A daughter born admits snow with ice in her eyes and fire in her heart
A son born admits flames with fire in his eyes and ice in his heart
The union between the Wolf Lady of the North and the Dragon Prince of the South will forever be remembered as...
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304 AC, Castle Black
Edmund would be perfectly content in never fighting another war again - especially not one against undead men who never seemed to grow tired or give up. It made him miss fighting against humans.
Because at least when fighting against other men they were all on the same terms. They would grow tired after a while, they would give up when everything was against them and they certainly would not have thrown themselves on an open fire or climbed the Wall.
At the moment the future did not look bright - and that wasn't only because it was in the middle of the night and clouds of snow seemed to have sunk lower and lower, creating a fog that grew thicker as the wights came closer.
When a part of the Wall fell, creating a crack in the strong facade, he and Ashton had been a part of the party that regrouped to protect the crack - although he had not seen his brother in a while.
Luckily for all of them Daeryn had also noticed that the crack was an easy opportunity for the wights to enter into Westeros and therefore he would swoop down and allow Suvion to unleash his fire on every wight that dared to take take the easy way.
And the few undead that managed to avoid getting burned to a crisp by the dragon's fire they would stop. Despite having seen one of the wights in the Dragon Pit before they left for the North, nothing could have prepared him for fighting against undead soldiers.
The only upside to fighting against the undead that Edmund could take all emotions out of the equation. Unlike his father and many other men, Edmund had never enjoyed fighting wars.
Not that he believed that there was any man that actually believed that years of horrendous carnage where innocents would perish both on the battlefield and outside was better than peace. But some men, like his father, never felt as alive as when they were fighting.
Edmund was definitely not one of those men. For while he definitely enjoyed sparring with his brothers and cousins, it was the killing part that bothered him when it came to fighting for real.
He could not but feel slightly guilty about the people whose life he ended. It was something he knew his mother struggled with as well. She was one of the greatest swordswomen in Westeros of all time but much like him she only enjoyed sparring with others, never using her abilities to kill.
Whenever Edmund took a life on the battlefield he would think of everyone it affected. For him it was just a simple swing with his sword and then he moved on to the next. But for the person he killed and those who knew him it was much more than that.
