The Lion and the Rose: The North

[Dereich]

OOC: I think it's the same sense of humanity that led him to "liberate" slaves to be a part of the Iron Fleet.

[Chancellor Tanterterg]

OOC: I think it's the same sense of humanity that led him to "liberate" slaves to be a part of the Iron Fleet.

OOC: Of course, the Ironborn also hate the North and vice-versa.  Btw, it is nice of you guys to tell me where the evacuation points are

[Lumine]

I'm tempted to allow it given the sort of crisis we're seeing, but Dkrol should modify the language. I do think Victarion would never call himself a humanitarian, xD

[Chancellor Tanterterg]

I'm tempted to allow it given the sort of crisis we're seeing, but Dkrol should modify the language. I do think Victarion would never call himself a humanitarian, xD

OOC: And remember that presumably no one would really have any way of knowing the Others have come yet.  On the subject of Victarion, I should add that we're talking about a character George R. R. Martin himself literally described as being "dumb as a stump" and "a dullard and a brute."

[badgate]

I'm tempted to allow it given the sort of crisis we're seeing, but Dkrol should modify the language. I do think Victarion would never call himself a humanitarian, xD

OOC: And remember that presumably no one would really have any way of knowing the Others have come yet.  On the subject of Victarion, I should add that we're talking about a character George R. R. Martin himself literally described as being "dumb as a stump" and "a dullard and a brute."

OOC: Poor Victarion, his chapters are worse than some of those Star Wars Expanded Universe books.

[Lumine]

Yeah, but at the same time I'm not sure how fair it is to force a player to purposedy behave in a non-rational way. Furthermore, with a new turn and the survivors from Castle Black the news continue to spread via raven.

[Fingerbones]

OOC: Poor Victarion, his chapters are worse than some of those Star Wars Expanded Universe books.

OOC: I will hear not a bad word about my second dearest Greyjoy! I love his chapters (The Reaver is brilliant, in my opinion.)

Yeah, I'm all for saving the poor northerners, but this seems rather uncharacteristic of Victarion. He really doesn't seem like the kind of guy who gives a sh**t about his PR with the smallfolk and lords, or have much of an understanding of the concept that other people have feelings too. He also pretty much hates everybody that's not Ironborn - and he hates most of them aswell. I imagine after all the pain he suffered in Moat Cailin, he couldn't care less about the northerners and their problems.

What I could see Vic doing is taking himself north to fight this unstoppable, ancient force. He'd want to bust in some Sidhe skulls, and prove himself as the most badass fighter in the Seven Kingdoms. That's pretty much all he ever wants.

That's my take on it anyway. Maybe I just desperately want to see Victarion fighting the Others (it'll happen one day), but I honestly think that him sending a few ships up north to save people isn't very like him, unless he has some ulterior motive which we're not picking up on.

[Chancellor Tanterterg]

OOC: Poor Victarion, his chapters are worse than some of those Star Wars Expanded Universe books.

OOC: I will hear not a bad word about my second dearest Greyjoy! I love his chapters (The Reaver is brilliant, in my opinion.)

Yeah, I'm all for saving the poor northerners, but this seems rather uncharacteristic of Victarion. He really doesn't seem like the kind of guy who gives a sh**t about his PR with the smallfolk and lords, or have much of an understanding of the concept that other people have feelings too. He also pretty much hates everybody that's not Ironborn - and he hates most of them aswell. I imagine after all the pain he suffered in Moat Cailin, he couldn't care less about the northerners and their problems.

What I could see Vic doing is taking himself north to fight this unstoppable, ancient force. He'd want to bust in some Sidhe skulls, and prove himself as the most badass fighter in the Seven Kingdoms. That's pretty much all he ever wants.

That's my take on it anyway. Maybe I just desperately want to see Victarion fighting the Others (it'll happen one day), but I honestly think that him sending a few ships up north to save people isn't very like him, unless he has some ulterior motive which we're not picking up on.

OOC: He's welcome to try to take the fight to the Others (assuming he knows and believes they exist although I'd question whether there is any evidence to suggest the Ironborn take that that threat/mythology seriously), but as for Victarion actually accomplishing anything...well...all I can say is that I'll be happy to have even more wights

[DKrol]

I've edited it to reflect what my further research about Victarion has lead me to feel would be proper.

[Fingerbones]

So he sent out a proclamation just to say 'Screw you?' Sounds like more of a Euron thing to do, but it makes more sense I suppose. (I still want to see Victarion bust up some White Walkers with his axe.)

[Chancellor Tanterterg]

So he sent out a proclamation just to say ' you?' Sounds like more of a Euron thing to do, but it makes more sense I suppose. (I still want to see Victarion bust up some White Walkers with his axe.)

Nah, I can easily see Victarion doing that too.  Honestly, I can see pretty much any Ironborn doing that to the North

[badgate]

“

Arya

Winter is coming.

Ayra Stark was a child of summer, and she'd never imagined that this could be the winter of the north. Snow had fallen day and night for two weeks. It took two hours each day to reshovel the yard and paths around the castle. And Arya Stark had never been this cold.

The past months had been bliss. Arya and Jon picked up as if they had only spent a few long days apart. And Lady Stark...no, Val...she was a beautiful mix of Sansa's grace and beauty and Arya's love of adventure. They played in the godswood “before the snows became too deep, fighting swords with tree branches. Arya couldn't even believe her luck when the letter came from Riverrun announcing that Sansa was alive and safe and hoping to join them in Winterfell soon.

That was before winter had come. It was a cold and grey day like any other when Jon was brought a raven at breakfast with Arya and Val. Stamped with black wax, Jon's friend Samwell Tarly had written that the Army of Winter had arrived at the Wall. Arya stood on the castle walls with Val later that day when Jon set out with a ranging party to go north; but before midnight he had returned. Arya ran down from her chambers when she heard the noise.

“We rode just in time, you ask me. The whole earth shook like it was splitting apart, and I never even looked back to be sure the Wall had fallen,” said one deserter in Arya's presence. Others had seen the ruins of the centuries-old Wall; Arya had never seen so many grown men look so frightened and cry so much. It was more than she could take, and she ran inside to join Val in the slightly warmer great hall. Despite the hour, Jon ordered food brought up for the men.

In the next few days, fifty more men from the Night's Watch arrived at Winterfell. There were stories buzzing all over: Lord Commander Connington dead, the Army of Winter larger than even Mance Rayder's, even eyewitness accounts of Ice Spiders scaling the Wall. When Jon announced that he would take an expedition north, Arya begged him not to.

“I can't lose you again, “ she said through tears in Lord Stark's solar. Val put her hand on Arya's shoulder, but she jerked it away angrily. “No! I won't let you leave!” This time, Arya refused to go up to the walls to watch her half-brother ride north. The storms got worse that night, and in the morning there was no sun. Feeling like she would never see color again, Arya put herself into helping shovel the paths around the yard. She worked so hard she was sweating, even in this cold, and by midday she forgot how mad she was at Val for letting Jon leave that she accepted an invitation for lunch.

“I'm sure he'll be back soon,” Val said as soothingly as she could. She may have Sansa's beauty, but she's a horrible liar, Arya thought. Sansa had been great at lying, particularly if the lie got Arya into trouble. But that was when they were children, and the only snows they knew were summer snows.

“He's going to die out there,” Arya said grimly, aware that she couldn't possibly know if that was true. The wind howling outside the window seemed in agreement, until they realized at the same time it was the shouting of voices down in the yard. Val swept to the window and gasped, turned, and grabbed Arya by the wrist to lead her downstairs. “He's back!” she said excitedly.

The scene was even grimmer than the one before. Of the forty men that had left with Jon, he had six companions upon his return. He was limping from a bad wound in his thigh, but otherwise Arya's brother seemed fine. She hugged him fiercely and felt the tears freezing on her cheeks while she strained to understand his words. “Must...go...winter...coming...” Jon got out before collapsing on the ground.

As the Lord of Winterfell recuperated that evening, Val and Arya got the story from one of his remaining companions. “We came on them, m'lady, the wights, I mean. And Lord Stark, he had us all with torches so we was able to beat a retreat quick enough, but then the spiders came...” the man shivered and you could hear his teeth chattering against one another through his closed lips. “They ran the horses over, eating them raw and alive. Lord Jon parried with a White Walker, his sword rang out most queerly when he did...I never seen anything like it in me life. It was like beautiful music that was poisonous. Men stopped to watch and got stabbed in the back or such.

“Finally Lord Jon swung that bastard sword of his and the walker shattered like an icicle! The world seemed a little warmer after that, but it could've been the blood running down my face” - he gestured to a gash on his left temple - “either way, m'lord and the rest of us beat back as quick as possible. There was fifteen remaining when we fled, but only seven got back, as you saw...not a fun lot, the Sidhe.

“What's a Sidhe?” Arya asked. The man opened his mouth to answer, but -

“Enough,” a hard voice from behind them said. The weary man looked downcast and left quickly as Jon limped and sat across from his wife and sister. “You two are not safe here. You're the only family I have, and I can't let you die here. I've prepared a guard of fifty men to ride with you south, to White Harbor or Moat Cailin, whichever we can agree upon as the safer destination.” He raised his voice when Arya opened her mouth to object. “I know you can fight, sister. I know you are brave and a Stark. This is more your home than mine, I know that. Which is why you have to run away.” Then it was Val's turn. “Wife, I have grown to build a love for you as we set out rebuilding our home together. I...I'm not sure I could have had the courage to restore this castle without you at my side. But now you need to leave my side and go with Arya. Together you are safer than apart, and neither of you are safe here. What that man said was true. The army of the dead is marching on us.”

A few hours later, with only two small bags, Arya went down to the yard. Val and Jon were huddled alone at the mouth of the stables, saying the goodbye of husbands and wives, when an earsplitting horn blew form the North Tower.

Arooooooooooooo!

Aroooooooooooooo!

“Aroooooooooooooooooooooo!

Three blasts? What does three mean? Arya thought. As a child, two had meant wildling raiders, while one meant friends. The world around her seemed to answer her question in an instant.

What little sunlight remained disappeared behind dark, heavy clouds. The winds howled and whipped, and snow fell in a torrent like she had never seen. There was almost a numbness that she felt as well, as if her happiness was being sucked out of her...

Through the snow and winds, she could only see a few feet ahead in any direction. She made for the stables and ran headlong into Val. “South gate!” Jon shouted. “To the south gate!”

They ran as best they could, leading the distressed horses to the gate that Arya had come upon when she returned to Winterfell months earlier. The thick wooden gate was closed, however, and the watchman said to her lord brother “It's no use, Lord Stark. They're out here too. We're surrounded.” Jon turned to Arya and Val. “You need to get inside!” Jon shouted at them. “They're here! The Sidhe!”

Dread was mounting in her throat as she and Val dashed up into the castle. They heard a great deal of shouting and the sounds of steel and hammers for over an hour. Finally, curiosity got the best of Arya and she snuck out of the chambers as silent as a cat, leaving Val none the wiser. She climbed and climbed until finally she was in old Maester Luwin's apartment. He kept the ravens, so his was one of the topmost chambers in the castle.

Arya could hear her heart pounding, pounding, pounding like a drum as she braced herself against the winter wind and looked out over the battlements. As far as her eye could see (which, mind you, wasn't too far given the weather conditions), were the legions of the dead. The Army of Winter is coming, she thought. And we're surrounded.

[Lumine]

Melisandre:

Once the second group of scouts from the Others was destroyed by the forces of the King Melisandre wondered just how large was their strength. R’hllor had come to her help by showing him the arrival of the ice and the dead towards Winterfell, but just how large that threat was she did not now. Stannis had been successful so far due to the use of dragonglass among his men, but if the prophecies were wrong then it would be darkness that would prevail at Winterfell…

-Keep moving! – Shouted Stannis to the men –

She wanted to believe their righteous cause would win the battle, but she had to confess that herself that the doubts were not going away. She would never doubt R’hllor as it was due to his will that her powers were growing stronger and stronger in the North, but her visions had been growing more and more confusing, and there were times in which it was impossible to see anything in the flames. She was perfectly aware that she was losing the King’s favor, and yet this time she simply could not bring him to her side once again.

The loss of Queen Selyse had been a large blow, but it was a special irony that Stannis’s incredible victories had been what drove him away from her. Even with the slightest hints the King had slowly started to bend as more and more unbelievers came to his cause, and yet Melisandre could not see anything about him in the flames.

And then all had gone wrong…

Sidelined in Gulltown Melisandre had consulted the flames day after day in the hopes of regaining the visions she once had. It was then that the news of Daenerys Targaryen and her… dragons arriving on Volantis had arrived. That alone would not change her belief on Stannis, but hearing that not only Benerro, but the fire priests across Essos were embracing the dragons had made the thought almost unbearable. Having never cared much about what those other priests thought since she had left Asshai, she wanted to believe they were seeing what they wanted to see, because for her it was Stannis who was the truth.

But she could see him no longer. Every time she would ask about Azor Ahai the flames would die out or give her a confusing view, and the more success Stannis found in Westeros the more the flames started to diverge. Jon Stark had begun to appear once again to her growing concerns; she had almost lost her calm once Daenerys Targaryen herself was shown in the flames. For all her confidence, all her belief in Stannis as the real and true savior against all those false priests and Kings, the flames were failing her. The thought was eating her mind the more time passed.

And now they were riding towards Winterfell once again… Stannis had believed in her, but she could not help but to think this could be a test from R’hllor himself, nothing resembling the end of a true war of the dawn. It was a battle that had to be won, yet impossible to know whether it could be winnable until they reached the fortress. She knew that even against the odds they would fight with their dragonglass and she could use her growing powers as well, but…  doubting so much was very much unlike herself.

-Your grace, we can see Winterfell on the horizon! – It was Richard Horpe’s time to shout – We see flames as well! –
-Let’s just hope we are not too late. - The King said, grimly –

The Baratheon troops prepared yet another charge as their approached the castle, and it did not take long until a group of cold ice warriors closed their path. Stannis himself led the charge with Lightbringer on his hand and his men quickly opened a path with their dragonglass weapons, Melisandre following closely as she felt a sudden surge in her strength. It was nothing like the time she had spent at the Wall or at Gulltown… it was sheer power this time, she could feel it. It was the magic she had seen one day at Asshai.

It was then that two dead Baratheon soldiers rose from the ground, preparing to strike Melisandre as her horse passed near them. Melisandre felt the flames enter her body and she lost control of herself for a single moment. Both corpses were engulfed by the flames she could felt she was expulsing, and in a moment they were nothing but ash. The horse was so terrified she had to dismount as the battle raged across the area, and two northmen looked at her, one in awe and the other showing distrust. The second man spit.

-You could have done that before.-

In the end the charge was successful, allowing the Baratheon army and some groups of Northerners who had answered the King’s call to enter a heavily damaged Winterfell. Stannis, Horpe and Melisandre were met by an exhausted Jon Stark, who held Longclaw on his hand as he coordinated the defense of the castle.

-Your grace… - Stark said – You came.-
-It’s my duty, Lord Stark. I care.-

Still shaken over the awakening of her powers and realizing just how many of the ice warriors were surrounding and attacking Winterfell, Melisandre thought that this was the key moment. It was now that she would know whether Stannis was indeed Azor Ahai reborn.

[Lumine]

Jon III:

Jon could not remember for how long they had been fighting, but he knew he would not last much longer. Wave after wave of Sidhe had marched on the castle during the past days, and not even the sustained arrival of reinforcements from Stannis and the northerner Lords had been able to turn the tide. They had been successful in killing many of the demons with the dragonglass, the swords and Melisandre’s impressive fire magic, but each death on their ranks brought a new wight forward, making it impossible to win. He had reached that point of tiredness in which he no longer felt the cold and the hunger, but the sense of desperation remained there.

-I must go to the hall, Val.-
-I’ll take you there.-

Val helped him to walk towards the great hall, one of the few parts of the castle not burning or in ruins. Stannis and a good part of the men sat there, using the precious truce to eat and rest. One of the soldiers did his best to sing; even if Stannis’s cold stares invited him not to. Jon and Val found Ghost nearby and they sat together, without a single word coming out of their mouths.

-We can’t keep going like this.- Said one of the Northern lords after acknowledging Jon’s arrival – Winterfell won’t last much longer.-
-And what would you have us do? – Ser Richard Horpe asked –
-We must ride. – The Lord reply – Break out of this siege. We can’t last much longer.-
-We don’t have enough horses to take all the men out, nor we have enough food to reach any of the castles.- Horpe answered – You’d think by now even a stupid Northerner would know that.-

The fight that had ensued had been brutal enough for Jon to be unable to stop it, and it had only been Stannis’s promise to take the head of both Horpe and Lord Forrester that had brought an uneasy truce. Jon knew he would be dead if he hadn’t taken Stannis’s offer, yet it was strange to have held Winterfell and recover Arya only to lose them both once again… he had no hopes on the outcome of the battle anymore, he was simply too exhausted to think about it anymore. He just wanted to sleep and…

-Lord Stark! –

Jon woke up suddenly, realizing he had fallen asleep in the now empty great hall. A soldier had come to tell him that a new horde of the white walkers and wights was racing towards Winterfell, and Jon did his best to get up once more to fight the intruders. Truth be told the sleep had helped a great deal, but he knew he wasn’t on his prime. He walked on the outside as the men prepared the defenses and waited for the enemy to strike… until he saw those things running towards Winterfell.

-Oh, gods… Are those spiders? –
-Ice spiders. – Stannis said, marching towards his part of the garrison –
-Oh, no, no way! – One of the soldiers turned his back –
-You stay where you are, soldier! – Jon shouted -

There were as huge as the giants of the freefolk, and scarier than anything Jon had ever seen. The spiders broke through the ranks to assault the walls as the men tried not to be trampled, and the arrival of the Others are the same time made it almost impossible to hold the position. Jon ordered a retreat as he entered the inner side of the castle, dodging the blows of the spiders as Melisandre fought them with fire, forcing most of them to fall back. It was then that Jon heard the screams of the servants from the tower.

-They broke through, Lord Stark! – A wounded soldier shouted from near the tower –

Oh, gods, Arya and Val…

Jon ran as fast as he could with a small group of men behind him, tearing down the door to the tower as many white walkers ran inside the castle and the spiders opened gaps on the walls. They found Ghost fiercely charging against a group of wights, and it was only thanks to Longclaw that they were able to retrieve him and keep charging. As they went from floor to floor more and more of the men fell, and it was shortly before reaching the main chambers that they heard Arya’s scream. Jon went towards the window and he saw one of the white walkers holding Arya as he mounted one of the ice spiders.

-Arya! –

Jon wanted to jump out of the window despite knowing he would not reach the spider, and then he heard Val’s screams. Being forced to make an impossible decision, Jon raced towards the room with Ghost and the remaining men to see Val forced against the wall with a sword put through her, a group of wights and white walkers preparing to leave. Jon charged blindly at them as his men struggled, but before he could reach Val he was stopped by a familiar face… It took him a moment to recognize him, but it was Connington, the Lord Commander. To his shock he looked exactly like the wight that had attacked Commander Mormont once, a corpse brought back to life by whatever the white walkers were.

-You…-

Connington charged at him with fury, making it hard for Jon to react. Ghost kept a couple of wights at bay as the rest of the enemies and Jon’s men were dead, and Jon hoped to crush Connington with Longclaw before it was too late. It was then that one of the Stark troops came back to life and stabbed Jon in the back, forcing him to his knees after dispatching the attack. Connington charged at him and Jon dodged, spreading blood across the floor as the touch of Longclaw destroyed the corpse of the Lord Commander.

-Val…-

Jon struggled to move across the blood as his life escaped from the grievous wound at his back, reaching Val too late. The look on her face told him she was gone forever, and he found the energy to curse himself at having lost all of them… Ygritte, Val, and Arya… Ghost licked his hand, perhaps trying to bring him back, but Jon realized it was too late. He drew a final look towards the entrance to see a familiar figure’s entrance, and his head fell to the floor before he could open his mouth.

Jon Stark died thinking of those whom he once loved, those he had failed to protect.

[Lumine]

Theon II:

Theon felt another shiver down his spine as the remaining ice spiders withdrew from the field, signaling the start of another uneasy truce of cutting silence. Again and again the Sidhe had attacked only to be repulsed, but Theon knew the battle was won for his King since the start. Winterfell was burning and the snow around the castle was red and blue as the corpses of soldiers, wights and white walkers filled the scenery, and with the keep in ruins there was very little Stannis Baratheon could do now. The fight had been marked by the snow and the extreme cold, but he had avoided a cold dead thanks to his master’s permission to use the uniform of a Night’s Watch victim. The King, having never approached the actual battlefield was sill giving orders and preparing for the final assault, not wishing to prolong the useless struggle.

-To think Winterfell has to be rebuilt again…- Said the King, looking towards Theon –
-Y… yes, your grace.-
-I find it amusing to think I burnt the same fortress twice. That has to count as an accomplishment.-
-Your grace, I…-

But Theon would not complete his sentence, for the loud sound of horns threw the Sidhe warriors into confusion. Both he and his King knew those were cavalry horns, yet the mere idea of a cavalry charge sounded preposterous after such carnage. It was then that the snows seem to clear a bit more, and they saw the closest formations to Winterfell cut down by what was probably the remnant of the armies Stannis led. The King stopped smiling and gave the command for more troops to block the path of the charge, but even Theon could see that they were starting to cut too deep by using those strange black knives and swords of them.

-Erkya! – Shouted Culrikhan as he saw Stannis leading the charge, flaming sword in hand –

The King mounted his horse as Theon backed away towards the pyre that burned nearby, both heads of the armies about to lock themselves in battle. Despite the cold and the fear, Theon could not help but to think that it was the end. Stannis was throwing everything he had left to reach Culrikhan, and if they fought in single combat…

-Keep moving! – Shouted Stannis – We’re almost there! –

The charge was losing men and momentum, and by the time they broke through the last line it did not seem as if they could make it back. But Stannis did not seem to care, for he charged straight away at Culrikhan with Lightbringer on his hand. Both Kings locked their swords in a series of bitter blows, until Stannis was thrown off his horse. Culrikhan charged at him as Theon thought it was the end, but Stannis used one of the black knifes to kill the horse and throw his opponent at the ground as well.

Both of them stood up, and the true fight began.

Stannis quickly took the upper hand, forcing the King to step back as the rest of the Sidhe fought a ferocious battle with the Northerners. Theon could remember Stannis very well from the time he had stood on the ruins of Pyke after the rebellion, and he had hated him since then for what he had done to the Greyjoy fleet. And yet, this Stannis was different. Older and gaunter, but determined. Each blow forced Culrikhan to take a step back as Stannis was evidently more battle tested, yet he failed to deliver the final strike due to the speed of his opponents. The Stags kept fighting the Sidhe in a fight they could not hope to win, and each moment took away the chances of victory for Stannis.

-You can’t win, Stannis! –
-Try me, you monster! – He shouted back –

It was then that Stannis took on the crucial blow, Culrikhan putting his arm too low. Stannis drew Lightbringer upwards to make a clean cut, taking the King’s arm and giving him a deep cut across the chest and face in a single massive blow. The King fell to the snow with a scream of agony, and Stannis trampled him.

-Wait… no…-
-Lightbringer may not be what she said it was… - Stannis said, and Theon realized that the sword had not shattered the King – But it’s still a sword. Die.-

Stannis held Lightbringer to the air as he prepared to end the battle, but it took only a blink from Theon to the moment to end. Lightbringer fell to the ground as the snow and King Culrikhan were covered in a pool of blood, and Stannis fell to one knee with a giant ice lance impaling him through the chest. Theon looked around to see the Baratheon troops dead and converted into wights, and a Sidhe warrior looking directly at Stannis with his hands empty.

Stannis Baratheon died as he fell to the floor, refusing to die with a bended knee.

It only took a couple of hours to end the struggle as the remaining reinforcements were killed or managed to flee, and Winterfell ceased to burn for the second time. More and more Sidhe warriors would arrive from the massive hordes still at the North, but the battle had been harsher than expected due to the concentration of forces and the use of those black knives. Whatever was left of vital strength to the North was virtually gone, but the Sidhe had paid a very high price for it. Eventually King Culrikhan was able to stand up to walk to the Walls of Winterfell alongside Theon and the undead corpse of Stannis, Culrikhan’s chest and face wounds healed – yet still scarred – and his arm gone forever.

-Winterfell is ours, but they’re not here… - Said Culrikhan, looking as angered as ever –
-M… my lord?-
-That Stark and the priestess… gone without a trace.-

Theon thought it was a bittersweet triumph for the Sidhe as he saw the losses, until he realized there was something else left in store. A group of Sidhe warriors arrived with a passed out yet living prisoner that aroused the joy of the King, and Theon felt a surge of uneasiness and sheer panic.

Arya…

The King motioned for them to bring the girl to his presence, and Theon started to tremble. Not having cared much for the horse faced daughter of Lord Stark  he was surprised to see how much she had grown, and even more to see she had survived the battle to… to what? He felt more bitterness as he realized he was seeing another step in the complete ruin of House Stark, and could not help but revive the conflict between whom he had been, whom he wanted to be… and who he was now. King Culrikhan redid the process he had suffered some time ago, Arya levitating as the frozen wind of the Sidhe magic covered her entire body to turn her into pure ice and leave her into the ground once again.

-No…- Theon gasped without knowing –

The Sidhe warriors knelt as Culrikhan took Arya and forced her to stand, the girl starting to move. The sight of Arya Stark’s cold and dead eyes was enough to force Theon to his knees as well.

The Battle for Winterfell was over.

[Chancellor Tanterterg]

I was bored last week, so I started writing what turned into be a much, much longer than intended Ramsay POV scene like the Joffrey ones I'd written.  It was supposed to be a brief scene, but it got big enough to be split into two posts   Anyway, hope you guys like it.  Note: Beltaine and Culrikhan are the name Lumine gave to Arya and Ramsay after they became Sidhe and the way in which the link between the souls of the Night's King and the Other he takes as a wife works in this has already been mod-confirmed/approved. 

The King in the North (Part 1 of 2)



The Wight that was once Stannis Baratheon continued to stare emotionlessly at its master.  It still had the same blank expression that it’d had before the flaying knife took off two of its fingers.  With a disappointed sigh, the Night’s King put down his knife and dismissed the creature with a wave of his hand.  It is a sad day when even the family tradition no longer brings me any pleasure, thought Culrikhan.  These wights ruin every game I try to play with them.  At least it wasn’t as boring as this morning’s hunt, that creature wouldn’t even run away unless I willed it.  You can’t hunt something that lacks any capacity for independent thought, I suppose.  On the bright side, I can’t imagine that I will ever have to worry about their loyalty.  "Tell me, Reek, what is the point of having Stannis as my prisoner if he no longer cares what I do to him?" asked the King. 

"My Lord?" Reek weakly replied.

"Never mind, I suppose you wouldn't know of such things.  But I swear that there is simply no joy in flaying these creatures.  As ever, it seems pleasure cannot exist in this world without pain, maddening as it may be at times."  I could always peel a few more bits of him, thought Culrikhan.  No, that won't do.  Reek has been a loyal pet and it could interfere with his training if I punish him without cause.  Of course, if it were a reward...  The King smiled as he realized the perfect solution to his dilemma.  "Reek, you will always remain loyal, won't you?" asked Culrikhan. 

"Of course, my Lord.  I...I am loyal Reek, forever and..." Reek began, before his master cut him off.

 "Yes, yes, very good.  I am pleased to see that you remain as loyal as ever.  In fact, I think you deserve a reward for showing me such unquestioning loyalty." 

"A...a reward, m-my Lord...I" began the creature, growing more panicked with every word. 

He is afraid already, thought Culrikhan, that is good.  There is nothing like a little fear to add some excitement to a game.  "Yes, Reek, a reward and not just any ordinary reward.  As a reward for your loyalty, I am going to give you the privilege of providing me with a bit of entertainment.  This day has been awfully boring and knowing how I hate boredom, I'm sure my loyal pet wants nothing more in the whole wide world than to add a bit of fun to my day,” said the King as he picked up his flaying knife.  “Don't worry, I promise that I will still leave you with all seven fingers.  But why should I have all the fun?  I think I’ll even let you decide which hand I go to work on first.  Isn’t that generous of me, Reek?" Culrikhan asked. 

After a brief pause, Reek whimpered "Yes, v-v-very generous, my Lord.  The...the left one if it please you, my Lord."
_________________________________________________________
Ten horrible minutes later
__________________________________________________________
Culrikhan's usual good cheer had returned by the time he left his chamber and began strolling through the castle, wandering from room to room and watching his pet's pathetic attempts to hobble in and out of each room with considerable amusement.  Even the mere sound of Reek struggling to keep up as he stumbled along behind his master brought a smile to the King's face as he reflected upon his work.  True to my word, I left him all seven fingers, Culrikhan thought with more than a little bit of pride.  "Why are you whimpering, Reek?  I never said I wouldn't take another toe, did I?  You didn't mind, did you?" asked the King. 

"No, my Lord.  For-forgive me, my Lord" replied Reek before falling down yet again. 

The King continued to congratulate himself on a job well done and remained pre-occupied with Reek's inability to walk without falling flat on his face until he entered one of the guest chambers.  The moment he entered the room, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice that was quickly becoming the bane of his existence.

[Chancellor Tanterterg]

The King in the North (Part 2 of 2)



"Seven Hells, must you honor me with your presence every day, King Snow?" asked Beltaine.  

"Call me that again and I'll do a lot more than honor you," snapped Culrikhan.  

"I’m sorry, milord," Beltaine replied "It’s just that I thought you didn't want me to call you the Bastard of Bolton anymore.  I suppose I could could call you King Bastard instead, if you'd like."  

"Listen you little c***," yelled Culrikhan, "if you say that word one more time..."  

"You'll what?  Run away like a scared little girl the way you did from the Dreadfort when your father was killed?  Some big killer you are, a coward who tortures people that are too weak to fight back and that was before Stannis disarmed you.  Besides, you can't hurt me anymore, remember?" shouted Beltaine.

"Of course I remember," the King snarled. "Do you think you'd still have a tongue were it otherwise?"  

Seven Hells, thought Culrikhan, growing more and more apoplectic with each passing second.  There really is no one more accursed than a kinslayer.  The Gods have punished me for poisoning Domeric by forcing me to endure this wolf b!tch’s insolence for the rest of eternity without any recourse.  They've cheated me out of playing any of my games with her.  That Sidhe bastard knew, I suspect they all did, although I suppose the one who told me doesn't know anything anymore judging by the way he shattered when I stuck a dragonglass dagger in his eye.  True, the stories said that when the first Night’s King took an Other for a wife that he gave her his soul.  However, none of the Sidhe warned me until afterward that this meant that by taking Beltaine for a wife I’d be binding my soul to hers or that I’d feel any pain inflicted upon her.  Worse, my oh so loyal subjects made sure to inform me of this while Beltaine was present.  In that moment, she lost any fear she’d ever had of me and hasn't gone a day without calling me a "bastard" since.  Father may not be here anymore, but I know what he'd have said if he were: "You've let a 14 year old girl run roughshod over you because you can't bare the pain it would take to discipline her properly.  You're not a Bolton; you're a Snow.  A Snow unfit to uphold my tradition.  I should've thrown you into the river the day that you were born."

Still, the King thought to himself, a flaying knife need not be the only sharp blade one used to hurt someone.  Perhaps a different approach is all that this one requires.  Beltaine is no longer a friend to the Starks, that much is certain, and yet perhaps there is enough of Arya left that I can still injure her with House Stark’s pain.  "Tell me, my dear, sweet wife," said Culrikhan cheerfully "when you think about the Red Wedding, do you ever imagine what it would've been like if you’d been there?  I'm sure you've wondered every now and then, if only for a moment, whether somehow, some way you could've saved the King Who Lost the North or your mother.  I suppose you’d have simply been killed too, most like.  But even then, at least you...or rather Arya Stark, the person you were before I took you, turned you into what you are today, and made you mine...at least that poor little girl would've had a few more moments with the remnants of her family before her last chance at a happy life came crashing down all around her as everyone she loved was slaughtered right before her very eyes.  They say that if you listen carefully, you can still hear the Tully b!tch crying over her dead children!" The King smiled when he noticed that Beltaine had begun seething with hatred.  See father, he thought to himself, I can bring her to heel just fine even without a blade.  It’ll be a new game to play!  I suppose I’ll enjoy breaking someone this...challenging...regardless of the method.  I could use some excitement in my life these days and it’d seem my wife may please me yet.

"Ah well, I suppose it’s a moot point," continued the King.  "At the end of the day, the Freys opened your mother's throat, your brothers were all murdered, and poor Ned Stark couldn't keep his head about him in King's Landing.  True, we don’t know what became of your sister, but she’s probably dead too.  I suppose one could say that I'm the only family you have left and I can’t even imagine how much that thought must please you, loving wife that you are.  Oh but don't worry, time heals all wounds.  Another year and I bet you won't even be able to remember what anyone in your...sorry, my beloved...anyone in Arya Stark's dead family looked like.  It’ll be like they never existed in the first place and you’ve been all alone since the moment you came into this world.  Oh dear, you look as though something is troubling you, milady,” said Culrikhan upon noticing that Beltaine’s face had turned hard as stone as she silently stared at him with her cold, blue eyes.  “I do hope I haven't upset you, what with all the talk about the dead family of the person you used to be.  Funny, it just occurred to me that even if I hadn't...err...changed you, you still wouldn't be Arya Stark anymore.  By all the laws of Gods and men, you'd be Arya Bolton, a proper lady of the Dreadfort.  In any event, you will give me an heir someday, that much is certain."  Beltaine still hasn't said anything, thought Culrikhan, although she looks as though she is about to leap across the room and try to rip my throat out.  This may be a way to hurt her, but it is not the way to break her.  

As if in reply, Beltaine said in a cold, emotionless voice "I am not a lady.  Tell me, is your real name still Ramsay Bolton or is it Culrikhan now?"  

"I am both and yet I am neither," replied the King, as he always did whenever she asked him this question.  Normally Culrikhan could delight in how frustrating and confusing Beltaine seemed to find this answer, although the reason for its importance to her was a mystery to him.  Something about a list.  

Today, however, she simply said "I know how much you enjoy pain.  Someday, I will find out which of those is your real name and when I do, I promise that you will never want for pain again."  With that, the murderous rage Culrikhan had seen when he spoke of the Red Wedding suddenly vanished from her face.  "So, do you want me to call you King Bastard or not?"Beltaine asked.  

"I'm...not a...I was naturalized" said Culrikhan as he struggled to control the violent rage that returned the moment she said that word.

"I do hope I haven’t upset you, what with all the talk about how you’re still the stupidest, ugliest bastard ever and you always will be no matter how many bastard Kings say you're not," she continued.  

"I swear by the Old Gods and the New," growled Culrikhan, "if you say that word one more time..."  
"Bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard!"
"SHUT UP, you look like a stupid, ugly little boy!"  

Beltaine simply opened her eyes wide and said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "But I thought that was why you were attracted to me.  There weren't any little boys left in the North, so you married a little girl who reminded you of one."  

Culrikhan stormed out of the room to find Reek curled up in a ball on the floor like a scared child.  Beltaine must needs be brought to heel, he thought as he kicked his pet in anger.  More importantly, she cannot keep behaving this way in front of other Sidhe.  With only one arm, I'm hardly capable of defending my position should another decide that I am weak and challenge me.  The King then turned to Reek and smiled.  That's the answer right there, it's been right here this whole time.  I can't hurt her, but there are still others I can hurt if she misbehaves.  People she might not want me to hurt even if she is no longer Arya Stark. "Come Reek," said Culrikhan, "there are people I must needs find and preparations to be made.  There is so much work to do..."

[Garlan Gunter]

There haven't been enough POVs lately, thank the old, cold gods for these! I'm not a particular Arya fan but Beltaine is now pretty much my favourite character.

Poor Reek. I hope those seven fingers manage something heroic yet

I will attempt a POV myself asap

[Chancellor Tanterterg]

There haven't been enough POVs lately, thank the old, cold gods for these! I'm not a particular Arya fan but Beltaine is now pretty much my favourite character.

Poor Reek. I hope those seven fingers manage something heroic yet

I will attempt a POV myself asap

OOC: Actually you bring up a good point, it'd be great if folks would take a stab at writing some more POVs for their characters, especially since it may be a bit before we get an actual update.  I know LeonardotheRed, Dereich, and (IIRC) Badgate's also wrote some good ones a while ago.  Hopefully we'll see some more soon!

Btw, I'm glad you liked this (I was a bit nervous about it, tbh).  The hatefest between Ramsay/Culrikhan and Arya/Beltaine was so much fun to write that I'm sure there will be more of these (assuming I don't die ).  Arya's easily my favorite character, so I'm glad I was able to do her/Beltaine justice!

[badgate]

OOC: I want to do a Yohn POV that ends with his death and an Anya POV to introduce her to the game. Been waiting for the weekend as I'm largely too tired to write after work during the week

[Garlan Gunter]

Please do them bagdgate, would be fascinating and fun and doesn't seem q right without them after we got to know old Bronzefeatures so well

[Chancellor Tanterterg]

Note: Haven't heard any word from Lumine yet about the POV I was going to write for him for this turn, so I finished off this in the meantime.  It'll probably be the last Culrikhan POV for a while barring some huge developments, but hope you guys like it (whenever you get around to it ).

The King in the North II (Part 1 of 2)



“Ah, there you are; I’ve been looking for you.  You know, it’d be much easier to find you if you spent more time in my...well...I suppose it’s now our bedchamber, isn’t it?” said Culrikhan as he entered one of Winterfell’s many guest chambers.
“I stay away from your bedchamber because I don’t want to be anywhere near you, stupid,” Beltaine replied.

“Something wrong, m'lady?  The winter snows killed all the flowers you were hoping to pick, is that it?” the King asked mockingly.
“I don’t want to pick any stupid flowers.”
“In any case, it’s certainly past time we got rid of that ridiculous little sword that you’re always carrying around.  A proper lady such as yourself shouldn’t be playing with such things.”
“I don’t want to be a proper lady and if you ever touch Needle, I’ll...”
“What’s that, Lady Beltaine?”
“Shut up!”

“Now, now, is that any way to speak to your beloved Lord husband?” asked Culrikhan, smirking as he spoke.  I suppose the game can wait a little while, no need to rush things.
“You’re right,” Beltaine responded, “that was most rude of me.  Forgive me, m’lord.  What I meant to say was ‘shut up, King Cripple of House Bastard.’”

“I warned you not to call me that,” snapped the King, his smirk turning into a scowl.
“But you are a bastard.”
“I was naturalized, that means I’m not a Snow.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No...I’m...NOT!”
“Are too!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Listen, you little sh!t...” the King growled as Beltaine began snickering at him.

“Listen to you babble like an idiot?  Perhaps another time.  I have more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.  I can't imagine what they would be, but I'm sure whatever I was going to do is more important than anything you have to say,” said Beltaine.  “You have my leave to go now, King Bastard,”she added, sounding as though nothing could have bored her so much as this conversation. 

“You...you do not give me commands...ever” snarled Culrikhan as he felt the left side of his face twitch.
“That wasn’t a command, stupid.  I gave you permission to leave,” replied Beltaine.
“I don’t need your permission to do anything!”  I must remain calm in spite of the b!tch’s insolence, the game we’re going to play will be well worth it.  “I do believe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, sweet wife.  I only wanted to say that I have a surprise for you.  You’ll have quite a bit of fun with it, I imagine.”

“You’re dying?” Beltaine asked excitedly.
“No, I’m afraid that’s never going to happen.”  Was that supposed to upset me?  Surely the wolf b!tch can do better than that.
“Then I don’t care about your stupid surprise...unless...are you going to tell me whether your real name is Culrikhan or Ramsay Bolton?  Is that the surprise?  I’ll finally be able to kill you?”

“You know,” said Culrikhan wistfully, “it really is a shame that I’ll never have a chance to take you hunting.  Most of the girls simply ran away and even Myranda begged for her life in the end, although she’d already grown awfully boring.  But I do believe you’d have actually tried to kill me.  You’d have still ended up dead, of course, but it would’ve been a hunt to remember...even if you aren’t quite big enough to make a decent pelt.” 

“We can go hunting today if you’d like,” said Beltaine, “just tell me your real name.  Maybe I’ll even give you a head start...”
“Perhaps another day,” the King replied.     

“Why not today?  Just imagine the possibilities!  You’d never have to hear anyone call you a bastard again and I’d finally be rid of you.  They say the Bolton Kings hung the skins of their enemies in the Dreadfort; I’d be happy to hang yours in Winterfell if you’d like.”

“Well look at you,” said Culrikhan proudly, “already eager to hunt men down like dogs.  You really would’ve fit right in at the Dreadfort, although I imagine father would’ve hated you.  Whoever you were before I...ah...changed you, these days it’s hard to believe you weren’t born a Bolton.”  The wolf is not a true Bolton, the King thought to himself, smiling at look of disgust on Beltaine’s face.  Of course, I imagine telling her she’s become one will make the her more miserable than any...well...almost anything else I could do.  Although if I could create Reek then perhaps...perhaps I can turn her into one in time.  She’ll require a few adjustments, to be sure.  She must needs stop calling me that word, for one thing.  Yes, I do believe that shall be our new game...

“I am not a Bolton,” Beltaine snapped, “don’t ever call me that again!”
“But the flayed man is on House Bolton’s banners.  In a way those are still my...err...our banners.  And you did just threaten to skin me, didn’t you?”
“No, I...shut up!”
“And of course, if I hadn’t changed you, your name would be Arya Bolton by all the laws of Gods and men.  I suppose that makes you as much a Bolton as I am or was.”
“If you ever call me ‘Arya Bolton’ again, I’ll kill you, whatever your real name is.”

“No need to worry about that, sweet wife, your name is Beltaine now.  Though if you ever give me a daughter, I will name her Arya.  You don’t mind, do you?  After all, you’re not really Arya Stark anymore, are you?  I suppose it will be strange for you, watching little Arya Bolton grow up.”

“But even if you could kill me,” continued Culrikhan as he ducked to avoid the large bronze candlestick holder that came flying across the room at his head, “that’d mean you’d never get to cross Walder Frey off that list you’re always going off about.” 
“Walder Frey is dead, idiot.  And if you ever say even one more word about getting me with child...” 

“I didn’t mean the late Late Lord Frey; there is another one who surely belongs on that list you’re always going off about.  Reek, you can bring him in now,” shouted Culrikhan.  Reek nudged a young boy into the room and the King smiled when he saw the child trembling in fear. 


[Chancellor Tanterterg]

The King in the North II (Part 2 of 2)



“I don’t care about some stupid Frey who isn’t even old enough to have had anything to do with the Red Wedding,” said Beltaine. 

“But this isn’t just any Frey,” Culrikhan insisted, “this one is apparently known as Big Walder Frey.  He has a brother named Little Walder whom I’m going to turn into a Sidhe and make my squire.  Reminds me a bit of myself at his age, that one does.  Don’t have much use for this one though, so he’s yours to do with as you wish.  Oh and you should know that Reek told me that when our dear Freys were wards of House Stark at Winterfell, Big Walder here told a boy named Theon Greyjoy where Brandon and Rickon Stark were hiding to save his own life.  Reek, you’d best leave us now,” said the King.  Wouldn’t want her to kill him too, I suppose.  She would’ve stabbed him to death last time if I had shown up a moment later.  I wonder what she’ll do when she learns poor Walder was simply an innocent child.

“I...d-d-did not...I...” stuttered Big Walder.

“Shut up!”  snapped Culrikhan.
“He did?  He led Theon to Bran and Rickon?” asked Beltaine.
“Oh yes, one could even say the boys are dead because of him.  Might I suggest that you consider taking him hunting?”
“No, but could I...could...could I borrow your flaying knife?”
“Of course, you can!  Nothing would please me more,” Culrikhan exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement as Beltaine approached him
“Thank you,” she replied, briefly smiling at the King.

“Perhaps my wolf will find herself in the heat when she’s finished.  I do still need a son,” said Culrikhan, frowning when he saw the look of complete disgust that appeared on Beltaine’s face. 

“Seven Hells, will you please just give me the knife,” snapped Beltaine, rolling her eyes.
“Yes, yes, very well, but...” the King began when she grabbed his dragonglass dagger from his knifebelt. 
“Careful with that,” Culrikhan said as he felt the tip of the blade on his frozen skin.

“You must be the stupidest bastard in Westeros.  Did you really think I’d ever believe a word you said?  I bet it was the other Frey who told Theon where Bran and Rickon were hiding.  I bet that’s why you liked him.  Oh, and if you ever speak of getting me with child again, I’ll unman you.  Do you understand?  I can’t hear you,” she shouted.

“I under...I understand,” You'd best hold on to that dagger, you little c***

“Perhaps I should unman you anyway,” continued Beltaine, “what do you think?  After all, you’ve taken so much away from me; it’s only fair that I take something away from you.”

“The dragonglass will kill me and you still don’t know my real name yet.  That means you can't kill me, doesn't it?”

“I suppose I could wait until I find out your real name,” said Beltaine, “but you'll have to do something first if you want to live another second.  You have to admit that you’re a bastard.”
“I was naturalized, that means I’m not a...”
“‘Kill me now!’  Was that what you just said?”
“I am...I...I am a...I AM GOING TO KILL YOU,” yelled Culrikhan.
“Last chance.”
“No!  Wait!  I...I am...my name was...was once Ramsay Snow.”
“Not a Snow, a bastard.  Say it right now,” snapped Beltaine.
“I...I am...a bastard,” the King mumbled.
“What’s that?  I can’t hear you.”
“I AM A BASTARD,” yelled Culrikhan, “and I swear by all the Gods that you will rue this day, you little c**t!”

“I think I’ll keep this dagger,” said Beltaine as she carefully backed away from the King, “you really shouldn’t be playing with such things.  Oh and you’d best find yourself a new squire,” she continued as she backed out of the room, “Little Walder is about to stab himself to death with dragonglass.”

Just wait until I find them; you won’t be so insolent then, Culrikhan thought to himself.  Once I have those little sh!ts, it'll be easy enough to control her, I imagine.   The King punched Big Walder in the face so hard that the blow knocked the boy unconscious.  You weren’t supposed to pass out!  Seven Hells, are these Frey vermin good for anything?  I suppose there’s no point flaying someone unless they’re awake, he thought, frowning.  Ah well, at least there are still plenty of Northerners left for me to play with...

[Lumine]

Osha:

She should have known.

She should have known what it was when the first of the Crowls had gone missing. She should have known when the air started to feel different, when the night became heavier, when one could hear the gods themselves warning of what was to come. She should have known, but she had ignored the signs and she had kept to what she did every day, caring for the little lord that the Skagosi had come to worship as if he were one of the gods beyond the Wall.

-We have to leave! Now! – She shouted again at Rickon –

Rickon did not bother to answer, his mind still fixated on the trees as if they were talking to him again. He was still a child, yet a different one. Osha was sure Bran would have used one of those fancy words of his to describe Rickon, but to her it was simple. Rickon was wilder, no longer the crying little lord but a strange combination of those Stark wolves and the own ferocity of the Skagosi tribesmen. They found that a proof of his belonging with them, and she found it harder and harder to reign onto Rickon’s instincts, which seemed more suited to Shaggydog at times.

-Rickon! Stop staring at the trees! –

That the island had proved a place for Rickon to be safe never ceased to amaze Osha. Having left Winterfell in such a hurry, forced to cross the entirety of the North ruled by the bloody flayed men, she could not think of any other place as they had sailed across the stormy cold sea. But they had made it out to Skagos, and after days of hunting with Shaggydog they had been found. If half the tales she had heard about the island from the southerners were right, their fate was unlikely to be anything else than being eaten alive. And if the Crowls had found them, that would have been certain.

-Young Wolf! – Harren shouted – Come with us! –

Harren.

To Osha’s eventual relief, it had been the young Harren of House Harren, son of Harren, who had found them along with his fellow tribesmen. Both the direwolf and Rickon’s aspect had somewhat impressed them, and it had not taken long for Harren’s elders to end their short captivity by proclaiming their own prophecies, which spoke of a young wolf returning from the west in order to bring light to S
kagos, to end the hardships of their lives. And they had all embraced their Young Wolf. First Harren’s Stanes, then the Magnars, and then the Crowls, who despite their fierceness had lost any desire of fighting them once Shaggydog bit off the arm of their leader as Osha herself crushed his prideful son in combat. They had known peace for some time, even in the hard Skagos, even if Rickon still failed to understand on his family and his name, for they had found the most unlikely of homes. No matter the cost she had kept him safe, protecting him even as the Crowls had threatened to revolt on the command to end human sacrifice. But even if those dark days Harren and his men had bled for the Young Wolf.

And the Others arrived, their signals ignored as she did not want to believe they could cross the seas. But aye they had, sending their hordes of slaves to the beaches on top of their damaged and broken boats. The Crowls had refused help to fight them alone, and in their foolishness they destroyed themselves after days of fighting wights only to become them the moment after. Forced to desperate measures, Stanes and Magnars had used fire to great effect, keeping many waves out the dead out thanks to circles of flames. But not even their resistance could last forever, and for Harren and Osha it was clear that they had to get Rickon out.

-I can’t leave them! – The little lord had protested – They are my people! I… I am their god! –
-Young Wolf. – Harren knelt and looked Rickon in the eye – You are whom we have waited for ages. But not even you could be ready for what lies ahead… You have to leave, Young Wolf, you must leave so you can become whom you must. And then you will return. To save us all.-
-To save… leave? No! – Rickon’s face showed rage – Everyone who leaves goes to the bad place! All of them! Robb… Arya… Sansa… B… Bran… Moth…-
-Enough, Rickon! – Osha shouted, staring at the boy – Your brother lives, and Winterfell is your home.-
-No… never more. I saw it, Osha! I saw it near the trees… I saw the monsters living there now, with their blue eyes… and they were so many… so many.-
-Rickon… you are still a Stark. Winterfell must always be your home.- Osha said, making a signal to Harren –

The man had followed her lead quickly by knocking Rickon into the ground before he could even understand what had happened, and Osha quickly took him into her arms. Shaggydog looked at Harren with bloodlust on his eyes, yet all he did was tremble and stare at both for a long time. As the sound of the battle and the cold screams of the dead grew louder, they started to run.

-To the boats! –

It did not took long for Harren, Osha and the few Stanes that would go with them to reach the few ships they had been able to save, all of them ready to set sail towards the South, hopefully towards safety for the Young Wolf. All of the Stanes were leaving someone behind, yet they had not hesitated to take Rickon away. The boats sailed as the fires on the mountains grew weaker, and the screams grew louder…

Rickon had not even returned from his sleep as the travel was cut short, for Osha saw the largest ship she had even seen on her life cutting their road. Both Harren and her trembled as the ship approached to board them, not knowing who had found them much less what he would do.

-What is that animal painted on that ship? – Osha asked, puzzled –
-Looks like a seahorse to me.-

[badgate]

Bran
Part I

He had been two full years in the caves below the great weirwood tree when the day came. Brynden Rivers closed his pale milky eyes for the final time as Bran, Meera, and Hodor supped on silence as always.

Meera Reed's eyes had sunken behind pale puffy skin after Jojen died, and Hodor said "Hodor" a lot less. The time in the cave was hard on them, even as Bran blossomed immeasurably. Every thought he had, it seemed the weirwood answered. He had seen his brother marrying a beautiful stranger in the sunset west. He had seen Jon raising Winterfell, Arya journeying home, the return of dragons to the realm, even his sister arriving safely in Riverrun. But he had also seen horrors. The burning of King's Landing. The march of the Sidhe. And then...darkness. In the last few weeks he could see nothing of the North, nothing of his home. The weirwood magic was blocked.

When Lord Brynden died, the Children closed his eyelids and placed a wreath of weirwood leaves around his crown. The roots had grown through his legs so much that he was just torso, arms, neck, and head. He was buried there, in a blanket knit of leaves and moss. The next morning, Meera glanced warily at his grave before turning to Bran.

"I'm going hunting today, with Leaf and Summer." Leaf, like all the Children, did not eat the way humans did, but had helped Meera hunt for food for them all just as they had fed Bloodraven for decades.

After Meera and Hodor left, Bran slipped inside the trees.

Winterfell...let me see Winterfell... Nothing. The Wolfsood, then. The White Knife. Last Hearth. Nothing. Bran felt the roots of his tree seat creeping around his legs. Suddenly, without warning, there was a prick on his shin. He gasped, and in a blinding blaze of white light he saw the North in all its horror.

Thousands of raised dead men and women moved across the land. Winterfell was afrost with a terrible curse of darkness. Giant spiders slid down the frozen White Knife toward White Harbor. Jon, Bran thought. Show me Jon. The trees showed him nothing. After hours and hours he awoke.

The next day he bid Meera to go hunting again. "I have work to do. I've had a breakthrough. I've seen the North." Meera agreed, but he saw her eyes flicker quickly to his shin and then away. She avoided his eyes when she said goodbye.

Again Bran entered the trees. Instead of south below the wall, he reached eastward. Far on the island of Skaagos, he saw a dazzling winter untouched by the Sidhe. He saw a unicorn with blood and hair dried to its horn, gorging itself on a cranberry tree. Stark...find me a Stark, he thought. Then he felt the warmth of Summer's skin, but it was different...more dangerous. Shaggydog! Bran thought. Through the direwolf's green eyes, Bran saw his brother for the first time in years. Rickon! he called out, and Rickon Stark's eyes darted from the trees to Shaggydog and back. His hair was longer than his arms, but styled tightly to warm his ears and neck. It was not unlike all of the other hairstyles he saw when he reached to the island. Can you hear me? Rickon nodded slowly, his eyes wide and afraid. Apparently Shaggydog rarely sat so still. It's Bran. I'm beyond the Wall. Stay on Skaagos, the Others have-

"Hodor, hodor, hodor, hodor!" the giant stableboy shouted as he shook Bran by his shoulders. There was fear and sorrow in this voice. Bran opened his eyes, angry at the interruption. He found himself more irritated by the sound of Meera crying. "Hodor, hodor hodor!"

"Yes, what is it Hodor?" Bran snapped. The stableboy clapped his mouth with his left hand, and pointed to Bran's legs with his right. Slowly, Brandon Stark looked down. His toes were longer...whiter...and wood. They stretched down into the ground like roots. Absurdly, since he had been lame for so long, Bran tried to wiggle them. Nothing happened. "It's okay, Hodor," Bran tried to say soothingly, but his voice betrayed his own fear.

Meera looked Bran in the eyes. "This may be your destiny, Bran, but I hate to see it." Bran felt strangely guilty. She had lost her whole life, her family, her brother to see him north. But Jojen had always known the day he would die, even she admitted it...so why did he feel at fault for his friend's death, after so long?

"I know what you're thinking," Bran said, "but we can't...we can't let him have died in vain. I have to take over now that the Three Eyed Raven is gone." Meera resumed crying, but when they supped she gave Bran a choicer yet smaller rabbit than the smoked squirrels she and Hodor shared.

The next day, Bran was alone when he woke. He called and called, but nobody answered, not Meera or Hodor or any of the Children, not even Bloodraven from under his weirwood grave. After giving up, he steeled himself and entered the trees again.

Jon? Where are you? Show me Jon Stark! He saw nothing. Arya...where is Arya? But nobody came. If either of them where alive, they were no longer Starks, no longer Jon or Arya, or else he could find them with a mere thought. He settled to study more of the Sidhe invasion, seeing through time as the Wall and then castle after castle fell to the seemingly endless horde of undead.

Then before him was a young woman who looked strikingly like Arya, but all confused. She is an Other, Bran thought. He watched his sister for hours that day, seeing her struggle against her captor-husband, the man who had masqueraded as Reek at Winterfell years and years ago.

When Culhrikan called himself the King in the North, Bran felt scorching anger flood his veins like nothing he'd ever felt. He tried to reach out to kill the man, and amazingly felt something strange happening...Could it be hope? But before Bran could tell, he was awoken again by a distressed Hodor.

This time, Bran looked down to see that his feet were wider and more root-like. The root that had pierced his shin days ago was poking out of his calf. He shuddered and began to sob. He let out a muffled scream through his hands.

"Do not fear, Brandon Stark," came a calm and childlike voice from nearby. "You were meant to be Lord Brynden's heir. You were meant to take his place and his power. And since his passing, while we have left you alone to explore your strength, we have watched." It was Leaf, the Child of the Forest who had saved them when they arrived at the cave. Yet now, Bran felt colder than he ever had in the cave. They'd seen what he'd seen, then? When I'm in the tree, can they see what I see?

"No," Leaf answered, as if she knew his thoughts. "We only know you have tried very hard. What did you see, before Hodor woke you?"

"I saw my brother, Rickon. I saw the North, engulfed in an invasion of dark forces. I saw..." he did not want to say it. It can't be true...Arya dead too...

"You are ready, I think, to find someone," said the Child.

"Who?" asked Bran.

Leaf's expression was impassive. "You will see. Go to the Wolfswood. Go now, before it is too late."

Bran glanced anxiously from Leaf to Meera, who sat silently watching the proceeding, then to Hodor cradling his legs to his chest. He closed his eyes...