The Lion and the Rose: The North

[Lumine]

The North:

Overview:

Robb and Catelyn Stark were murdered at the Red Wedding less than a month ago, but the news have been heard across the entire region by now. All the former Stark vassals now look at themselves with confusion as a huge void of power sweeps the region, and sets potential rivals like the Iron Throne backed Warden of the North Roose Bolton (whose army is trapped in the Riverlands) and the claimant Stannis Baratheon, who stands at the Nightfort with a chance at winning the support of an entire region. It won’t be an easy ride for the powerful Houses like the Manderlys, Umbers and Karstarks, and whoever wishes to rule the North will also have to deal with the Ironborn garrisons at Deepwood Motte and Moat Cailin.

Currently held by: Disputed.
Direct Players: Stannis Baratheon and Roose Bolton.
Indirect Players: Euron Greyjoy and the Ironborn.

[Elkins]

Newly minted Warden of the North Lord Roose Bolton was in truly rare form after his cunning power grab at the twins, but his return to the Dreadfort gave him nothing but headaches. Most irritating, was the reality that for the moment he was Warden in name only. Fealty has yet to be sworn by some of the great houses of the north, some would be easier than others. Of other main Northern houses' the Karstarks were the most likely to bend the knee. There is no love lost between their former lords the Starks after they took their lord's head and with new Lord Harrion in Frey custody, sending a trusted emissary to Karhold to entice them to swear fealty is course of action. House Umber would be the same with the Greatjon with the Frey's. After those two Houses swear their loyalty Roose intends to call a gathering of all the Northern lords for a full discussion on the future of the North, perhaps at the Dreadfort or even in Winterfell. A scattered approach he knew would never work, so summoning all the major lords of the North would be vital to the survival of his power grip on the North.

Opening Moat Callin is the other matter on the mind of Roose as he comes home to Ramsey and his foul creature that was once Theon Greyjoy. His plan is simple, offer to legitimize the bastard if he can successfully use Theon to bargain for the withdrawal of the Ironborn from the North. With their "king" (lord)  dead their chain of campaign has been decapitated they could be persuaded to leave by their new "king" or perhaps have Ramsey use his little pet to put an end to the ironborn garrisoned at the Northern stronghold another way. Without the moat, Bolton knew his men could not get passed the neck with the crannogmen still loyal to the Starks and ready to pounce on any Boltons who stumbled near. Something would have to be done to shore up the ranks, specifically with Stannis in the north but writing to king Joffery would be a tough deal after already giving him the North. Perhaps an overture to the Frey's to join Roose's southern army, perhaps a thousand strong would suffice and Roose took to writing the letter right away, finishing and stamping it with the pink wax seal with the flayed man.   [/center]

[Dereich]

Stannis Baratheon watched the loitering Watchmen from the King's Tower and ground his teeth. He shouldn't be here. Saving the Watch from the wildlings was well and good, but that was before Tywin had died. Stannis didn't like Tywin (Stannis didn't like many people) but he had respected him. Tywin had been the firm hand holding back chaos, keeping the kingdom from falling apart and now he was gone. Stannis needed to do something.

But for now that had to wait. He would not abandon his duty to the Watch; so he grit his teeth and waited for them to play through their little political show. The rumor was that Janos Slynt was a leading candidate to the next Lord Commander; the very idea was ridiculous. The Watch was full of practical people who weren't stupid enough to find out what "Ours is the Fury" means in practice. And besides, Slynt had less charisma than he did and could be outsmarted by any man with half a brain. No, the Watch would select some old hand from Eastwatch or the Shadow Tower to be their new Lord Commander and he would smile, congratulate them and then tell them what to do. He would inform the Commander that the fighting men of the wildlings were going to be let through the Wall to join Stannis's army. He would also be told to let in as many refugees as he could stomach, to be settled in the Gift. Settling the pacified wildlings would deprive his enemies of manpower, increase tax revenue and be a useful buffer against future attack; useless bias would not stand in the way of a common sense way of stopping the northern menace as long as he was King. As for the "King-Beyond-the-Wall", stubborn to the last, he would be made use of: Melisandre had assured Stannis that R'hllor had a use for the petty king and Stannis wasn't going to disagree. While he waited for the Watch to finish assembling for their vote, Stannis considered the North.

His position was by no means terrible; Roose Bolton controlled the North, but he was a hated usurper who would be violently put in his place the moment his grip slipped. Stannis had been Eddard Stark's choice to succeed Robert and he intended to put a Stark back in Winterfell; the Northmen would surely follow him. He stole a glace at his shadow, the Red Priestess who was always at his side. Already knowing what was on his mind, she smiled and said "Jon Snow is on his way as we speak." That was good. Legitimizing Snow might be the key to toppling Bolton. Already ravens had been sent to any and every Northern lord with a reason to dislike the Boltons and the Freys (all of them) and soon they would also get the news that a Stark had been restored to Winterfell and that the King who had done his duty for the Watch would do his duty for them.

Stannis stood and waited, impatient for the future he had seen in the flames. Westeros was crying out for a firm and just ruler to restore order. Westeros was crying out for Stannis. It just didn't know it yet.

[Lumine]

Jon Snow:

Who does Winterfell belong to?

Jon Snow could have thought of many things. He could have thought about the Boltons or the Lannisters, he could have thought about the Lords of the North, he could have thought about the family he would have with Val. But right now all he could think of was that Winterfell was not a piece of land to be traded, it was a place that belonged to someone... or something. At first he thought it belonged to House Stark, until he saw Ghost and his red eyes, red like the weirwoods, red like his father's gods.

To the gods. Winterfell belongs to the gods, to the old gods, and to nobody else.

He had an answer in that, and he knew that he had been this close to going to the King's chambers to announce that he was declining his offer. He certainly did not want to imagine how the King would grit his teeth at his refusal. But before he could climb the stairs and reach Melisandre or one of the Queen's Men, he could not help but think he was being too hasty. The conflict was there, he could feel it, he could feel the surge of guilty, emotion and... desire. I want Winterfell. I've always wanted Winterfell, and I am guilty about it. But Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon were gone, and Sansa was Lady Lannister. What would be of Winterfell now? Would it fall to the Lannisters to dishonor it? To the Boltons? To Stannis's knights, who would simply follow Melisandre's commands and destroy every trace of his father's gods? Perhaps I could protect the weirwood if I was Lord of Winterfell. By that point, his only options seemed to be awaiting death in the Wall at the hands of Janos Slynt or taking Stannis's offer, even knowing that he had no right to give Winterfell away, even knowing that he knew nothing about the North.

Stannis will lose the North if he can't rally the Northern Lords. That was beyond dispute. As brother of the Night's Watch should not concern himself with the issues of the rest of the realm, but even Maester Aemon had almost left the Wall when House Targaryen had suffered several crippling blows. If he was all that was left of his House... Could I leave House Stark to dissapear? Could I live happy with the thought that I ended the line of my father? That I held my ground and did nothing to protect what he and Robb fought for? And for what? No. He had to try. He had to do something. He had no way of knowing what Robb or his father would have wanted, but to remember that they always said that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

And so, Jon had his answer. He was not pleased with it, but at least he had an answer. He would climb up the steps to Stannis's tower, he would request an audience with the King, and he would say what he wanted to say. He would become the Lord of Winterfell, he would steal Val and then marry her, and he would help Stannis win his throne. But he would never accept to convert to the Lord of Light, and he would protect the weirwoods. If Jon Snow was to become Jon Stark, it was not going to be by betraying everything the North meant to him and his family.

-I'm here to see the King.- He said -

Melisandre smiled.

[Lumine]

Reek:

-Yes, Reek, Robb Stark is dead. I'm sorry. My father put a knife into his heart.-

Robb... Robb... Stark. His head was now filled with images of things he must have dreamed, for in single moment he saw wolves, a castle, a ship, a young man kneeling before his friend... No, no, that isn't me. My name is Reek. Reek. Rhymes with meek... Lord Sn... Ramsay! Lord Ramsay said so. He... it would be bad of me to speak at all.

-I am sorry, Reek, I know he was like a brother to you. How do you feel about that?-

He froze, not knowing what to do. The images just kept coming through his head, a man with a longsword beheading another man, riding on a horse with a young woman. That isn't me. That can't be me. No... No... Please, stop. Reek, Reek, my name is Reek. Somehow he managed to move his arms once again, the rest of his body freezed while his faced had a smile made of pure anguish. He continued to stare at the horizon, and the images slowly started to fade. He was sure of who he was once again, his Lord could continue to be kind to him.

-You know, Reek, I feel confident about the future. My Lord father has done a superb job here in the North, and if I am not mistaken Houses Dustin, Ryswell and Hornwood march with us.-
-Co... congratulations, my Lord.-
-Thank you, Reek. But we still have one little problem to solve... You are very brave in helping us with this.-
-O... of course, my Lord.-
-Do you love me, Reek?

Did he? He is a kind Lord, he doesn't want to hurt me. He only hurts me when I give him cause.

-Yes, my Lord. I... want to serve you. I am your Reek, please let me serve you. Please.-
-It is good to have such a loyal servant. I couldn't think of a better man to play this game. What game are we playing, Reek?-
-The game of being someone else.-
-Exactly. Who are you?-
-Reek.-
-And who will you pretend to be?-
-Theon Greyjoy.-

Lord Ramsay had smiled at that and he had been kind enough to help Theon with the parts of his armor that didn't fit well. He was going to give him Moat Cailin, so Lord Bolton could move his army to the North. I will give him the castle. I will. I must. He knew the garrison wouldn't know him with his hair turned white, but he could not fail. He would never failed Lord Ramsay. So he started to walk while he waved the white flag his Lord had kindly given him, and the game of playing a Prince began.

[Lumine]

Jon Stark:

Every single man at Castle Black had come to the ceremony. He could see the court of King Stannis led by Queen Selyse, Princess Shireen, the freezing Lords and the boasting knights, he could see the wildlings that had crossed the Wall to join the forces of the Stag, and he could see those who had been his brothers for the past year. I will miss them. Sam, Pyp, Grenn, Maester Aemon… I have done my best to kill the boy and let the man grown, and I will miss them. He had thought more than once that he would not be able to succeed, and yet he had. Stannis had gritted his teeth for a while, and Ser Denys had probably been disappointed. Looking back, it was rather cruel to think that one of the main reasons of why he had been released from his oath was that Joffrey had done the same with Janos Slynt. Ser Denys had been forced to choose between angering two Kings or bending the rules, and he had finally chosen to yield. Cotter Pyke would have likely told Joffrey and Stannis something quite different, but Ser Denys had yielded, and he had has ben released.

-For the night is dark, and full of terror! – Shouted Melisandre, her fiery hair a stark contrast with the night –
-For the night is dark, and full of terror! – The Queen’s men shouted, Massey and Farring at their head –

Stannis was dressed with his battle armor, Lightbringer firmly held by his right hand as one of his squires brought him the parchment. He gave a few cold words about the Watch and about his right to sit on the throne, and then he proceeded with the crucial part.

-Thus, Jon Snow, as the rightful King of Westeros I release you from your oath to the Night’s Watch.-

With just a few words, Stannis Baratheon had ended what had seemed at some point as an eternal service to the Watch. Just a few words and a single stroke, and he was no longer the brother of his brothers.

-Now a free man, I hereby remove the stain of bastardy from your name, and legitimize you as Jon of the House Stark, son of Eddard of the House Stark.-

Another few words, and the one thing that made my life so difficult was gone. He knew that many would not accept it, he knew that many would still call him a bastard to the end of his days. But he had a direwolf, he had the blood, and he had the North inside of him. He was a Stark.

-As the rightful and legal male heir of Lord Eddard Stark, I, Stannis of the House Baratheon, rightful King of the Andals, the Rhyonar and the First Men, name you Lord of Winterfell, and my Warden of the North.-

Winterfell was his. It was a dream that had come true due to something horrible and brutal, but there he was, Lord Stark.

-Swear your fealty to me, Lord Stark, and arise as my vassal.-

He said the words and he rose to the unexpected applause of the men of the Night’s Watch, reborn at last as Jon Stark. He had a duty now, and he would protect the North from his enemies. He would save House Stark.

[DKrol]

A Raven to all  the Lords of the Sevens Kingdoms, Great Houses and Landed Knights Alike

"Most Noble Lords and Ladies,

For 283 years my ancestors ruled the Seven Kingdoms. Aegon the Conqueror, Jaehaerys the Wise, Baelor the Blessed, Daeron the Good. My father, Prince Rhaegar, was beloved by the Seven Kingdoms - small folk and high born alike. The Targaryens ruled justly and with honor and the Seven Kingdoms flourished under their rule. The Seven Kingdoms were united and the King’s Peace stretched from the Wall, to Winterfell, to the Twins, to King’s Landing, to Horn Hill, to Sunspear. In the absence of the Targaryens the Seven Kingdoms are at war - crops are being trampled, fields salted, woman raped and murder. The Targaryens kept the Ironborn in Pyke and forced the Kingswood Brotherhood into submission. It is time for the Dragons to return home.

Some seven-and-ten years ago, an upstart Lord grew jealous of the people’s love for my father. Robert Baratheon - the Usurper, the Whoremonger - was a violent glutton. He slew my father, killed the hope and love of the Seven Kingdoms, and took the Iron Throne to fulfill his own desires. His swords stormed the Red Keep and brutally murdered my mother and my sister in cold blood. A mother and a babe of three years were raped and slaughtered at the hand of the Stag. I was secreted away by those who remained loyal to House Targaryen and raised by Lord Jon Connington in the Free Cities.

Now, a boy sits on the Iron Throne. A boy so violent and terrible his own Kingsguard fears him. A boy so terrible he has his own brother beaten by once honorable knights. A boy so arrogant he presumes the small folk should worship himself rather than the Seven. This boy should be in the yard of a castle, squiring for a knight and learning to use a sword. The Iron Throne is made for a man grown.

The King in the Iron Throne must be powerful, yet kind. He must be firm, yet caring. He must be a man grown and blooded, yet young at heart and slow to anger. He must be of high birth, yet knowledgeable to the struggles of the small folk. He must be a Targaryen, yet a friend to all Houses. For those who doubt my blood, I say only look at mine face. I am Targaryen through and through. Lord Connington tells me I am the image of Prince Rhaegar.

I urge you to follow the path of Lord Selwyn Tarth, Lord Elwood Meadows, and the noble knights and Lords of the Golden Company of Volantis and bend the knee. I swear before the Seven that any Lord or knight who kneels before me shall be received into the King’s Peace. Those who bend the knee will be allowed to keep their lands and titles, while those who opposed me shall fall under the might of the dragon. Bend the knee for the good of the Seven Kingdoms. Bend the knee for the honor of the Iron Throne. Bend the knee for Rhaegar, Elia, and Rhaenys.

With hope,
Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

[DKrol]

A Raven to all  the Lords of the Sevens Kingdoms, Great Houses and Landed Knights Alike
Two Ravens to the following Lords: Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock, Edwyn Frey of the Twins, Mariya Darry of Darry, Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall, Jason Mallister of Seagard, Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort, and Yohn Royce of Runestone

"Most Noble Lords and Ladies,

Stannis Baratheon wishes to claim to be the true Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. I ask him, where is his army? Where are his holdings? Where are his leal lords? Why is he freezing on the Wall - a place for criminals and outlaws?

I have an army, growing by the day, of trained soldiers, knights, and Lords. Stannis Baratheon has a ragtag band of tribal savages.

I have a strong castle at my command. Stannis Baratheon must encroach upon the hospitality of the Night's Watch for a place to sit, sleep, and eat.

I have several Lords who have taken the knee - great men like Selwyn Tarth, Elwood Meadows, Jon Connington, and Doran Martell. Stannis Baratheon has a bastard son of Eddard Stark in Winterfell.

I am in Storm's End, only a day's march from the ruins of King's Landing, and the center of Westeros. Stannis Baratheon is many weeks from the Twins, and a moon's turn from King's Landing.

I am building a new capital for the small folk near Storm's End. Stannis Baratheon wishes to spirit the small folk away to Dragonstone - a dreary little island that was once the seat of my House.

I hold the Seven dear to me and pray as hard as Baelor the Blessed, my ancestor. Stannis Baratheon is a heretic, sending his praise to a fire demon from Asshai.

Stannis Baratheon claims that King's Landing burned under my father. My father, the beloved Prince Rhaegar, was robbed of the right to sit the Iron Throne because of the Usurper. My grandfather, King Aerys II, was murdered by his Kingsguard after years of betrayal and deceit. The only time that King's Landing burned was under the Baratheon Usurpers.

Stannis Baratheon is another Baratheon Usurper.

With hope,
Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

[Dereich]

An Announcement on the Will of Rob Stark

I am Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and King of the First Men and hold ultimate authority over my subjects. However should the Warden of the North so choose, he is free to adopt the title of King in the North, along with all the rights and privileges that title entails, so long as he continues to acknowledge and accept the ultimate suzerainty of the Iron Throne.

So Says the King,
Stannis Baratheon

[Lumine]

An Announcement on the Will of Rob Stark

I am Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and King of the First Men and hold ultimate authority over my subjects. However should the Warden of the North so choose, he is free to adopt the title of King in the North, along with all the rights and privileges that title entails, so long as he continues to acknowledge and accept the ultimate suzerainty of the Iron Throne.

So Says the King,
Stannis Baratheon

Notice: I'm sorry, but this will have to be overridden by the GM. While Renly may have showed a willingness to consider a similar arrangement, I think it's out of character for Stannis to allow one of his vassals to be named King, even if he remains a vassal.

[Dereich]

An Announcement on the Will of Rob Stark

I am Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and King of the First Men and hold ultimate authority over my subjects. However should the Warden of the North so choose, he is free to adopt the title of King in the North, along with all the rights and privileges that title entails, so long as he continues to acknowledge and accept the ultimate suzerainty of the Iron Throne.

So Says the King,
Stannis Baratheon

Notice: I'm sorry, but this will have to be overridden by the GM. While Renly may have showed a willingness to consider a similar arrangement, I think it's out of character for Stannis to allow one of his vassals to be named King, even if he remains a vassal.

Oops; hadn't read that book in a while. I was mistaking who said what.

[Lumine]

Reek II:

-Isn't it beautiful, Reek?- His master asked, fixated on the view -
-It... It is, my lord. Most beautiful.-
-I'm glad you can share my sense of beauty, Reek.-
-O... of course, my lord.-

All he could see was nothing a frozen wasteland as they sailed on the boat, but if Lord Ramsay believed it to be beautiful, then so did he. They had left the Dreadfort a long time ago and beyond the initial ravens they heard nothing more, so they were truly on their own... where exactly? Names and places were still confused to him, but perhaps it was North of the Wall. Lord Ramsay knows, he knows were we are. He would not go to a place without knowing where it is, he always has a good reason. He wondered about the destination, and he had already seen the sailors ask the same thing, only to be shut down by the glances of Lord Ramsay.

To his surprise, Reek realized that the Dreadfort was much warmer to this place, he could even say he missed the fortress when compared to a white and never ending void. And Winterfell was much better, but Winterfell was lost, taking by the man that Lord Ramsay cursed everyday, the man who had taken Lord Bolton... no, Lord Ramsay is Lord Bolton. You must remember it, you must. He had run through the snow before his master took him back at the Dreadfort, and the the journey was prepared as secretly as possible. He did not know how the days passed as quickly as they did, but he could realize that they were slow for the crew. And yet his master was so calm, starting at the void the whole afternoon before spending the nights with Myranda.

And Myranda's belly was larger very day... he wondered how long would it take for the bas... No... No, no! Not that word, never that world, or you will lose your fingers! Lord Bolton, it's Lord Bolton, and his son will be another Lord Bolton, and... He realized the child would probably not live long, but it was a Lord all the same. He chose to keep his mind in blank whne the question of Myranda arised. He did not want to know what would be of her, and he did not want to know what would Lord Ramsay do once she was gone.

-Reek.-
-My Lord?-
-You once said you loved me.-
-I... I did, my Lord, of course I do.-
-If I were to go very far, Reek, would you follow me?-
-Yes, my Lord, always.-
-Good. We are taking a long trip, Reek... I don't know when we will return home, but somehow I think we will return.-
-Where are you going, my Lord?-
-No, Reek, wrong question...-

He started to tremble, panic surged through his head. He was wrong, he had made a mistake, Lord Ramsay would have to punish him and...

-The question should be, where are we going? And we are going to a place nobody would dream of going.

Silence envolved both of them for a while, and Reek could see how the eyes of his master drifted into the horizon. He allowed himself to close his eyes for just a moment, and for the first time in a long time he gave a very short sigh.

[Lumine]

The Lord Commander:

He knew they were there. He had no need of a barbarian like Cotter Pyke to tell him that they were there, because he knew that they were there. Stannis Baratheon could have smashed Mance Rayder, but the wildling armies where still there, waiting for the moment to strike. Thankfully the past months had involved more trouble coming from the Baratheons than the wildlings, but Ser Denys had spent enough time at the Wall to know that they would strike once again. And we are not ready. Many men had been trained, but Ser Allister could not work miracles. Not even Lord Mormont could have done better had he remained alive.

One thing was sure, he was not sending more explorations Beyond the Wall. Only a few rangers were sent now and then, but even that would have to stop now that Winter kept getting harsher. At the start Ser Denys had been hopeful that the cold might kill the wildlings, until the realized the cold would only force them to attack soon… very soon.

-Tired. I am tired.-
-Excuse me, my Lord? – Said the Tarly boy, his eyes rising from the parchment –
-Nothing. Nothing to worry about.-

He hoped that his men would see him as being just like he was when he was elected, but he was tired. Not of the job, but because of the hopeless situation. If the wildlings failed to kill them he suspected Stannis could do it. He had almost fainted when news of Lady Selyse’s death had arrived, because he realized of the implications. He could only hope none of his men were foolish enough to do such a thing… but Ser Denys knew better than that. Not even highborn men were able to stay away from murder, why would savages and rapists be any different?

-Any news from the Riverlands, Tarly?-
-N-No, Lord Commander. We have heard nothing yet.-

He was worried. Not about his nephew, who had boasted countless times that he had no fear, but because of his family as a whole. Seagard and the Mallisters had avoided most of the damage that befell the Riverlands in the last raven he had received, but he was still worried. After he could not tolerate the waiting any longer he had allowed himself to think of what he never thought, and the idea of his House going down in flames was almost impossible to stand. Many Lord Commanders had faced similar situations, like the kin of Harren the Black, who chose to do nothing as his house was destroyed to the last man at Harrenhal. He even allowed himself to feel pity at Jon Snow, who was forced to stand as most of his family died. He would not forgive Snow for breaking his vows and leave for Winterfell, but he understood his reasons. And, when the nights were especially harsh for an old man like himself, he even felt a bit of envy.

-My Lord?-
-Yes, Oliver?-
-The men have arrived.-
-Is Lord Connington with them?-
-Is he the red-haired man?-
-Yes, Oliver.-

The Lord Commander put on his gloves and he descended the stairs while flanked by Tarly and Ser Alliser, the Baratheon soldiers quick to dismount as they untied Lord Connington. He had never met him in person, but he looked like a man who was truly fierce. And a former Hand of the King. Ser Denys could not care less about the reasons that had brought his Lord to the Wall, but he did felt grateful to Lord Baratheon for that. A proper Lord like him was a godsend given the state of the Watch.

-My Lord Connington, welcome to Castle Black.-
-It is good to meet you, Ser Denys. I have heard many things about you.—
-Most of them good ones, I hope.-
-Oh, no doubt. There is some solace in serving under a proper knight.-
-I don’t suppose it’s necessary for me to say that the game of thrones has no place here, right, my Lord?-
-No, Ser Denys, that much I know.-

It was evident the man was worried about whatever was going down in the South, and to Ser Denys he looked like the perfect chance to actually understand what was going on now that the ravens were so few. They had supper together, and Ser Denys had to admit he was the best company a man like himself could enjoy in the Wall, save for when Maester Aemon was in the mood to talk.

-So you believe it will come down to Stannis and Aegon.-
-It has to be, and as long as Aegon can get Daenerys on his side everything will be fine.-
-And Tommen Baratheon?-
-He has no chance, my Lord. They told me the imp is a resourceful man, but not even Lord Tywin himself could win after the Great Fire.-
-I see. I will not ask about the Greyjoy King, a barbarian will never win the throne.-
-Ser Denys, could I ask a question?-
-Of course, my lord.-
-Could I see Maester Aemon?-
-What for?-
-I… would like to discuss a few matters with him.-
-Careful now, my lord.-

In the end Ser Denys granted his request – as any proper gentleman would do -, but he could not help but to think that Lord Connington’s arrival was not as good as he had hoped. A man who was still thinking about the game of thrones was the least the wall needed. And now the Lord Commander would have to trust the honor of a griffin reborn… and fallen again.

[badgate]

ARYA

She had left Winterfell riding a spotted mare, with a chestnut mane and tail. Her dress, the one her mother made her wear, had been grey wool trimmed with black satin sashes, and when the summer snows had begun to fall she'd donned a black wool cloak lined with white wolf fur. Around her had been a chivalrous party that numbered in the hundreds. Ser Jaime the Kingslayer had laughed alongside the Lannister knights, and Queen Cersei was scarcely seen as she chose to ride in the big ugly cart with her ladies and children. King Robert bellowed from the front atop his black destrier, and her father laughed alongside him. Arya had never quite seen her father look that youthful, not before and never since. Nymeria had darted back and forth in front of her and Sansa's horses as a game, and Sansa got so upset by her she had resorted to riding ahead with Jeyne Pool thereon.

This hill must have moved. The North was still the north, but everything was different. Now Arya was returning. I will get there. I will get there. I will get there, she repeated over in her head. Every night since she'd left Braavos, she dreamed of the voices that had gone from laughter to horror. The chaos, and the tent that went up in flames. Then The Hound's axe would hit her, and she'd wake up. I was so close. She had felt her brother, there in that wedding camp. The flames had licked the sky while drunk men screamed and died. And now there is a Stark in Winterfell, and I'm close again. I will get there.

She was returning to Winterfell with calloused feet and lightning-fast reflexes. She could lie like a Faceless Man, speak the Braavosi tongue, some Tyrosh, and even knew some Summer Islander...and she had killed men. That day in Braavos, wearing only the clothes of Cat of the Canals, she'd marched up to the Braavosi cogs in the harbor and found one borne for White Harbor. The captain had rough tan skin that looked like old leather, with an oily black beard that even sparkled in the sunlight. When she showed him the iron coin, he handed it back to her with a golden dragon and his name. "Valar Dohaeris," he'd said. And she answered. "Valar Morghulis."

Now she was on foot. In White Harbor she'd used that gold coin to buy a small fishing skiff from a man who lived off the White Knife and sold his daily catch in the White Harbor market. When she thought she'd sailed far enough up the river, she left the skiff and struck west on foot. Maybe I didn't row far enough, she thought. She could turn back; she might reach the river again around dawn. She could flip the boat over and sleep under some shelter before returning to the river. Okay, now that hill definitely wasn't there before. She resolved to turn back after she reached the top of the next hill, if she couldn't make out where she was.

As she climbed the hill, her thoughts turned to the House of Black and White. Will they send someone to kill me? One of their faceless men who do not yet know my name? Will I die like Chiswyck and Weese and the guardsmen who supped on Weasel soup? Only time would truly tell. In the House of Black and White she had been No One, forced to forsake her possessions and her identity. She had spent months blind, had sold clams and shrimp as Cat of the Canals, even been an ugly blind girl who begged for money in the streets of Braavos. Now she was Arya of House Stark, and she had promised the Kindly Man that she would never be Arya of House Stark. One day she would return, with a purse full of gold coins to give her thanks and donate to the Faceless Men. Maybe they'd thank her and absolve her. What a stupid thought. Then she was at the top of the hill, and saw for the first time in years the walls and towers of Winterfell.

Her heart beat so loud and fast that she felt like drums were beating in her ears. I'm so close! I'll make it! I will get there! She charged down the hill, running, faster, faster. When she came upon her old home's walls she was breathless, her skin shining with sweat despite the cold winter airs. Hundreds of men and women moved about, at work restoring the castle. Arya then saw the singes of flames all along the walls. The gate is new, she noticed absurdly. It was fresh iron oak, heavy and raw. Over at the tower that hadn't been used in centuries was crude scaffolding, the sounds of hammers and nails as men shouted up and down. They're rebuilding it, she realized. When she reached the gate she stopped. It didn't feel right. This wasn't the gate where she'd left.

Sprinting again, Arya made around the castle to the gate by the kingsroad. There was a thicket of trees on either side of the road, thick enough to hide someone from passerby. As she got nearer to the edge of the trees, she stopped. Something was following her. Turning, she saw movement in the snow banks she had just crossed. In the distance she heard voices, the sound of horse hooves on dirt, and a voice shouting "Ghost! To me!"

Ghost! Suddenly she could make out the white shape, and in an instant the direwolf slunk through the trees and padded toward her. He was almost as tall her, with a big white head. Those red eyes that had once been small embers were now bright and glowing, the size of rubies in a sword hilt. His bushy white tail was bigger than her arms or legs. "You found me," she whispered as she stroked the wolf's head and scratched behind his big ear. He licked her face, and suddenly she was giggling like the girl she'd been the day her brothers brought Nymeria home to her. "You found me!" again, and louder.

"Aye, we found you," a voice behind her said. She whipped around to see two men on horse, big men with swords and shields. Ghost moved silently to her side, watching the men. "She's pretty, in her own sort of way," the second man said to the first. The first man answered "sure, why not? Got a nice northern look to her if you ask me. Bella will be pleased."

"Bella?" Arya asked.

"Me wife. M'lord honored her with management of the kitchens, y'see, and she's in need of a new kitchen wench. You'll do just fine, me thinks." A voice came from behind the man. "She'll do just fine for what, Duncan?" Ghost darted forward like an arrow from a bow, to meet the voice. The man came forward, sitting tall and straight on a grey horse spotted with white. He was wearing simple armor, but with a great wolf cloak fastened around his neck by two silver wolf heads. Each head had a ruby for the eye. "Duncan here's found us a new kitchen wench for your castle, m'lord Stark," the second man said to the lordling.

Father? He had the beard of Lord Eddard Stark. And the forehead, but no. Have I slept for twenty years? Am I old and ugly and this is little Rickon, a man grown? That was absurd. Of course not. She studied the face, and the man's eyes met hers. Was it seconds or hours or years, she would never know. There in the eyes she found her answer.

Hours later, after the laughter and the crying and the hugging, the shouting and drinking and eating and singing and crying again, after the first man had fallen to his knees and apologized profusely while the second man doubled over laughing, Arya Stark fell asleep in the castle she called home. In the winter, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. She'd finally found her pack. She'd finally gotten home. And earlier that day, outside the gates of Winterfell, she'd finally met Lord Jon Stark.

[Lumine]

Reek III:

She had been screaming for two days. Again and again, the sound flew through the giant forest to spread across the entire place, and there was no hiding from it. Scream after scream after scream, to Reek it felt like that day in which he had played to be Theon Greyjoy, that day in which good Lord Ramsay had taken over the castle and flay all of those men… but not even these screams were as loud, as chilling. Myranda had been almost unable to walk over the past days, and by the time they had found that abandoned hut she was due.

At the beginning he had been scared of what might happen, of how Lord Bolton would react to such a situation. And yet he had said not a word. He smiled. He had been smiling since the first moment, and he would not stop doing it. They had marched for days through the snow, through hunger and cold, and he had never stopped smiling, as if a greater force gave him what he needed to go on. Reek had no use for such things, he knew what would happen if he stayed behind. He would get his punishment for being a bad servant.

-My Lord, the baby won’t come out…-
-Come again?-
-He… he is alive, my Lord, but he is not coming out.-

Lord Ramsay’s face had a slight chance as his smile lost some of the brightness, and Reek couldn’t help but to hide behind the hut, fearful of his master and what he would do.

-It seems I will have to help. – He said, the smile back in place –
-My Lord? –
-The knife.-

The man walked back, his face pale.

-Knife?-
-Reek, the knife!-
-Y…yes, my lord! –

Better not to make him angry, no, not make him angry, or he will take what’s left… Reek moved as fast as he could, giving Lord Ramsay his big hunting knife.

-Good, Reek. – And he paused, admiring the beauty of the knife – Very good.-
-My Lord, please…-
-Silence. Or you will become meat for the wildlings.-

Lord Ramsay put his arm around him, and Reek had to keep himself from moving. He looked at him with a satisfied grin, then looking at the knife.

-You have stayed with me, Reek. That is good. You seem to have become a very loyal lad.-
-I... I do what I can, Lord Bolton.-
-Lord Bolton... strange to hear that in the middle of nowhere.-
-My Lord, Lady Myranda...-
-I said silence! Learn from Reek, he only speaks when he has to. But yes, I should take care of Myranda, don't you think?-
-My Lord?-
-She is in a lot of pain... it is perhaps my duty to spare her that pain.-
-You are a... merciful lord, my lord.-
-Merciful... yes... I suppose I am, Reek. I suppose I am.-

Relieved to see his good master pleased, Reek looked away as Ramsay entered the hut in which the screams only grew louder. He wanted to go away, and without even noticing he did, thinking of different times, thinking of… No, no, not that. It never happened. It was just a dream, and such nonsense is not becoming of a Reek.

-Ramsay! Ramsay, please! No… No… N…-

So lost he was in his words that he didn’t notice that the screams were over, that some of the men looked at the sky and some at the trees, and that all were silent as a grave. The hut opened, and forth came Lord Ramsay with his bloody knife and… a child in his arms.
-I have a son. I HAVE A SON! – He screamed, even louder than Myranda’s earlier noises –

The forest appeared to shake for a moment as the crows flew away from the place, and Reek could clearly see a small river of blood coming out from the hut, the blood freezing the instant it touched the ground. And whatever lived in that forest started to howl…

-I HAVE A SON!-

And Lord Ramsey cried... in his joy.

[Lumine]

Reek IV:

As the night left and the sun came back Reek felt a strange sense of nostalgia by feeling relief, something that he had learned to forget in the Dreadfort and beyond the Wall. At first he would have been willing to say to himself that the Dreadfort was much worse, but as the days passed he simply did not felt sure about it. But the relief was there, as the night had left. It would be a short day searching for food and then… night again. He had learnt not to count the days that passed, he would count the men that were gone...

-Weaklings. - Lord Bolton had shrugged the losses –

It was a large group of men that had left the Dreadfort on that boat, and there were still many of them when Myranda had… when Lord Bolton’s son had been born. But as the days grew shorter and the nights larger, as the howls through the forest became louder and louder, as the cold grew more and more bitter… the men disappeared, one by one. Some went out screaming as loud as they could, others would leave in a whisper, and others would leave as if they had never been there. One by one, until the only ones left were Lord Ramsay and Reek, forced to hold the future Lord Bolton in his arms.

If Lord Bolton felt fear he certainly did not show it. He would walk and walk and stare at the trees as if he hoped to find something, never bothering to listen to the cries of the wounded or the sick, or those who were afraid… and every night somebody would disappear, only for them to continue walking north through that forest. One of the few memories Reek would not reject was those of the Night’s Watch, and he felt genuine pity for them as he realized they were dealing with that every day. But his pity was almost gone after the endless march, and he was quick to forget about them, about the men who had left, even about himself.

-Do you think it ever stops being white, Reek? –
-My Lord? –
-It’s always white in this forest. Don’t you think it would look better in black or red? Or perhaps pink?-
-I… I don’t know, my lord. I’ve never seen black snow.-
-Of course you haven’t, Reek. But perhaps you will.-
-My Lord?-
-You ever heard of the white walkers?-
-No… I mean yes. My Lord.-

He couldn’t quite remember everything, but he could hear the voice of an old crone even now… They rode dead horses, and had spiders as big as hounds… Yes, he remembered now. In a way he already knew that it wasn’t the wildlings who had taken away the rest of the group.

-They’re here. Hiding in the snow and behind the trees, watching every of our moves. And we will meet them very soon.-
-And we…- Reek stopped himself before saying something that would anger his Lord –
-Oh, no, Reek. It is really not what you think. I didn’t come all the wall north of the Wall to freeze to death.-
-Of course, my Lord.-
-I wasn’t sure at first, but some of the old books that were piled up in the Dreadfort were quite helpful in my little decision. We have a large role to play, Reek, you and I.-

And he smiled once again.

As the night came by Reek realized that there was no one else to set some sort of camp, and yet he was vary of asking Lord Bolton. He must have noticed, for he had looked at him and said that they would continue to walk. In his own words, they were so close... And as they walked, Reek was finally able to hear the chanting. A whisper at first, and then louder and louder, there were dozens of voices chanting… but not in the common tongue. Somehow, he just knew that it was a language that not many had heard before. And, at last, they arrived.

-Here.-
-My Lord?-
-I have decided that this is the place, Reek.-

It was a point in the forest in which the trees were gone, leaving up a large and almost empty space. And at the middle, a large and flat stone, shaped like a cradle.

-Put the baby there.-
-Y… yes, my Lord.-

He did so out of sheer fear and the baby opened his eyes, starting to cry. Reek heard steps closing on they and he took a couple of steps back, more and more terrified as time went by. Lord Bolton smiled and then he started to laugh, just as the first of them were moving out of the woods. They were real… Gods, they were real. Tall and gaunt, pale and blue-eyed, wearing armors that he had never seen before… The White Walkers were here for them. A circle of them quickly surrounded Reek and Lord Bolton, and then one moved forward.

-M… my lord!?-
-Be quiet, Reek. This is a memorable occasion. – And he laughed again –

The White Walker who appeared to be the leader walked slowly towards the child, taking it in his arms with a cold stare. He put his finger on the face of the child, and Reek saw too well how his skin froze and the eyes went blue as the rest. The White Walker gave the child to one of his armored warriors and when, with a simple gesture, he beckoned Lord Ramsay towards the cradle. He walked step by sept, seemingly fascinated at the ice creatures, and the White Walker forced him to step on the stone. He then took his spear and raised it as high as he could, and his men started to chant once again.

-He… he is flying…-

Lord Bolton’s feet were now in the air, the young Lord levitating from the stone as his smile grew larger. The forest began to whisper, and a frozen wind covered the Lord. His armor slowly turned into ice, and his skin and his hair did, and then his eyes… never had Reek seen anything bluer than them. He believed they were the eyes of a dead man, until he understood only too well that they were more alive than ever. Reek fell to his knees as the White Walker went towards him, but Lord Ramsay stopped him with a single hand gesture.

Had he been spared? He could not tell, for he fainted out of terror.

[Lumine]

Reek V:

As the army of Winter marched South Reek could not help but to think that he was both lucky and unlucky. He had been spared by Lord... Culrikhan, and yet he was surrounded by the worst nightmares of men, the horde marching South for reasons he could not understand. Communicating with Lord Culrikhan was easy enough as he had kept his ability to speak the common tongue instead of using only skroth, the old language of the White Walkers, but he refused to tell him more than necessary, and he had certainly hid all the stories they had heard in the past weeks. As a result he knew very little, but what he knew more than anyone else in Westeros.

They were thousands, enough to make any of the Bolton troops look like ants. They were fierce warriors, both the men and the women. They had spiders sized liked giants, and their swords put valyrian steel to shame. They called themselves the Sidhe, and they were marching on the Wall to... he could only guess that they would bring it down, they had killed enough Bolton men for him to realize that they could not mean anything good for anyone South of the Wall. Everyday they moved closed, everyday they crushed more and more bands of wildlings trying to run away, creating more and more wights to follow them.

-Reek... - Said Lord Culrikhan, his voice causing Reek to shiver - Get my sword.-

Today was the day of the duel. From what Reek could understand, his Lord had been accepted by a man... an other... a Sidhe called Aroth, a powerful warrior and the apparent leader of the winter horde. For some reason dueling was allowed between them to win the powers of the vanquished, and his Lord, to the shock of many warriors, had challenged Aroth to a duel after learning everything he could from him. It was likely that nobody else had done so in the past, for all the Sidhe warriors kept their distance from Lord Culrikhan, as if he was death himself... And perhaps, he thought bitterly, he may be.

-Ahhrahhrakrak... Ahrakahkr... Krahakrk... -

Aroth was in many ways unlike the rest of the Sidhe, and Reek felt that in many ways he looked... more normal, somehow. He had the same white hair and blue eyes, yet he refused to wear armor like the rest and the always mounted a horse with a spear on his hand. He had a beard, and at times he looked like the closest think the Sidhe had to an elder. To Reek it felt wrong to say something like that could be more "normal", and yet there he was.

-Wish me luck... Reek.-

Both men... both warriors fought on like demons, the rest of the Sidhe warriors chanting as the battle raged while the wights knelt on the ground, Reek choosing to imitate them lest he was to lose his head for any wrong move. Lord Culrikhan refused to use a spear despite the advantage it would give his enemy, choosing instead one of the ice swords of the Sidhe, and Reek had never seen a weapon that was so blue and so strong. Culrikhan and Aroth landed several hits on each other, yet they could not bring a quick end to the fight.

-Arakha! Hrark! Rhakarn! - The warriors chanted -

It was a twisted version of the tales Reek could still remember having heard, the knight and the king locked in heroic combat until only one was left standing. He did not know who was to win the battle, and yet he felt it odd that he could only think of what Lord Ram... Culrikhan would of to Aroth if he won the battle.

After all, can you flay a man of ice?

-Thhh.... Th.... The... - Reek heard, a voice whispering in the forests -

With both Aroth and Culrikhan still locked in their duel Reek felt compelled to follow the voice, and he took a few steps backwars to reach the trees as Sidhes and wights ignored him. He followed the whispers deeper and deeper, until he reached a heart tree, it's eyes bleeding copious amounts of blood. Memories of Winterfell returned to him, and then the tree spoke to him.

-Theon...-

He was frozen. It had been ages since he had heard that name, ages since Moat Cailin, ages since the Dreadfort, ages since Winterfell... oh, gods, Winterfell... Robb... The memories he had suppressed for so long returned to his head with a single stroke, forcing him to fall to his knees from the pain and the shock. He almost threw up as memory after memory returned to him, and he passed away.

By the time he has awake again, Aroth lied on the middle of the army with a sword stuck in the middle of his chest, and Lord Culrikhan stood tall, the Sidhe warriors kneeling before him while chanting. His Lord smiled when he appeared from the hordes of warriors, and lifting his arms into the sky he opened his eyes and spoke, not in skroth, but in the common tongue.

-Reek... I am... I have become... the Night's King.

Theon knelt.

[DKrol]

Jon Connington

"Lord Commander, sir. There's been a raven from Storm's End." Eddison Tollett entered the Lord Commander's solar, bearing a heavily damaged parchment. Connington had his back to the door, standing by his fire place. He didn't move when Tollett came in, nor did he speak. The steward shuffled by the door, unsure of how to respond to the new Lord Commander. "I can read it, if you'd like." Tollett waited, although still Connington said nothing nor moved. "To Jon Connington, I am writing to you today on the most depressing of matters. Our king, the beloved Aegon Targaryen Sixth of His Name, has..." Tollett stopped reading, his eyes scanning rapidly. "Sir, the boy has died. Killed by...himself."

I've let two Kings die at my hand. Connington raised a hand to dismiss the steward. Tollett left the parchment on the desk and turned to leave, closing the door behind him. Connington snatched up the parchment and collapsed on the small chaise longue, pulling the fur duvet over him and staring at the letter. He read it once, twice, thrice. The words blurred more and more on the other side of his tears. He crumbled the parchment in his fist and tossed it onto the fire. The flames licked it up quickly, the edges curling and blackening, the ink boiling up and spattering. I've failed my king once more.

No. Connington threw off the blanket and stood up. He wiped the tears away with his wrist and took a deep breath. "The Watch plays no part in the issues of the realm." Connington said out loud. "A man forswears his past when he takes the black." The Lord Commander sat down at his desk and dipped his quill into his ink well and set out to write a letter.

....

They hate me. Connington entered the food hall, which was now filled with a painful silence. In one corner, Alliser Thorne sat with a group of older Brother huddled around him. The other saw Cotter Pyke, on leave from Eastwatch, and his group of non-Westerosi Brothers. The middle was scattered with those Brothers who didn't fit into either group. Connington strode to the meal window and grabbed a plate of smoked bacon and gravy on a potato, as well as a large pitcher of ale. He sat down at a table next to the fire and began to eat, the clinking of his fork and knife the only sounds in the hall save for the crackle of the fire.

After a few minutes of the tense silence, Connington said, rather nonchalantly, "Cotter Pyke, you're hereby relieved of your duties at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."

"What is wrong with you! You're mad! We should have -" Pyke started to protested before Connington spoke up again.

"You are being reassigned to a more important role. I have named you the Lord of the Gift, charged with leading a select group of our Sworn Brothers South, into the Gift and New Gift, to ensure that the Wildings the Bastard let in are keeping their part of the bargain, as well as finding the Watch a new batch of recruits." Pyke got red in the face in embarrassment. "You leave at first light, I'd eat up if I were you."

"Thorne, you're off as well. Blane and Halder have served the Shadow Tower well, but it is time a true knight takes over. You'll be taking over as Commander there. You and a group of Sworn Brothers are moving into the Shadow Tower tomorrow at first light as well." Connington returned to eating, while a slow murmur broke out among the brothers. "I suggest you all stop talking and get eating - every man in the Watch is going to have an arms lesson once I'm finished."

"But sir," the boy called Pyp said "Who will be Master-at-Arms with Thorne being offed to Shadow Tower?"

Connington only smiled. Someone who's actually done battle with something besides a straw doll in the last moon's turn.

[Lumine]

Samwell I:

Sweating as he ran as fast as he could Samwell did not even stop to think of how tired he was. Despite Gilly often trying to send him to sleep he would never agree, staying beside the bed day and night in the vain hope for a recovery. He had seen Maester Aemon weak before, but this was too hard to bear. Age, winter and disease had taken their toll on the frail old man, and the fever was slowly but surely calling him towards the stranger.

-Get some sleep, Sam, please.- Gilly asked again –
-I am sorry, but I can’t. It’s the least I can do for him.-

Gods, for how long had he known Maester Aemon? Two, three years? He was still a young man and he had seen endless fights and no less than three Lord Commanders, he could not even being to imagine how many things Maester Aemon had seen from the days in which he was a prince, one of the mighty Targaryens. He still was one of them, in many ways… Sam wondered of how Aemon would have felt had he learned that Daenerys Targaryen had landed on Westeros, but by the time that raven got to Castle Black he was too weak from the fever to understand.

-Egg… Egg… Egg? –

He wouldn’t talk of the Wall, or the Lord Commanders, or the Kings, not even about Daenerys. All he could talk about was of Egg, of his younger brother, of the home he had before going to the Wall. Sam couldn’t help but to think of his own family as well, and silently thank the gods for all of them being alive. Somehow he was now brother-in-law to the Lord of Highgarden, although in his current position that didn’t mean much.

-Egg?- Maester Aemon’s voice had become stronger –
-Maester Aemon? – Samwell hoped he would be able to answer this time –
-Egg… I dreamed I was old.- 

Maester Aemon’s white eyes were open, as if the gods themselves had allowed him to see once again, if just for a brief moment. Sam’s grip on his shaking hand became tighter, both Gilly and him realizing the time had come. Aemon’s closed his eyes very slowly, and once his heart had stopped beating Samwell could hardly fight back the tears. An old dragon had guarded the wall for what felt like ages, and now his watch was ended.

Burning the man who had served the longest at the Wall was no easy task, and yet nobody would ever want to witness the haunting sight of Aemon Targaryen turning into a Wight. Both the Lord Commander and him spoke about him as the man they had both learned to respect, and it served to remember Sam of how things had changed… and how many were gone. Jon was Lord of Winterfell, the Old Bear was gone, Pyp, Green and now Maester Aemon were dead, and yet Sam was still alive, unlikely as that sounded. It was amidst those musings that the ceremony was abruptly interrupted.

-Lord Commander! – A man was going down on the elevator – Lord Commander! –
-What is happening up there? – Lord Connington’s voice roaring through the cold –
-There’s an army outside! -

The news visibly shocked most of the recruits, scared at the idea of yet another wildling attack. All of them knew Tormund Giantsbane and his hordes of wildlings were still outside, and yet they had hoped that an attack would come much later. Lord Connington started to shout commands as the men dispersed to prepare the defense of Castle Black, Sam wondering what he could do this time.

-Tarly! – Lord Connington approached him –
-Yes, Lord Commander? –
-Go to Maester Aemon’s chambers and prepare the ravens. I want the North to know we’re under attack, Winterfell and White Harbor included.-
-Yes! –

The Lord Commander took his sword as he raced towards the elevator, and Sam ran towards the ravens with Gilly following him close. He quickly took the quill and paper and wrote the first message as fast as he could, the sounds of the battle preparations growing larger. Castle Back would not be taken unaware during Lord Connington’s watch, as the passages had been sealed and boiling oil was ready to fall from the top of the Wall. A substantial number of Northerner troops had arrive thanks to Jon, so this time there were enough men to man the Wall and Castle Black. Allowing himself a small moment of hope, Sam took the first message for the raven designed for Winterfell, wasting a few moments in watching the bird fly away. And then all hell broke loose.

Aaaarrrrooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Aaaarrrrrooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Aaarrrrrooooooooooooooooooooooo!

-What is that? – Gilly asked -
-I believe it’s a horn… - Sam replied –

And then the earth started to shake. The room moved more and more violently as time went by, the books falling from the shelves and the ravens going almost mad of panic. Sam and Gilly were thrown into the floor by the sheer movement, and they raced towards the door as more and more books fell on their heads. Cracks were opening in some of the walls of the fortress and they kept running, knowing the way to the main floor was close.

-Sam! – Gilly screamed as a part of the floor collapsed behind them –
-Keep running! –

Both managed to get outside by a miracle, and they began to race once more for the stairs. Edd Tollett stood in front of them, looking ahead with a look of panic Sam hadn’t seen since the Battle of the First Men.

-Edd! What are you staring at!? –
-The Wall…- He mused –

Samwell looked towards behind him as Castle Black turned into absolute chaos and he froze as well. The earth was still moving and enormous cracks had appeared on the Wall, large pieces of ice falling from it to crush whatever was behind it.

-We’re next.- Was all that Edd could say –

It seemed as if the sky was about fall on them.

[Lumine]

Theon I:

The smoke rose higher and higher as all the boats in the lake caught fire, killing the last survivors of the battle. It had taken them weeks to chase the countless wildlings left north of the Wall, and their main army had finally been locked away at Hardhome. To Theon’s surprise they had even built some sturdy boats to cross the lake to safety, but to no avail. Wights and Sidhe warriors had been too many for all of them, and with the King ordering no one to be spared Hardhome had soon turned into a complete rout for the wildlings.

All of them had fought bravely, and for naught. Half of them burned and drowned trying to cross the lake, and the other half would now march for the Army of Winter as its new slaves. And yet not even the King could do everything he had wanted, for Tormund Giantsbane had refused to become one of the wights, throwing himself at one of the pyres to burn to death. Theon felt a small surge of envy at that, knowing he lacked the courage to do the same and put an end to all the pain.

He remembered, aye, he knew his name well enough. But that didn’t make it less painful for him. He was now both Reek and Theon, with one’s pain and the other’s memories, and the combination was almost impossible to bear for him. He kept walking through fear and because he did not know what else to do, and because… he had a King now. King Culrikhan, and he would serve his King. He had to.

-And that accounts for the Wildlings.- Said the King –
-Yes, your grace.-
-You know, Reek, it has been a strange experience to be a King. An enjoyable one, but not for that one that is less strange.-
-Your grace?-
-We move now. I have learned that we Sidhe are in possession of a certain artifact, one that I’m dying to try.-

To Theon’s surprise, the King had even allowed him to be near it and guard it, at least as much as he could with his missing fingers. It was a very large horn, brighter and heavier than anything Theon had seen in the islands or in Winterfell. All the Sidhe warriors carried it almost with reverence, as if it was something to be worshipped.

And so their marched…

Days and nights ended in an instant, as more and more huts were burned and the few remaining wildlings promptly killed and converted by an army that only grew larger as time went by. Many times he felt about to collapse from the sheer pain and the exhaustion his weak body felt, only to keep walking for whatever reason he felt was the right one. He kept wondering what the difference was between him and the wights, mere shadows of that they used to be, and beyond the fact that he felt pain and they didn’t he could not recognize a bigger difference. Perhaps he was truly dead and he never noticed, or perhaps it was just another of the cruel jokes he had seen the gods play through the years.

-We’re here, Reek.-

It took a long time, but after days of marching through the snow Theon Greyjoy finally saw the Wall for the first time in his life. It was majestic, and without a doubt the best thing he had seen since he had gone North. It even allowed him a small feeling of defiance, thinking that not even his King and his large ice spiders could climb such a Wall. Perhaps the Wall would stand, and they would not be able to cross…

-Eroshk! Kramoys! Joramun’ Thryak! – Shouted the King -

And the warriors brought the large horn, confusing Theon. What could they do with a horn, even if it was a large one? King Culrikhan smiled as the horn was put before him, and then he drew one of the warriors towards him. They spoke in the tongue of ice, and to Theon’s further surprise the warrior knelt with a determined look on his face. The other Sidhe grabbed the horn and held it above the ground, the determined warrior preparing to blow it.

-Y… y… your grace.-
-Yes, Reek?-
-What… what is that horn for? –
-Oh, it’s a very special horn. In our tongue it would be called the Horn of Joramun, or as the Sidhe call it, the Horn of Winter. Prepare yourself, Reek. This might surprise you a bit.-

The King gave the command and the warrior blew the horn, the sheer sound forcing Theon on his knees.

Aaaarrrrooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Aaaarrrrrooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Aaarrrrrooooooooooooooooooooooo!

The earth shook for a long time, making some of the trees fall to the ground. To Theon’s growing shock and horror, cracks started to appear on the Wall all the way to the horizon, and larger and larger pieces of it started to fall to the ground.

And then…

And then…

Theon closed his eyes, and the haunting laugh of the King and his warriors sent a shiver down his spine.

The Wall had fallen.

[angon]

this is very good post

[Lumine]

this is very good post

Thank you, Angon, I have to say I rather liked writing that chapter. Are you interested in the game?

[Garlan Gunter]

Proclamation to the Northerners

By Lord Aurane Velaryon, Master of Ships to Queen Daenerys Targaryen

Proceed to Karhold and to Eastwatch and I vouch for your safety. Your hungry shall be fed, your sick seen to, and your strength harnessed as best it may be for defence against the common foe.

Long live the Queen.

[DKrol]

A Proclamation from the Iron King



Be It Proclaimed:

A great scourge has come down on Westeros. An enemy unseen since the age of heroes has razed the Wall, the only true protection the people of Westeros have ever known.

The Ironborn know another, far more potent protection - the Drowned God and his great sea. There is not route for these demons to follow and they know not the skills of boating to reach my islands.

As a strong man, who has a sense of humanity, I have thought on ordering four ships from my great Pyke Fleet to sail for the coast near Deepwood Motte to retrieve and save as many Westerosi as possible. Their safety would be assured by my seal and their prosperity would be promised. As many refugees as possible, both from the terrible wars of Westeros and the demon army, would be welcomed to the Iron Islands.

However, as a strong king who has a sense of duty, I have decided to keep my ships at home. Let Westeros fall - the Iron Islands will live in perpetuity.

x
Victarion of House Greyjoy, King of the Isles, King of Salt and Rock, Son of the Sea Wind, Lord Reaper of Pyke, Iron King, Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet

[Chancellor Tanterterg]

A Proclamation from the Iron King



Be It Proclaimed:

A great scourge has come down on Westeros. An enemy unseen since the age of heroes has razed the Wall, the only true protection the people of Westeros have ever known.

The Ironborn know another, far more potent protection - the Drowned God and his great sea. There is not route for these demons to follow and they know not the skills of boating to reach my islands.

As a strong man, who has a sense of humanity, I have ordered four ships from my great Pyke Fleet to sail for the coast near Deepwood Motte to retrieve and save as many Westerosi as possible. Their safety is assured by my seal and their prosperity is promised. As many refugees as possible, both from the terrible wars of Westeros and the demon army, will be welcomed to the Iron Islands.

x
Victarion of House Greyjoy, King of the Isles, King of Salt and Rock, Son of the Sea Wind, Lord Reaper of Pyke, Iron King, Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet

OOC:

Would this be the same sense of humanity that led Victarion to literally beat his wife to death?