Shielding Their Realms Forever by GreedofRage, Longclaw_1_6
- Chapter 3 -
Barbrey
It was a cold feeling of frustration that swept over when the retinue of Jon Snow rode to the courtyard outside of Barrow Hall. The last time Barbrey saw those Direwolf banners was when Willam rode off to join them in war and never came home. She watched from atop the balcony that was a perch above the front entrance of her home. Her knuckles resting on the cold stone railing if she was not tapping them in impatience. She could see two sons of Eddard Stark and both were almost complete opposites like the wolves that accompanied them. One a man, one a boy. One black of hair and grey of eyes, the other auburn and blue eyed like his southern mother.
Jon Snow locked eyes with her. For what it was worth, he looked more like a Stark than his trueborn brother but he didn't resemble Ned that much. But those eyes of his… the color was the same as Ned's and Brandon's, but there was something behind them, something that made her swallow. It wasn't a wild nature like Brandon or the stoic silence of Ned… this was something that made her afraid.
Barbrey turned on her heels and made her way down to see her guests as fast as she could so they could leave as fast as they could. Every time she met with a Stark things always ended terribly for her.
She was flanked by two of her household guards when the doors opened to her and she stepped outside, almost tripping at closer sight of the two wolves. Those beasts were far bigger up close. She couldn't believe it at first how they made horses look small.
Standing face to face with Ned Stark's bastard, she got a better look at him. Already she could better see much of his character. The way he stood, the way he carried himself, it reminded her of herself. He had certainly lost a great many people in his young life. But what else could one expect from what she's heard of regarding the happenings at the Wall?
"Lady Dustin," Snow greeted, "thank you for meeting with us-"
"Pleasantries aren't making me any younger. Formalities are not receding my wrinkles. You want me to aid in retaking Winterfell and overthrow my former brother by law with Wildlings. Am I wrong?"
Jon Snow smirked. "That is not why we asked to meet, but I'm very open to your idea." Cheeky bastard, but well played. "We could use someone not afraid to speak their mind. Although Lyanna Mormont proved she's a fierce one when she does."
Barbrey chuckled. "Where do you think she got it from?" After Maege was killed at the Twins, Lyanna was alone and without a guide except some old fart for a commander and a grey rat to fill her head with foolishness and idiocy. Barbrey spent months with Lyanna to help the girl get on her feet and find her own ground.
She looked over to the young Stark boy with the large black wolf lingering by his side. She stepped closer to him, ignoring the low growls the boy's beast made. "Hmm… you look more like Brandon than your father. Same chin and cheekbones. You're taller than he was at your age. What are you, fourteen? Fifteen?"
Rickon Stark shook his head. "Eleven."
Barbrey laughed this time. At least the remains of Ned's litter were somewhat interesting. She looked back to Jon Snow. "Come walk with me, Jon Snow." She ordered. The two of them left those in the courtyard and walked alone together, trailing over to the gardens surrounding the Godswood. There wasn't as much snow as there was in the rest of the North, so many of the autumn flowers were still showing the last of their former glory. "I've spent enough time around pompous men to know when someone lies. You're honest down to the marrow in your bones, aren't you?"
Jon Snow chuffed with an amused smile. "I've had my share of lies. I try not to anymore and I hate it when I have to. They've only led me to doing things I despise, betraying people I love."
"Then you are one man among ten thousand. If you are not here for my soldiers, what do you want? Promised neutrality? A shelter for your army?"
"Not my army," he replied with a raised finger, "but for Rickon. He is the rightful Lord of Winterfell and the North."
"Aye, that he is. You know what happened to the last three rightful Lords of Winterfell that met me? The first time I met your grandfather. He took my uncle on a hunt where my uncle died by a bear, your uncle Brandon took my maidenhead and left me for some southern tramp, your father took my husband to war and brought back a horse instead of his bones, and all three died at the hands of a Mad King. Ramsay's not a king, but he thinks he is and more than mad enough."
"Which is why we've made sure that false information was created to make him think that Rickon was sent to the Nightfort if he ever found out. He won't be safe with us and Ramsay will go to terrible lengths to make sure he does not live."
"You doubt Roose won't? He'll kill your brother just the same."
"Aye, if Roose were still alive."
Barbrey halted and looked Jon Snow dead in the eye. "What?"
"Roose, Walda, and their newborn son are all dead." Jon Snow paused and looked at her with stunned eyes. "You did not know? It happened almost two moons ago."
She buried her face in her palm. It wasn't mourning she was feeling, but great anger and almost distress. "I don't take messages from the bastard." Her breath was chilled by a swift breeze through the godswood, rattling the wilting flower petals.
"The ravens said they were poisoned by enemies of the North."
"Psh, horseshit." She lowered her hand and clenched her fists. "That fucking bastard." First Domeric, now Roose and his family. She never liked Roose and only pledged to him because he came to her aid against the Ironborn. With Ramsay in power, the North might as well cut its own throat to avoid whatever sick devices that bastard had in store.
She breathed deeply and looked back at Jon Snow. "If you want your brother safe, you should go somewhere else, White Harbor or Hornwood. Starks don't fare well with me."
"If you truly believe that then we have it in common. I was denied riding south to help my father and brother and they died without me, I was denied ranging north with my uncle and he disappeared." He looked at her skeptically and of all things it made her start to laugh.
"Seven Hells, we're both ridiculous, aren't we?"
Jon Snow shrugged. "It helps get me through the day."
Barbrey sighed. "How long will Rickon need to be here?"
"Two moons at the least. Maybe three."
"And the wolf?"
"I wouldn't have Shaggydog in the kennels. He's rather untame near them after the Last Hearth."
Barbrey laughed again. "Shaggydog?"
"Or Shaggy. Rickon was five when he got the pup."
"Either one, I'll just keep my distance. But are you certain that leaving him here and not keeping him close is best? Your sister is with you, is she not?"
"To Ramsay, she's his and he won't kill her. Rickon is the heir and a threat. We need him protected with high walls until this is over."
Piss on all that. Rickon Stark is the fucking heir to the North and Robb Stark's Crown as King in the North. Keeping the heir locked up in another cage for protection is foolish. It made her think of how her baby brother turned out. Granted, Roose wasn't exactly caged, but still he was the youngest and she considered him sheltered by their parents and now… She had an epiphany strike her suddenly. "Very well. I will accept the charge of protecting your brother. I'll make him my page."
They both returned to Stark retinue where Rickon Stark and the other men were waiting. "Brennan!" She called her steward. "Get a room ready for Lord Stark and make accommodations for his wolf."
"And Osha too." Rickon said.
Her brow furrowed. "Who's Osha?" Barbrey asked.
"Me," a woman in rough clothes stepped next to Rickon and the wolf, "and I don't need my own room, I'll sleep in his."
"Are you trying to be the boy's mother?"
"His protector," the woman corrected with a scowl, "and I know I can damn well do it better than any of these armored nancies you got in there." This woman had a deadly presence about her.
"Charming," Barbrey said before looking at Rickon. "Do you want her in your room, my lord?" He simply nodded in response. "Very well. Brennan, see if you can fit another bed in Lord Stark's room. Carlon!" She looked for the Captain of her guard. "Call our force to arms. Have them ready to march for… hells, where's your army?"
"The Last Hearth, but we'll be moving south soon."
"You get that Carlon? Tomorrow, we will make for the Last Hearth!"
"Aye, Milady!" Carlon replied.
"You're going to join us?" Jon Snow asked.
"Did you ever know Domeric Bolton? Roose Bolton's firstborn son with my sister? My nephew whom I raised for four years?" Anger was leaking into her words.
There was a strange pause waiting for Jon's response. "I met him once, years ago. I heard he died of a sickness in the bowels. But then again, that was around the same time Ramsay began to make himself known and act for his father."
Barbrey ground her teeth. "My nephew was murdered by that bastard. Without Roose to protect him, I will make sure Ramsay dies screaming."
"But if you're coming, then who's going to watch Rickon here?"
"I'm not going back on my word, Jon Snow. For me to watch over him, he'll just have to come along under my protection. He needs to grow, not be cooped up from the North more than he already has."
A firm hand grasped her shoulder. "I don't want him where things will be most dangerous."
"I dare you to tell that to Lyanna Mormont when we get there." She looked at Carlon. "We have three days! At dawn on the third, we march for war!"
The Blackfish
At least something interesting was happening now. The Kingslayer proved to be as expected, just as dull and boring as the siege. Brynden almost wished the bastard hadn't lost his good hand. It was far long enough that someone beat the prick on his golden ass. If only Tywin were still alive, the look on his face would be a joy to see.
But now, instead of lions and murderers, Riverrun was under siege by a woman dressed as a knight and her squire, demanding entry. Brynden looked down from the battlements and studied them both. The woman deserved the armor she wore. He could tell that she was built and knew full well how to fight.
"Ser Brynden Tully," the woman called from below, "My name is Brienne of Tarth. I come from the North with a letter for you." She held up a piece of parchment.
Brynden scoffed. If this was a farce it was poorly done. But the woman was rather fierce looking and she did resemble Selwyn. "Let them in." He ordered. If the Kingslayer couldn't entertain during a siege maybe this woman would.
While waiting for her to come he did his checking on the other side of the river where there was no one but Freys. They were shit soldiers. If Brynden's men had the horses and the Lannisters were gone he could cleave through all of these walking shitboot ratsacks of men.
He was soon approached by the woman. She was certainly taller than she seemed from up above and she was definitely a warrior. That armor and sword were not for show. The sword though… golden lions. Was the Kingslayer recruiting women now?
"Ser Brynden Tully. I come with news and a call for aid from the North. House Stark moves to retake Winterfell and put an end to the Boltons. I have spoken with Ser Jaime Lannister and he has given me his word that if the castle is surrendered your men and yourself will be free to go join the Stark host."
The only reply he gave her was a scoff. "Surrender my castle. Piss off. You're wasting your time." He made back for the battlements. This was probably just some ploy to get them in the open for slaughter. Typical Kingslayer, just as backhanded as his father.
"My lord!" The wench chased after him. "I have a signed letter from your niece, Sansa Stark, and-"
"A niece I haven't seen since she was just a child. I don't know her signature, I don't know you, and I will not surrender!" He took another glance out to the army at his doorstep. They were getting angsty. Something was going to happen soon. "Double the guards tonight. The Kingslayer wants to test us. I feel it." He proceeded into the castle corridors. He had to round up the men to be ready. The stubborn woman and her boy continued to follow though.
"As I have said, Ser, my name is Brienne-"
"Brienne of Tarth. Yes, I know your father. Good man."
"He always spoke highly of you!"
"And if he were here now, I'd tell him the same I'm telling you. If you think I'm abandoning my family's seat on the Kingslayer's word of honor, you're a bloody fool."
"Riverrun cannot stand against the Lannisters and the Freys."
"We can stand longer than your one-handed friend thinks we can."
"He's not my friend."
"No?" Brynden almost felt the urge to laugh. He finally stopped to turn and face her. She was damn near as stubborn as he was. "Who gave you permission to cross the siege line and enter the castle? Who gave you that sword with the gold lion on the pommel?"
She looked at him as if they were in a duel to the death. "Ser Jaime kept his word to your niece, Catelyn Stark. He sent me to find Sansa, to help her as Catelyn wanted. He gave me this sword to protect her and Rickon Stark. That is what I have done and I will continue to do until the day I die." She firmly held the letter out to him.
Damn, she was being honest. "Rickon's alive?"
"He was a prisoner of the Umbers until Jon Snow defeated Lord Smalljon and convinced him to side with House Stark against the Boltons. Rickon is remaining at Barrowton for the time being until Winterfell is taken back."
Brynden sighed as he took the paper from her and opened it.
I, Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, present my trusted servant Lady Brienne of Tarth.
Please afford her every courtesy and the respect due her as my envoy who speaks with my voice.
Dear Uncle
I was a little girl the last time you saw me. I am not a little girl anymore. The Boltons who murdered my brother and my mother, your niece, now walk their halls, eat their table, and sleep in their beds. I call upon the bonds of Family, Honour, Duty, and beseech you to lead every man you have north to help us avenge our family and take back the home our enemies have stolen.
Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell
The way she wrote, it was like Catelyn herself was speaking. He couldn't help but smile. "She's exactly like her mother." His joy from the words became glum to his response. "I don't have enough men to help her take Winterfell."
"Milady," the boy interrupted, "the other letter."
Both Lady Brienne and Ser Brynden looked at him confused. "What other letter?"
"The one from Jon Snow, milady." He reached for his satchel at his side and dug through its contents before pulling out a second letter. The boy looked at the Blackfish directly. "He also told me to tell you that if the Lannisters have to take back Riverrun everytime the Freys lose it then what good are the Freys?"
Brynden scoffed as if that was supposed to mean something personal. But he had a point, or rather the bastard did. The Freys were such an enervative House that the only reason they defeated King Robb's army was because they went to such lengths. He opened the second letter. He never met the bastard and had no desire to. He had no quarrel with the boy but he was still the living shame on Cat.
Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish
My name is Jon Snow, known bastard of Eddard Stark. I don't know you and you don't know me. You have no reason to come to my aid but you have every reason to come to Sansa's and Rickon's. I understand the love and pride you have for your home and my brother, your king, Robb Stark. Believe me, I do. We need your help and your men. I hate the Lannisters as much as you do for what they have done, but I trust Brienne's word a great deal and if she says that Ser Jaime will allow you safe passage then he will.
I am not asking you to abandon your home, in fact, I am asking you to seize an opportunity. If the castle is surrendered now, the Lannister host will withdraw and there will be no one to support the Freys. Retaking Riverrun will not only be easy but for the last time. And I doubt the Golden Lions will come back just after leaving.
But if you stay, then you will lose. With Edmure, the rightful Lord of Riverrun, hostage to Jaime Lannister, then all it will take is the right threat to have Edmure march freely to gates and command his men to surrender. By honor, they must obey him.
I ask of you, not as a bastard, but as a man to help us. Do not die tonight for your home, live tomorrow so you can keep fighting for it .
Jon Snow
If the purpose of the letter was meant to convince Brynden, it greatly muddled his thinking instead. He didn't understand half of what he meant. But at the same time, he did.
The tactical part of the message had some merit. In fact it made perfect sense. The Lannisters won't help an alliance that keeps asking for more and more. There is a limit to how much they owed the Freys for the Red Wedding.
The last line was what had Brynden in a turmoil of sorts. 'Do not die today for your home, live tomorrow so you can keep fighting for it.' A strange feeling came over him and he looked at Sansa's letter again, but it felt like a pair of warm hands were over his holding the letter with him.
"I thought the boy was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," Brynden inquired.
Brienne straightened herself. "There was a mutiny against him for allowing the Wildlings safe passage through the Wall. The officers who committed their crimes were executed after Jon Snow was released from his vows."
"Only death can release a man from the black." Brynden argued.
"Only he can show you why. There is more to it. Far more. Jon Snow isn't just fighting to take back his family home, he's fighting to save all of Westeros. I have seen the truth of what lies beyond the Wall and believe every word Jon Snow says. If House Stark does not take back Winterfell then we cannot defend against the coming storm."
"What storm?"
"Winter is Coming, Ser, and it is going to be one that will kill us all if we do not band together to make a stand against the one who brings it."
Her words had a certain haunt to them. The way she spoke made it clear that she was afraid.
Brynden almost felt himself shaking. He glanced over to his family's banner flying in the chilling breeze. The way the fabric moved made the trout upon it leap over the water. Family, Duty, Honor. He folded the letters and returned them to Lady Brienne. "Go tell the Kingslayer I want a parley."
Brienne nodded and took her squire with her. They were allowed to leave and returned to the Lannister encampment.
It wasn't even an hour later when the drawbridge lowered and Ser Jaime slowly came into sight. The Blackfish walked across the planks and met with the Kingslayer. He approached him with fury in every step until they were face to face. "You word means nothing to me. That woman's word means nothing to me. But my grandniece's does. If even one of my men is so much as sneezed on, you can be sure that I will take your other hand before your head, Kingslayer."
"Is that your surrender of the castle then?"
With a subtle nod, Brynden turned around and made back for Riverrun. He shouted up at the ramparts. "We're marching north! Have everyone ready by tomorrow morning!"
His men followed his command without question. It upset him greatly that they were giving up the castle. But they would take it back even if he had to fight through the Seven Hells to do it.
By morning the next day, the Tully forces were rested and ready to make the expedition North. They cleared out as much of the larders and storerooms as they could take with them.
When Brynden and his men were leaving for the roads, he was surprised at what he saw. The Lannister forces were lined up as a wall but facing outward as if to keep the Freys out. Ser Jaime was waiting for them in the middle of it all. "Something else you want besides my home?" Brynden asked as he met the one handed golden child. "A kiss goodbye and some roses for a starcrossed farewell?"
"I found a parting gift as a gesture of goodwill and my word." One of his men brought him a ragged cloth which he unfurled and revealed a tongue. "Black Walder and I had certain disagreements about your surrender. Taking his tongue was the only way for him to shut up about conducting a reenactment of the Red Wedding." He wrapped the tongue back up in the cloth. "Unfortunately your nephew will have to remain with us."
"Nothing unfortunate at all, keep him. If that idiot were to join us then we'd all die for his glory before we even make it to the hillside." The Blackish marched past the kingslayer down the road, leading his forces to the North.
Alys
It was snowing again. Usually that would be pleasing to see but ever since word came that Wildlings were invading, the snow looked and felt so grey. It was like the season was just as sad and worried as the people.
But no matter what, Alys promised her brother that she would defend Karhold until the last man if Wildlings ever tried to attack. She had a hundred and fifty men garrisoned and she could have five hundred more mustered in a few days, a thousand in a fortnight. But she wished that he didn't leave, even more so that he left to declare for the Boltons.
Roose was a man without conscience and his bastard was a well known pleasure seeker with cruelty as his whore and a torture chamber as his brothel. And now, Roose was dead and Ramsay was Warden of the North.
She despised the part the Boltons played in the Red Wedding. She hated Robb Stark for murdering her father but he didn't deserve a death like that, none of those that died did.
Although she also felt conflicted about her father. She received two letters during the war. One from Harald telling that father was murdered for taking vengeance for their murdered brothers. The other was from Robb Stark telling that he justly executed her father for the murder of two innocent boys simply because they bore the name Lannister.
In the end it meant nothing. Robb Stark should have kept her father as a hostage. Her father didn't deserve to die for claiming vengeance. Wasn't that what the King in the North waged war for?
But if Robb Stark had kept her father a hostage and the Karstark forces with him, would they have died at the Twins as well? Would Harald be dead just like many other lords and heirs of the North?
She tried not to think too much about these things as she carried out her duties as the acting Lady of Karhold.
She was currently visiting the storerooms with Maester Robert. The men liked to call the maester King Robert given how similar he was to Robert Baratheon. They both had great round bellies, big bushy beards, and both had a love for drinking. Maester Robert had brown hair instead of black and was rather faithful to remaining celibate which was likely why he drank so much, Alys mused.
"If the missive from the Citadel proves correct, then winter will be upon us in a few months. We're still receiving grain from our farms so we have yet to have a final count. But currently we have enough provisions to last us three years."
"That won't be enough. Long summers are always followed by long winters." Alys furrowed her brow as she thought of what to do. "We may have to buy what we cannot reap ourselves." She remembered the last winter her family had to endure. Her father went to Lord Ned Stark for aid and received it. She doubted that Ramsay would do anything to help. He would just make camp outside the castle and watch everyone starve to death. "I want you to send a raven to an honorable and fair House in the Reach. Inquire on the possibility and costs of purchasing grain and livestock."
Before she could continue, one of the castle guards rushed into the storeroom. "Milady, there's a group of riders approaching the castle. They fly the Stark sigil and carry a peace banner."
Alys was surprised to hear this. Stark banners? Impossible. There were no more Starks since Lady Sansa lawfully became a Bolton. She followed her guard outside and up to the battlements above the portcullis to Karhold. Just a few yards from the gate was a lone rider with a peace banner but further away were perhaps a dozen others and a wagon. She could barely make out the bright red hair that was Sansa Bolton's without a doubt.
Her men were armed with bows with arrows nocked and ready to draw.
"I am Lady Alys Karstark. Who comes before the gates of Karhold?" she called down to the rider.
"I serve the Starks and come with a letter of invitation for parley." The rider looked up at her and revealed a piece of parchment.
"You will not be permitted inside, but I will have one of my men accept the letter from you."
"Very well, Milady. I am not armed."
It didn't take long for the exchange. As soon as the man handed the letter to one of the guards, he rode back to join his party. The letter was brought to Alys with haste and she proceeded to see what the Starks had to say.
Alys Karstark
I, Jon Snow, ask that my host be allowed to meet with you to discuss a possible alliance with House Karstark and renew the bonds and oaths that have been kept with House Stark.
An alliance? What in Seven Hells… the sheer audacity this man had. And Jon Snow? The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch? What was going on? Did he think that they would forgive and forget the Karstarks' abandonment in the war and her father's death? She continued to read.
I understand that this sounds confusing given that your brother has chosen to side with the murderer, Ramsay Bolton. I hope that what I have to say and show might inspire you to beseech your brother to change his allegiance.
Winter is coming and it will be brought by an enemy far worse than you can imagine.
Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell
She looked over his words once again and took notice of that last part. What enemy? And he wanted to show her something?
"Lady Karstark," one of her men asked, "should we ride out and capture them? Your brother would be very proud if you were the one to stop the rebels."
Alys shook her head. "Send a rider to tell them that I will meet with them at the gates."
"Milady, we shouldn't treat with traitors-"
"That is my order. Carry it out."
Another man went as the messenger as Alys collected several others to act as her protectors. She left the safety of her castle but kept herself within range of the archers.
The Stark host rode up the hill to the castle but dismounted and walked the rest of the way. They brought the wagon with them and it was only when they were this close that Alys noticed the cargo. It was a large wooden crate with iron locks.
Leading them was a dark-haired man in boiled leather armor and a fur lined cloak. She recalled seeing the bastard maybe ten years ago at a feast in Winterfell. He certainly changed. Why was it the bad ones always had to look so handsome?
Aside from Jon Snow, Sansa Bolton accompanied the host as well as Smalljon Umber. There were three Wildlings as well and a few soldiers. What surprised Alys the most was that Smalljon was traveling with Wildlings. The Umbers had a well known hatred for the brutes yet here they traveled together.
"Lady Alys," Jon Snow spoke, "thank you for meeting with us given the circumstances."
"I have all the mind to send a raven to Winterfell right now and take you to the cells. But for the blood we share, I will hear what you have to say."
Jon Snow nodded and gestured to the wagon. "Before I show you what I have, I want to know, do you know what happened to Roose Bolton? The circumstances around his death?"
"Aye. He was poisoned. I would have suspected it was you lot but I never heard of any rebellious acts until after."
"Would you believe me if I told you it was a lie, a lie your brother participated in?"
"Really?" Alys asked, angered and unbelieving.
"Roose was murdered by Ramsay moments after Lady Walda birthed a son. Your brother watched it happen and sided with the bastard."
She hadn't recalled any news about Lord Bolton's wife as of late. The last she heard was of her pregnancy. "I don't believe you. Why would my brother stand by such a thing?"
Smalljon snorted and interrupted. "He's a kissass is why."
Some of Alys's men stirred in anger, one guard even wrapping his hand on the hilt of his sword.
But one hard look from Jon Snow was all it took for Smalljon's stupid smirk to fade away. This became a bit imposing now. Smalljon was a great warrior to be reckoned with, maybe the strongest man in the whole North. And here he just immediately backed down just from a single look?
"I apologize for his remark, my lady," Jon Snow said. "I do not know why he chose to side with Ramsay like that, only that he did and without much condolence. My source in Winterfell witnessed it. Harald is ambitious but also loyal to family. He commands a thousand men at Winterfell and it's a thousand men we'll need. Not to fight against Ramsay, but the real enemy. The enemy that's coming for us all."
"As far as I can see you've already brought that enemy with you." She shifted her gaze to the three Wildlings. One was a large ginger man, another was wearing a strange hauberk made of bones and shells, and the third was the youngest of them. The sides of his head were shaved and he had dark brown hair tied into a single braid and had patterned scars under his eyes that looked like… tusks? He looked at Alys with a sly smirk and gave a quick raise of his brow as if that was his way of a greeting.
"The Freefolk are not our enemy. They have promised to fight alongside us against the real enemy. I brought one to show you."
The whole Stark host parted aside as the crate was presented by two of the men with them. The iron locks on the crate were opened and the lid removed. Four men paired up and each held into a chain meant to restrain something.
At first Alys thought it was an animal of some sort, but she couldn't help but scream a little when she saw the monster burst from its confinement.
It was a man, or it used to be. It was a corpse of a dead man but it was moving. It was fucking moving! Alys backed away as the creature screamed an unholy noise and tried to move about but the chains restrained it from going anywhere. And those eyes, those horrible eyes, the glow of blue felt colder than anything.
"This is one soldier of the Night King's army," Jon Snow explained. "The legends of the White Walkers aren't legends, they are truth. If we don't band together, then we're fucked." He gestured to his men with his arm and they wrestled the creature back into the box. "I want peace, Alys. I know you do as well. But as long as Ramsay has control of the North, we will never have it and we won't stand together when the rest of these things come."
Smalljon stepped forward. "I was damn near about to swear for Ramsay. I had Rickon Stark as a gift to give. But I follow strength. Jon Snow proved that by beatin' the horseshit out of me without a scratch and then showin' me that thing. Do you believe the Bolton Bastard will stand with us against that?"
Alys was still trying to comprehend what she just saw. She never thought she would never feel afraid of something as much as she just did. "I… I…"
One of her other men spoke up. "Can we kill them?"
Jon Snow nodded. "Aye. We destroy the soldiers with fire and dragonglass. The White Walkers can only be harmed by the latter and Valyrian steel. I've killed one of them before and so has a man of the Watch I still consider a brother and greatly trust."
"How many are there?" another man asked.
Jon Snow answered without skipping a beat. "A hundred thousand at least. It's the largest army in the world. And anyone they kill becomes one of them."
Alys couldn't take it anymore. She lost her strength and fell to her knees. Two of her men knelt down beside her to see if she was alright but neither one of them was the one who offered a hand to her.
She looked up to Jon Snow and saw the calmness in his eyes. He wasn't afraid, or rather he was but he was also brave. Alys accepted his hand and was pulled back up to her feet.
"We can win, but only if we band together. Will you help us? Will you try and convince your brother to help us?"
Alys wiped at her eyes at tears that were forming but never fell. "I will."
Bran
The staring was getting annoying. Every time Bran woke up from the sight, the men of the Night's Watch were always looking at him. Whenever he was eating, they were watching him, whenever he was taken to take a shit or make water, they were right around the corner. He couldn't ever find a time to truly be alone. Whenever everyone was asleep, he would be awake along with one or two men.
As of right now though, Bran didn't care who watched. He just enjoyed eating his food with Meera and Hodor. It was one of the few things he was grateful for the Night's Watch men for bringing. They didn't have to eat moss or drink tea made of moss. Finally, some cooked venison, rabbit broth, even potatoes which Meera tended to hog sometimes. But those supplies were starting to run out and they couldn't risk going out to hunt.
It was a total surprise when the Night's Watch found them, when they found the entrance to one of the caves from far away. Their leader, the one they called Eddison Tollet or Dolorous Edd, said that it was Jon who told them how to get there. It didn't make sense, none of it. How did Jon know where they were? Everything in the last few months had been strange compared to the all the time since they first got here. Both he and the Three Eyed Raven could feel something strange, a weight in the Greensight. Something had happened, something they were not sure of. Until last night when they both witnessed the revelation at the great gathering of Jon's army. Not Jon Snow, but Aegon Targaryen.
After that night, the Three Eyed Raven began showing much more to Bran. They went back to the Tower of Joy and witnessed Jon's birth and Lyanna's death. To think that all this time, he wasn't his brother, but a cousin and child of House Targaryen. It was incredible and frightening at the same time.
As of now however, the Three Eyed Raven was alone in the sight, attempting to study these new developments. But as for why he didn't bring Bran with him, that was a question that didn't even get an answer considered.
The agitations within Bran swelled as the usual calm silence was now gone. One of the Night's watchmen, Balian his name was, spent an hour each day running a smooth stone to the edge of his sword, sharpening it over and over and the scratching steel set his teeth on edge. Eddison Tollet and another, Matthar, had begun a game of throwing knives at a target drawn in the dirt wall and after a few rounds one of the Children silently joined in and now there was a constant 'thump thump thump' joining the scratching.
He couldn't take it anymore.
Finishing his last bit of potato, Bran pulled himself along the ground of the cave to the roots of the weirwood. Whatever the Three Eyed Raven was doing, Bran had the right to be there too, or else why was he here at all? How could he learn if he didn't take part in the important things?
He was just two arms lengths away from the roots, but a set of black boots got in his way, "hold up, Lord," said Hugh, the fourth brother of the Watch, "don't even think about touching them roots."
"Out of my way," Bran demanded, but the words felt pitiful from where he was on the ground, "you haven't a clue what I'm trying to learn here."
"Not at all," Hugh said, and the other brothers of the Watch stood up, "but orders are unless the old man says you can do your magic, you don't touch the tree."
"He never said that!" Bran sneered.
"No, but Snow did. He was quite clear. If you touch those roots and use your magic alone, then we're fucked. I'd rather not be."
"Hodor," said Hodor nervously.
Hugh proceeded to reach down and pick up Bran, the action making Meera set her food aside fast and draw her knife, but the commotion was interrupted.
"It's alright," the Raven said, "it's time to continue."
Hugh's eyes darted to the Three Eyed Raven and back to Bran, nodding and carefully carrying Bran all the way to the roots.
"Where were you?" Bran asked when he was at rest on the ground.
"Looking for answers, but coming up short. I cannot see where this new power comes from, but perhaps two minds looking can."
Bran nodded and grabbed the smooth root and entered into the sight with the Three Eyed Raven.
Together, they stood upon the balconies surrounding Winterfell's northern courtyard, watching the family of House Stark observing Bran learning to shoot his bow arrow.
"None of them would hear me if I said anything, would they?" Bran said, speaking his mind of a denied wishful thought. He still couldn't accept that his call to his father at the tower was just a coincidence.
"It is not our place to try. The past is already written. Nothing will change if you could."
Bran looked at the Three Eyed Raven. "Where do we begin?"
The Three Eyed Raven put his arm on Bran's shoulder and they walked together down to the courtyard. "My attempts to find the echoes in the memories have not borne fruit. I will teach you how to hear the whispers of the sights, the pull of memories, and how to follow them." They passed by Miken's workbench as he was sewing leather to the handles of some swords.
"What do you mean?"
"When the gift first manifested, it came as dreams, did it not? You found yourself in a place not of your choosing, and neither could you control where you would go. Now, I will help you learn to find your direction." They stopped underneath the archway to the Godswood. "In all our time together, have you not considered a thought as to where we are? Not in memory, but what realm of existence this is?"
Bran looked around. It felt like home, like reality, but he never once considered to look at it as something else. The feelings were too great.
"The answer to that hides from me just as it has every other Raven before. But if you listen enough with your power, you can begin to hear the echoes of other memories, the call to be found once again, and the pull to be seen."
"How do I listen?"
The Raven looked at him. "You must feel it first, here," he tapped at the middle of his forehead, "have you never paid attention to where everything begins when you use the sight?"
Thinking on it, the only apparent sensation Bran had was a quick feeling of being pulled backwards whenever he used the sight or warged into Summer and Hodor. He thought about that, and tried focusing his memory of the sensation.
And in fact, there was something. When he focused on that feeling, it became more present within himself. It was akin to the same feeling as standing on a ledge and looking down, that pit in the stomach that froze one in their place. But he couldn't hear anything, if he understood the Raven's meaning.
"I have it," Bran said.
"Now," the Raven began, "think of the power we felt, that which is new and old, where does it take you?"
Bran remembered the shivering feelings in his hands, the wave that crashed into him.
Then it happened.
That sensation swept through him as though he had been standing neck deep in a rushing river. The Raven placed his hand on Bran's shoulder and together they were swept away into memory.
Voices echoed all around them before they were anywhere, the voices of a man and a woman in a language that was alien to Bran but in the echoes they started to translate into words he knew.
"Azor," A woman said in a hushed whisper but it was as loud as a normal conversation, "what if it fails and I am left in this world without you?"
A man's voice, one that sounded very similar to Bran's father's, had responded softly. "You are the greatest love I have ever known. But to see the light of the sun one last time is something I must do and I will slay the giant whose eye we live in if I can give you the chance to see the sun rise again. For us, our children, for everyone."
Before them on this high hill, a dozen cloaked figures stood in a circle, each with an iron brazier before them lit with flames ranging in magnificent golden colors. In the center of the circle, at the very top of the hill was a man kneeling, bare chested and chin up at the stars. His features reminded Bran of his father. Long brown hair and a thick but trimmed beard.
Next to the kneeling man was a woman that was engulfed with features of excellent beauty. She wore robes similar to those encircling them and they flowed elegantly with every step she took. In her hands, held gently like a babe, was a sword of ancient design but material more advanced than any other in this age.
"What is this?" Bran asked. "Where are we?"
"In an age of darkness on the verge of a hero's illumination. A legend's beginning of a prince that was promised." They went back further in time than Bran ever thought possible. Back to the Age of Heroes thousands of years ago.
This woman was chanting some words in a siren's voice. She stopped in front of the man and kneeled down in front of him. Holding the sword at her side, she pulled the slip of her robe off the left side of her chest, bearing her breast at him. She gently took his hand and made him feel it. Then she said words Bran could not understand but he could feel such a weight of love and sorrow behind them.
"My heart will always belong to you." The Three Eyed Raven translated.
She then kissed the man with such beautiful passion and love. The moment she broke the kiss she took the sword and drove it into the man's chest. She cried out in great sorrow, tears streaming down her face.
A great cry erupted from the man, passing over the chants of those witnessing this ritual, a cry of pain and brave fury. It ceased soon after and the man collapsed into the arms of the woman who silently wept over his shoulder as blood dripped onto her knees.
Then the chanting stopped. The only words came from the woman as she looked to the stars and spoke to them. This felt like a prayer, but to which god?
The last phrase she uttered was repeated by all the others. Grabbing the sword by the handle she pulled it out from the man's chest and the blade erupted in golden flames that cast light over the hill.
The man's fingers twitched. His eyes opened and after a great inhale did he yell out again in some form of ecstasy and might. He lifted an arm and held the sword together with the woman. The flames grew brighter and the light cast extended to the entire valley surrounding all the way to the horizon as though it were day.
"Azor Ahai will bring the dawn."
Bran halted when a disturbingly cold breeze brushed at his fingertips. Pains of frost nipping at his fingers. This wasn't part of the memory, he never felt anything in the sight.
The very breath in his lungs felt stolen as something took hold of him and began pulling him from the memory he was in with the Three Eyed Raven. "Ahhh!" He reached out but he was gone from the Three Eyed Raven and light of the ritual.
The place he was in now was foreign to him. A grand room demolished by ice and snow. Beautiful glass windows frozen over and cracked, marble pillars encased in blue ice. And at the end of the room, ice grew from the ground into a terrifying throne. Spikes jagged out like frozen teeth of a demon.
Sitting in this throne was a figure whose sight itself was cold to the marrow of bone. If death had a form, it was this.
But Bran felt something about this being, something familiar. He slowly paced forward to the throne and He who sat atop it. This creature, its skin was of ice and the clothes it wore were as black as night. Its eyes were the same white as the Three Eyed Raven's when in the sight.
Bran stopped at the first step of the throne and dared not get any closer. He looked at the face of this sovereign of ice and only realizing it now knew it was a white walker. But the protruding points from its temple, could this be him? Could this be the Night King?
No, this couldn't be. He witnessed the Night King's creation and this wasn't the same one. This one looked different.
The more Bran looked. The more he began to recognize the face. It couldn't be, it was him!
The white of the Night King's eyes faded into bright blue and a slow smirk grew on his lips. A soundless voice rang in Bran's mind with such a terrifying gravity that it brought him to his knees screaming with only three words. 'Winter is coming.'
Bran felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He jerked his head around and was even more confused with who he saw this time. It was him, again, but older. His hair was longer and he had a beard.
'And spring will follow, demon.' this older apparition said. What the fuck was going on? He looked at his older self and his eyes turned white.
Bran awoke from the sight in such pain and out of breath. Meera was by his side and Leaf on the other. Hodor was curled into the corner and shaking with fear. The Men of the Night's Watch were gathering around with the Children, all of them looking at him.
"The Night King!" Bran shouted in great panic. "He was me!"
"No," the Three Eyed Raven said. "That was something else, something far worse. That is your future."
Bran tensed. "No! I don't understand! Why was I the Night King?"
The Three Eyed Raven shook his head. "I do not know. I have learned thousands of secrets that could throw the world into war until all were dead but this is something I have no clarity on. For the first time in years I do not know. There is a change. Can you feel it?"
The biting at his fingers, it was a phantom sensation now but it was throughout his entire body now. "I can."
"He has grown stronger than I believed he could. Stronger than us. The magic guarding this cave will not stop him now." The Three Eyed Raven looked at Meera and Edd. "You all must leave. But you, you must be ready."
What did that mean to be ready though? There was too much Bran still didn't understand but he wasn't sure how much of it was part of the entire picture. "I saw myself. Not the Night King but… me…. older. How?"
The Three Eyed Raven had to answer. He looked to his hands pondering the possibilities, the meanings. "I can only share with you the secrets of the past. But who is to say that your future cannot do the same for you now?"