of years old, yet unmistakable."

The Queen placed a pale hand on the table near the rocky painted peninsula where Dragonstone was marked. "They fought together, the First Men and the Children, against the White Walkers. Jon found proof."

Paxter tried to keep his face stern and thoughtful, as befit a lord at war council, but he felt his mouth fall open slightly in awe.

White Walkers… the Others… actual proof of their existence, carved in ancient stone? He struggled to wrap his mind around it. As a boy on the Arbor, he'd heard murmurings of such creatures only in old nanny tales—stories to frighten children into their beds.

But Jon Snow spoke of them as real, and now Daenerys herself confirmed it with evidence from the caves.

Paxter cleared his throat and forced himself to speak. "The Children of the Forest… allied with men, fighting the dead," he echoed quietly. "If such an alliance was needed, then… the threat must have been dire indeed."

"It was," Jon said, meeting Daenerys's gaze across the table. The Northern king's grey eyes were dark with urgency. "The Long Night. My people have not forgotten, even if the rest of Westeros thought it only a myth." Jon's gloved hand rested on the area of the map representing the far North, where the Painted Table ended in a grey-white mass for the Lands of Always Winter. "The enemy is real. The Night King is real. And he is coming."

At that, a silence fell over the chamber, broken only by the crackle of flame and distant crash of waves below Dragonstone's cliffs.

Tyrion Lannister leaned forward, the silver Hand of the Queen brooch gleaming on his chest. The dwarf's mismatched eyes flickered between Jon and Daenerys.

"Let us say we take this as truth," Tyrion began carefully. "It is… profound news. But Cersei will not care. Ancient drawings in a cave will not make the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms lay down her arms."

He tapped a small carved lion figurine that sat on the map near King's Landing. It was one of the markers the council had been using to track enemy positions. "She's not likely to agree to any truce just because we tell her a bedtime story of undead ice demons."

There was a touch of his sardonic humor, but Paxter knew Tyrion well enough by now to hear the worry underneath. Tyrion's wry facade could not hide the crease in his brow.

"No." Jon Snow shook his head. "She won't. Words won't convince her." His jaw tightened, and Paxter thought he saw a flicker of frustration—or was it despair?—in the young man's eyes.

"No." Jon Snow shook his head. "Words won't convince her." His jaw tightened, and Paxter thought he saw a flicker of frustration—or was it despair?—in the young man's eyes. Before Jon could continue, a slight commotion at the chamber doors drew their attention. One of Jon's guards entered, bearing a rolled parchment. He bowed and offered it to Jon.

"A raven from Winterfell." The guard saluted, then left.

All eyes watched as Jon broke the wax seal and unfurled the parchment. Paxter could see a direwolf stamped on the seal—a message from the North. Jon's gaze raced across the page. For an instant, his stern countenance softened in shock. He exhaled a short breath of disbelief.

Jon's gloved hand tightened on the parchment. "Bran… he has visions. He saw the Army of the Dead marching toward Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."

A collective gasp sounded around the Painted Table. Jorah straightened, and Davos muttered a quiet curse.

Eastwatch-by-the-Sea was a Night's Watch castle on the far eastern end of the Wall—clear on the other side of the continent from where they stood now. If the Night King was marching on Eastwatch, then Winter—true Winter—was imminent.

"They'll breach the Wall where it meets the sea," Jon said urgently. "If Eastwatch falls, the dead will flood into the North. From there…" He did not need to elaborate. From Eastwatch, the undead hordes would move unchecked in the north. There's no time. I have to leave at once."