Winterfell 304 AC.
Sansa.
It had been hard to see Jon and the others leave, to worry about them and what they were going to face, and know you weren't truly a part of that fight. So Sansa did what she needed to not let those worries overwhelm her or those who stayed behind in Winterfell. Her first thought, as always, was for her family. Both Arya and Rickon had been annoyed and upset with their brother, but mainly she knew that they, like her, were fearful for him.
She'd sought to be there for them both, yet had found that just as she threw herself into doing all she could to put Jon out of her mind, for now, they too had sought to do the same. Arya had thrown herself into helping with the defenses and had spent her time with the Dornish Princess or even with their uncle surprisingly. Rickon when he wasn't acting as their king, speaking to people, letting them see him, and listening to their concerns, would disappear to the Gods knew where with Lord Reed. The two of them could be seen together more often than not and at times Sansa wondered both what they got up to and where they'd slink off to, yet she never asked.
As for Bran. Her feelings toward the thing that had once been her brother were ones that she felt she should be shamed for. She didn't see him as she did Rickon, Arya, and Jon. No longer when she looked at him did she see that smiling boy who wished to climb higher than any. Now he never smiled, he never climbed and how he looked at you when you passed him by was the least of the annoyances he brought to her. She, Arya, and Rickon had spoken long and hard about Bran and found out much and more that caused them to be angry with him. Rickon though probably named him truest of all.
" Meera said our brother died in that cave beyond the Wall, I know that's true. He told us all from the start, that he's no longer our brother and once the Night King and his army is beaten, he's no longer welcome in our home."
It was a harsh thing, but a true one. For there was no way she could believe that their true brother would wish to see them suffer so. To see her almost be….to have her and Arya almost… no, she could not think that the Bran she had known and loved could ever do the things the Three-Eyed Raven had done since he arrived in Winterfell. Putting such thoughts aside, she moved through the keep with Sandor guarding her back. Not that she was in any danger here and now, but she welcomed his company and things between them had been much better once she'd explained her reasoning for not killing Littlefinger earlier.
From a nearby window, she could see Theon move across the courtyard and a part of her wished to wave to him, something which brought a smirk to her face as she thought of what her mother would have thought of her doing such a thing. She made her way to the Great Hall to find that she was the only Stark in the keep and so she was faced with being the Stark in Winterfell for the next few hours. Men, women, Lord, Ladies, and Knight all coming to her with their needs and requests, and Sansa sitting in Rickon's stead and doing her very best to see them addressed.
The last of those traveling south would be leaving in the next day or so and so once she'd dealt with the many requests, it was outside and to see to them that her footsteps took her. Sansa sought and soon found Lord Davos who acted as both the Hand of the King and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands at the same time. Using whichever authority that whoever he was speaking to needed him to do so they'd listen. It was as she walked to him that it happened. The sky darkened and night fell far too early and around her people began to panic.
"Torches, light the torches!." she called out and yet in the panic, her voice went unheard.
"YOU ALL FUCKING HEARD HER, LIGHT THE DAMN TORCHES!" Sandor shouted loudly and soon enough people rushed to do as she and he had said.
Once they were lit, order began to be restored and Davos moved toward her. The Lord bore a look that no doubt matched her own and yet he had kept his head mayhap even more than she. She felt his comforting hand on her shoulder and though she didn't hear his words, his expression was more than enough to tell her what he was saying. So with a nod, she turned and moved back into the keep, hurrying but not rushing back to the Great Hall. She relaxed even more upon seeing Arya running her way, her sister wearing a look of concern that was soon alleviated once she saw her and it made Sansa's heart soar somewhat. They were truer sisters now than they had been mayhap ever, all it had taken was for them nearly to seek the other's end and the world to face its own.
"Why are you laughing?" Arya asked when she reached her.
"No reason, truly. Rickon?"
"I've not seen him though he had Ghost by his side earlier when he was with Lord Reed."
"Then our brother is safe and well, come, others will be far less calm than you and I are," she said and Arya nodded as she followed her into the Great Hall.
"Do you think that Jon…"
"Our brother is well capable of handling the dark of night, Arya, besides he has a dragon to light the sky up should he need it to."
"And he'd want us to see to those here and leave him to worry with those with him," Arya said and Sansa looked at her and smiled, hoping she took it as the reassurance that she meant it as.
By the time they got to the Great Hall, people were once again on the verge of panic. She saw Princess Sarella and her sister do their best to calm some of the Dornish and be ignored by Lord Royce and her uncle. Missandei looked worried and yet when she heard the words the young woman spoke, they were calm and collected. She and Arya moved to the Throne of Winter and between them managed to get people to quiet down enough to listen. Sansa then smiled for true when Rickon, Lord Reed, and Ghost made their way into the hall and her brother moved to stand with them.
"The Long Night has fallen, but we have naught to fear from the darkness." Rickon said, his voice carrying in the quietened room "This only means that the fight that my brother and Goodsister have led their army to face is upon them. I have no doubt that they will be victorious in that fight, yet we too have our own parts to play. Night falling changes nothing other than the need for torches." Rickon said and she was stunned to hear his chuckle "See to those you command or seek to lead and bring them comfort and light where you can and let us continue our preparations as we've been doing thus far."
"You heard our king, those who are ready to leave must continue to do so, those whose job it is to see to the defenses of the keep and its preparation, you know what you must do," she said when Rickon looked at her.
"I seek some men to ride and ride hard, those who've already left to go south will no doubt be wondering what this means, just as we all did, do I have some volunteers?" Rickon asked and then after whispering in Arya's ear, their sister walked off with some men to ready them to ride, she thankfully however would not be joining them.
She turned to see Lord Reed whisper in Rickon's ear and then her brother called the Free Folk guards to him and sent them to speak to some of the lords and ladies, both from the North and the South. Feeling his hand in hers, she looked down and then at her brother who motioned with his head for her to follow him.
"I've sent word for a meeting in my solar. We need to speak to the lords and ladies and the princess in private, Sansa. Make sure that they understand that this is as I said it is."
"You're sure it is?" she asked worriedly.
"I spoke to Jon, through Ghost, the battle is soon to be upon them, the Wall has proved no barrier to the dead," Rickon said, sending a shudder down her spine.
"How the fuck did they cross the Wall?" Sandor asked and Rickon shook his head.
"Does it really matter? They're past it and the fight heads our brother's way. It's one he'll win, one I know he'll win." Rickon said assuredly and Sansa squeezed his hand in order to show that she believed him as much as he needed her to.
It was an hour later that they gathered in Rickon's solar. The room was almost full to capacity and there was no room for anyone but her brother to sit. Even Ghost had to wait outside in the corridor while the meeting was held. The Northern Council, her uncle Edmure, Lord Royce, Princess Sarella, and her sister, Missandei, and Davos all were present. As was Bran though she liked it not. Rickon both addressed and dismissed him most quickly.
"Do you have anything you can add to this meeting, Bran?" Rickon asked.
"No. You know what's happened as well as I. The fight is upon us now, the king and queen and their dragons have taken to the sky and the dead will soon face the flames."
"You see no more than this?" Lord Reed asked and Bran shook his head.
"Then mayhap it's for the best if you seek answers at the Heart Tree," Rickon said and before Bran even had a chance to answer, two men of the Free Folk arrived and wheeled him from the room.
Her brother waited for a few moments to ensure Bran was gone and then began to speak, his voice and composure not that of the young boy he may look still, but the king he had become over time. It made her so very proud of him and she hoped that their mother and father could see him now.
"Before my brother left, we spoke together with Queen Daenerys and Lady Melisandre. We spoke about the legends of the Long Night and what may or may not happen in the fight to come. Lord Reed and I spoke much on this since my brother left and it was he who seemed to know more about the Long Night than even my brother or Lady Melisandre did." Rickon said looking to the man beside him who he was actually larger than.
"The old ways are still strong in the Neck, the old tales are still spoken and when I was but a boy, I was told tales of the Long Night. Of how its darkness covered the entire North and the Others rose and swept over all who were unlucky enough to face them. The Last Hero managed to make it to the Children of the Forest and together they drove the others back to the Lands of Always Winter, or so the tales told."
"Children's tales, old wives tales, this is what you'd have us listen to, your grace?" Lord Royce asked with a snort.
"Look out the window, Lord Royce, tell us why the sky is dark and the sun shines no more when it's the middle of the fucking day before you name these as children's tales." Lyanna Mormont sneered.
"Lady Melisandre told a tale of a Prince that was Promised, of Azor Ahai being reborn…." Rickon began only for Davos to interrupt him.
"She named Stannis as such, your grace, her words are not to be trusted. I have as much faith in your brother as any man, yet…"
"My brother was believed to be a bastard, Lord Davos. A lie we all held to as the truth. Lady Melisandre may have been mistaken in what she believed Stannis Baratheon to be, but we were all mistaken in what we believed my brother to be as well." she said, knowing now what Rickon was leading them to.
"Lady Melisandre named my brother Azor Ahai, as the Prince that was Promised. Missandei of Naath will tell you that Queen Daenerys was named as the Princess that was Promised by another red priestess." Rickon said looking to the woman for confirmation of his words.
"By Lady Kinvara, The Flame of Truth of the Red Temple in Volantis."
"You're saying that the king and queen are some hero and heroine from myth and legend?" Edmure said incredulously.
"I'm saying that I believe my brother to be the Last Hero of Lord Reed's tale, to be the Prince and Azor Ahai's of Lady Melisandre's. That right now he and my Goodsister are bringing the fight to the dead as they said they would and that we need to play our part as much as they. We can't show fear, doubt, or even express our worries and concerns to any but those in this room. We must be seen to have none of those things, to be confident, calm, and to be unsurprised by the unexpected. For if we falter in our tasks then what happens far from here won't be what leads to our ends, but what happens here." Rickon's words seemed to almost hold in the air, they resonated and she saw the Northern Council look on approvingly and Lyanna Mormont almost dreamily to her eyes.
"We have much work to do, King Rickon, I'll see that Dorne is ready." Princess Sarella said as she and her sister moved to the door.
"As will I to the men of the Riverlands, nephew."
After a few moments, it was only her, Arya, Rickon, Davos, Missandei, Lord Reed, and Lyanna Mormont left in the solar. She almost chuckled at the sigh that came from Rickon when he took his seat; she and the others soon did likewise.
"I almost believed half the horseshit you said there, your grace." Lyanna Mormont said with a chuckle.
"Half of it was the truth, so I pray it was the right half you listened to."
"You really think that Jon is some hero from the tales?" Arya asked and Rickon shook his head.
Her brother looked to the door and Davos moved to open it, Ghost and Nymeria both walking into the room and laying down at Rickon and Arya's feet.
"No, I know he is," Rickon said as he brushed his hand through Ghost's white fur.
Winterfell 304 AC.
Tyrion.
He had not expected to arrive to find an army having already departed. Truth be told, he truly didn't believe that there was a need for them to do so and was almost sure that Jon Snow was over-exaggerating the threat they faced. While he'd seen the Wight and feared it, he didn't believe there were as many of them out there as he'd been told. Nor that they posed a threat to the entire realm of Westeros as had been said.
True enough it had not fallen as easily as he'd believed it would. But Fire would bring it and any others of its ilk to an end and Dragonfire was a sight to behold. 'As was wildfire' he thought with a wry smile. Yet he arrived at Winterfell to find a much smaller army holding the keep and one that contained very few if any, friends of his. He'd been welcomed without ceremony, greeted with no reverence or acknowledgment of his station, and felt even lesser than when he'd last visited the dull grey keep.
At least then they'd kept their contempt for his presence to themselves. From the moment he'd arrived, it was made clear to him that this was how they truly felt about him. Rickon Stark, the boy king of North, had spoken to him not once. He and Ghost, who had snarled at him and almost made him piss his pants, had taken one look at him, before turning and walking away. From that moment on, he'd felt eyes upon him and was sure that he'd been followed by guards and spies.
Arya Stark was little better and given the things he'd heard about her since he'd arrived, he was most relieved she showed no interest in him. More so that she blamed him not for the sins of his father and sister. The thoughts of being served to his brother in a pie were not ones that he wished to ponder too long on. So he avoided the girl whenever he could and spoke little in her presence when he could not. How she'd look at him when he did speak was enough to make him watch his words even more carefully.
Sansa had at least offered him a smile and some words of welcome. She'd apologized for leaving him to take the blame for Joffrey's death and he'd waved it off, though he forgave her not. He still found her as beautiful as ever, tall and willowy with her lustrous red hair and bright piercing blue eyes. To his eye, she'd grown into the beautiful woman he always knew she would, and yet there was something different about her too. Something that took him some time to find out the reason behind and when he did, he'd needed to speak to her to confirm it to be true.
" You killed Littlefinger?" he asked as they broke their fast.
" He left me with no choice," she said challengingly.
" I'm sure he did not and I mourn the man, not at all," he said, relaxing her. "He really tried to…."
" I'd rather not speak on it. But aye, he tried to force himself upon me, and no man, no man will ever do so again." Sansa said, rising to her feet and leaving her meal uneaten.
Had someone asked him a few years ago if she was capable of such a thing, he'd have shaken his head and laughed at them. The Hound, who followed after her as if she was a queen and not a lady, had once named her a delicate little bird. To Tyrion's mind, she was as much a flower as Margaery Tyrell was named to be. A rose by any other name and one who smelled just as sweet. She had been a flower that he'd have taken great delight in plucking had she but given him the chance. So he'd not have thought he was capable of killing a man, any man. That she was, made her someone he now looked at much differently.
The rest of those who remained at Winterfell offered him little and less. Missandei had spoken to him only once before she had left him so that she could make ready to head south and had suggested he do likewise. She'd made it clear that his presence was not welcomed by her and would not be by the King and Queen. Her naming of Jon Snow as the former bristled and annoyed him greatly. Not the naming in itself, as that was inevitable, but how happy she seemed to be that he had been named so. Tyrion had tried to explain that he'd come because of what happened in King's Landing, that the queen may need his help and advice, but his words had fallen on deaf ears.
" For why would my queen need counsel from you, Lord Tyrion? Has she not told you herself that she believes you not?"
" Given what happened…."
" Which both my queen and king are well aware of and have taken steps already to make the best of," Missandei said firmly.
" But with Lady Olenna and the rest of the council passed…"
" Then my queen is lucky to have her king by her side is she not. Your counsel is not needed, nor will it be appreciated. I would suggest you return to your lands and take up the position my queen rewarded you with and be thankful that she seeks not the return of said reward."
At what point the translator and he had fallen out, he couldn't be certain. Mayhap it was when he'd tried to do the deal with the Masters in Meereen. Or it could have been when his counsel began to lead to losses for Daenerys. A small part of him felt it had been when he'd suggested that Grey Worm take the Unsullied to Casterly Rock, while a larger part had felt it had been as with Daenerys herself, from when Jon Snow arrived on Dragonstone. Regardless of the when of it, the fact of it was as clear as day and he was actually relieved she was setting off with the last of those heading south to relative safety. Relatively compared to his own, though he felt no danger from an army of dead men, instead, it was the living that made him fearful and the Dornish in particular.
They had made no secret of their hatred of him and Tyrion had even taken to swapping plates of food with the men who sat next to him or drinking only from jugs that others drank from. Poison had been the weapon of choice for the Red Viper and he believed that it would be the same for his daughters too. Though given that one of them was sleeping with Bronn, she had another weapon to call upon to bring about his end, should she so desire it. As for the man himself, they'd spoken only once and it had not gone well.
" I had hoped you'd have killed him by now," he said as they stood on the parapets.
" I was made a better offer," Bronn said simply.
" And should I expect that my head is the cost of said offer?"
" While I'd sell you out in the blink of an eye, it was your brother I spoke to and no one else." Bronn sneered and Tyrion breathed relieved.
" And what did my brother pay you for such sterling work?"
" He confirmed something I'd been told. It matters not. I'll warn you the once for the times we spent together, the Starks are not the same as they once were and they know things that none of us do. I may not have told them your intent with Jon Snow, but I do not doubt that at least one of them knows it." Bronn said and Tyrion held his breath "The creepy little fuck knows far too much about everything not to. I'd crawl back to the Rock, Tyrion, a little fucker like you may be able to hide there."
He'd be a liar if he said that he'd not considered it. Yet in the end, he could not. If the truth of what he'd done, or sought done, was truly known then he'd be dead already. So either Bronn was lying or there was something else going on and it was the latter of these two thoughts that he spent most of his day pondering. That and keeping well away from those who may actually seek his end. Such as the two Sand Snakes who mourned their mother and may seek his head in their grief.
Why it took him so much time to make his way to Bran Stark, he knew not. Other than that he had spent a lot of time trying to get the lay of the land. Judging who could and could not be trusted. Weighing up who was and who was not completely behind Daenerys and Jon Snow. The Knights of the Vale and Lord Yohn Royce were reluctant allies at best. While Edmure Tully supported his kin more than either the self-proclaimed king or queen. Dorne was fully behind Daenerys and Jon Snow too, Tyrion needing some time to find out the reason behind that and he was stunned when he did so.
" Rhaegar and Lyanna's son?" he said, shaking his head.
" Aye, told us all in this very hall he did. Spoke words that showed him to be true and to be the man we all knew he was and not who he was named as."
" And his words were accepted?" he asked as he poured the man another ale.
" Aye. Why would they not be? He may not be Lord Stark's son but he carries his blood in his veins, that were what my lady said and if the She-Bear accepts it, then who am I to argue."
It was not so much that which had brought Dorne's support, unsurprisingly given how they'd see Lyanna Stark. More it was the words that Jon Snow, no, Baelon Targaryen had spoken and how he'd spoken them. Tyrion almost wondered if he'd have been as moved as some were by the passionate way Jon Snow had spoken about his past and what had led him to his present. Would he too have looked at him differently once he'd heard him speak of dead Northmen, Kingsguard, and a brother, sister, and stepmother? Or would he have, as he was almost certain he would, ignored the words and the man who spoke them and changed his mind not a jot?
As he walked into the Godswood and saw the boy in the wheeled chair, he bid his guards do their best to keep them from being disturbed and moved closer to Bran Stark. The turn of the boy's head caught him by surprise and he took a step back out of shock. Before he steadied himself and moved so that he was standing in front of him. He swore he saw the briefest smirk on the young boy's face but was then looking at someone whose emotions were even more schooled than his father's had been. A boy who looked at him with no curiosity or surprise and who, to Tyrion's mind had expected him. Something his words confirmed not more than a moment later.
"Right on time." Bran Stark said sending a shiver down his spine "There is much we need to discuss Lord Tyrion, though mayhap the return of your pin is what you wish to speak most on."
"The return of my pin?" he asked, momentarily not understanding.
"You wish to be Hand once more, as I wish it too. So let's speak on how best to make that so, shall we?"
"We shall," he said excitedly as he took a seat on the tree trunk and listened to Bran Stark speak words of treason and plot.
Winterfell 304 AC.
The Three-Eyed Raven.
With the war almost upon them, he'd been given more leeway and freedom. While still guarded and not allowed to go anywhere without one, he was not as guarded as he'd been before their army marched north. There were ways to get around his guards too and as diligent as they tried to be, long hours by him by the Weirwood took their toll. Men would seek warmth where he did not, food where he did not, and rest where he did not.
Not that he needed much freedom to do as he needed to anyway. Not at first. Instead, most of what he needed to do was with his eyes closed and through both his warging and his seeking out answers to questions that vexed him. He looked South, saw the devastation that Tyrion Lannister had wrought upon King's Landing, and did his best not to laugh when it was the Imp's sister that was blamed. Bran found he still enjoyed Jaime Lannister's pained reaction to that most of all. The Kingslayer pushing him from the broken tower may have set him on his path, but it was not a path he'd wished to travel and so he blamed him still.
In time he'd get what was coming to him. What he was owed. Though it would no longer be in the arms of the sister he had once loved, he'd meet his end. No, Jaime Lannister's death would be far more painful than that and the news of his sister's perceived actions had broken his heart somewhat. Bran sought out Cersei's fate and could find it not, her path had changed and she was far from his sight, Essos he imagined given he couldn't see her. The magic's he possessed worked not in those lands for some reason that was unknown to him.
As for Tyrion, his fate was linked to his own and the Imp was not as clever as he believed himself to be. The words that he'd use to gift Bran a crown had changed and yet not, but they were still his words and not those of the Demon Monkey. He'd already planted the seed for those words in Tyrion's head and set him on his new path. It was one that always led to the same end and as he looked at it now, he smiled a smile that none would see.
" You, it was you?" Tyrion coughed.
" It was me," he replied.
" Why?"
" Because I deserve a crown, not Jon, not Daenerys, and certainly not any member of your House. I deserved it and so I've taken the realm for mine own."
" But I thought…."
" That what? That I desired naught? That I sought no glory or power? That I was the right choice?"
He moved past the last moments of the Imp's life, as he'd seen them more than once. Why each time he felt the need to tell him, he could only put it down to hubris. To having someone know just how easily he'd won the game of thrones by simply making it look as if he'd not been playing it. Who expects a crippled boy to be the most dangerous player of the game after all? Who looks at such a man and fears him?
' Only his brother' the small voice that had once been that of a much different Brandon Stark called out.
That was the truth of it. While Jon suspected him and trusted him not, he didn't truly understand what he was capable of. Sansa, Arya, and others too looked at him differently than they once had and at times he cursed himself for not tailoring his words to what would gain him their favor more than he had. Yet it was Rickon who truly seemed to have taken his measure. His brother, who he feared as much as he did the thing that marched to Winterfell to end him. More so even, as the Night King would need to beat Jon to do so, while Rickon would need only to unlock the power inside of himself to bring about Bran's end.
It was why he'd left him behind all those years ago. That and jealousy and doubt. His brother had two legs and could walk, he'd seen things before Bran had, though had been too young to understand them. Faced with a choice between him and Rickon, he feared the Raven would pick his brother over him and so he'd left him behind to die. He'd told himself that he'd not, that he'd only known later on that was to be Rickon's fate. But that was a lie, he'd known, he'd always known. Their words had told him the truth of it even before the vision of his brother's death had proved it so.
" When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives," he said softly.
It was the truth of things. They'd all found it out for themselves, had they not? His father and brother had been lone wolves and it had cost them their lives. Arya had to become No One or she too would have fallen long before now and Sansa was far more a fish than she'd been a wolf when she set out for the South. He'd been a raven far more than he was a wolf and as for Jon, his cousin had always been a dragon though he knew it not. Rickon though, Rickon was a true wolf. He's always been so, Shaggydog's ferocity had been clear enough evidence of that. And he too had fallen, he too had been alone, or so Bran had thought.
"He was supposed to be dead!" he said far too loudly.
Turning in his wheeled chair, he was happy to see that the guard was nowhere in sight. The man had left him alone to find something to warm his cold bones. As guarded as he was with his emotions, thoughts of his brother or being face to face with him were still the one thing that almost caused him to give himself away. From the moment he'd come back to Winterfell, it had been so and so it still was.
' Fear has a way of showing you the truth of yourself' the small voice said.
With that in mind, he looked north to his cousin and put thoughts of his brother aside for now. The battle was about to commence, or what Jon believed was the battle anyway and he watched it eagerly. It surprised him to see how well they managed to bring the full might of their forces to bear. His cousin showed a mind for battle that many said that his brother had shown too. In the end, it had mattered not with Robb, as his brother had won every battle and lost the war. With Jon it was only one more battle he needed him to win, one more foe he needed him to vanquish and so when the battle ended and the charge to Winterfell began, Bran felt relieved.
Opening his eyes, the thought came to him that what he'd seen may not have actually occurred yet and so he was soon looking not through the eyes of the Three-Eyed Raven, but the warged ones of a far smaller bird. The army marched still and the fight had not yet happened and Bran cursed himself for getting lost in the rivers of time once more. No matter how many times he sailed them, he'd not yet learned to navigate them properly. Past, present, and future would get jumbled up in his head and things he'd wish to see, would at times trump things he needed to see.
" It's beautiful beneath the sea, but if you stay too long, you'll drown."
Bloodraven had known, he'd warned him and Bran had sought the power so keenly that he'd ignored that warning. If he'd had more time, then mayhap. Though he knew that was a lie he told himself. It had never been about time, but impatience. He sought it because he felt he deserved it, he didn't wish to earn it, he wanted to be gifted it. It was what had led to the deaths of Hodor, Summer, Bloodraven, and the Children of the Forest, and he knew now for certain that had he brought Rickon with him, then it would have been him and not Bran who was chosen.
Closing his eyes once more, he went searching for his brother. Finding him not and being greatly angered by it. He'd catch glimpses of him, see him with Ghost or their sisters. Then he'd disappear from his view. Warging into a raven, he let the bird fly over the grounds of Winterfell, while he sought a mouse and sent it scurrying towards his brother's room and other places within the keep. How long he searched for him, he knew not, yet he found no sign and was just about to give up when he saw him walk out from the crypts with Howland Reed by his side.
Panic overtook him. It forced him from both the raven and the mouse at the same time. Bran glared at the Weirwood and only that his guard had returned from getting a warm meal, he'd have shouted his frustration loud enough for the Old Gods to hear him. He knew what was happening and he liked it not. Not even the knowledge that there was no way that Howland knew as much about the powers that both he and his brother possessed as Bloodraven had, was enough to calm him. That fear he'd had all those years earlier about being replaced by his more able-bodied brother, was now all that he could concentrate on for now.
He's training him.
They're training him.
They seek to replace you.
He seeks to replace you.
He'll take it from you.
He'll be better than you.
He is better than you.
The words were jumbled in his mind. His fear of those words and the truth they contained was very much not. Bran was unsure of what to do, of how to see his brother fall and though he knew about the Faceless Man that walked their halls, he had no confidence that he could send him to bring about Rickon's end. He had no allies other than Tyrion Lannister. Yet the Imp was powerless too. Was he actually Hand of the King and not only soon to be so again, then he could arrange for Rickon to suffer an accident.
It would only take words about how much it would pain Jon to see Rickon fall to see it so. Yet not even Bronn was in Tyrion's service any longer. The guards he had with him wouldn't make it past Ghost nor the Free Folk that watched his brother's back. He set his mind to the task, seeking a way to remove what he was sure now was the biggest threat to his plans. Thinking over and discarding plans almost as soon as they came to him and ending up even more frustrated when the time came to be brought back to the keep.
At dinner that night, he swore he felt his brother's eyes upon him. He certainly felt Howland Reed's and Ghost's. Both the Cranngoman and the white wolf stared at him with looks that sent a shiver down his spine and he cursed the former when he whispered in his brother's ear. Once the meal was over, he was led to his room and placed in his bed, Bran sought more answers and played things over in his mind once more. He followed the river and took many different turns. Ones that put him in more danger each time, yet ones that almost led him to the goal he sought, almost but not quite.
It would not be the Night King who'd see his brother in the ground. Should he make it to Winterfell and should Bran intervene to see it so, then it would be he and not Rickon who'd fall to his blade and so that was not the answer to his dilemma. He saw it then and breathed in relief. The path he needed to walk and the end he needed to bring about. It would cost him even more than his brother, more of his kin, yet in truth, he wasn't sure he even saw them as so anymore.
While for the longest time they'd not been wolves, they were again. They had become a pack as they had once been and he was not welcomed as one of them. He was an outcast, alone and unwanted. Outside his window, the snow fell and the white winds blew. Yet the words had gotten it as wrong as they'd gotten it right. The pack wouldn't survive, nor would the lone wolf. No, it would be the Three-Eyed Raven who'd win this game, who'd see the morrow and all the days to come. It would be he who was named king, he who ruled and so what if it cost him some wolves to see it done.
Winterfell 304 AC.
Jaqen H'ghar.
Night falling should have given him an easier path to the girl, as should the face he wore, yet neither did. All the potential he'd seen in her those many years ago, was still very apparent as she moved around the keep. Without even trying to, she'd give him the slip and he'd spend hours seeking her out. Rarely did he find her alone and even then it was not to be as thus far he'd not found an opportunity to bring her the gift.
It both impressed and annoyed him in equal measure. Yet it gave him time to consider more about others who owed much to the God of Death. The Boy King had stolen a life from the Many-Faced God, his own. So as his frustrations over not being able to bring Arya Stark of Winterfell the gift grew, more and more Jaqen looked to Rickon Stark and considered whether or not he should make an offering of him before and not after he did so for his sister. Here too though he found himself frustrated. For while Arya Stark had the grey wolf close by on some occasions, the white one was always close to the Boy King.
Only a fool wouldn't see that the white wolf had been a gift from the Old Gods. His coloring alone would be enough to name that so. Though it was his quietness that truly proved it to Jaqen. They may name the white wolf a mute, but that didn't explain why it made no sound as it moved. If anything it was the other name that was truer in that regard, Ghost. Jaqen knew though it was more than that. The Direwolves had been sent to the Starks by the Old Gods and Ghost had been sent to Jon Snow just as the Green Dragon had been sent to Baelon Targaryen, to protect a god's chosen. Be it the Old Gods in regards to Ghost or R'hllor for the Green Dragon. Ghost though was not by his chosen's side, instead, it was the Boy King he protected and not even a Faceless Man such as he felt brave enough to go up against such a protector.
So it was annoyance and frustrating that his time was filled with. He'd walked almost every inch of the grounds of this keep, and had found hiding places that he was sure that no one other than he knew. He'd faced scorn and risked a beating or two because of the face he wore, yet had found no other that would serve him better. Jaqen cursing that he'd not taken the smith's face for his own and even now, he oft considered riding to the army that was some distance from here and rectifying that mistake. Had he not feared it would lead him to his own death, then he may do it still.
He ate, broke his fast, and spent another day following after Arya Stark and cursing the grey wolf that walked by her side. Each moment he spent looking at her and not giving her the gift was one that made him remember just how fondly he'd thought of her. From when he'd been sent to Westeros all those years ago, to the travels they'd shared on the way to Harrenhal, to seeing her again in Braavos at the House of Black and White, he'd felt a kinship with her that he'd not with any other acolyte. Now as he followed her, he remembered the reason for that kinship.
" A girl must learn to see without her eyes, to hear that which goes unsaid."
" That makes no sense," Arya replied annoyed.
" A girl seeks sense where there is none. A girl must learn or fail."
" A girl will learn."
Learn she had, quicker and more astutely than the Waif who'd spent years at the House of Black and White and yet had never learned as much. That was why when he sent her to bring the gift to Arya Stark at the Kindly Man's behest, he knew the outcome was inevitable. Arya Stark of Winterfell had learned to see without seeing, to hear without listening, while the Waif had learned little. When she'd fallen and Arya Stark had returned to the House of Black and White, it had brought a smile to Jaqen's face. A true smile that he'd not worn in many a year. Yet it was a sad one too. For he knew the words that she would speak before she did so.
" You told her to kill me." the girl said.
" Yes, but here you are… and there she is." he said as he moved towards her "Finally a girl is No One."
" A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell, and I am going home!"
Was he able to see his face as the memory washed over him, then he'd have noticed he wore the same smile now as he did then. He even nodded as he had, though he knew it not. When he looked to where Arya Stark of Winterfell was, it was to find that just as she had so often, she'd once again managed to slip away from him unnoticed. Jaqen's smile grew larger of its own accord and because of the face he wore, it brought him unwanted attention.
He moved from the men before they could speak their words or use their fists. Soon he found himself in a place he wished not to be in and facing someone that he had no desire to speak to. While with the Boy King and Baelon Targaryen, Jaqen could sense the hands of gods that were not his own, with Bran Stark he could sense no such thing. What came off the boy in the wheeled chair was something he'd not be able to name had he not seen the dead thing that came from beyond the Wall. It wasn't quite the same, not the taint of death, but darkness and malevolence that he liked not.
The boy seemed to sense him too, though he'd said nothing and it had been the same no matter which face he wore. So it had not been that he wore this one worse than the others, or that his god's magic was lesser because of it. He wondered why he'd not spoken to those he named as kin about his presence here, as he wondered too if he knew his intent. Something which was to his surprise about to be answered.
"A strange choice, I had thought you'd have picked Gendry instead." Bran Stark said and Jaqen found his hand moving to one of his small blades "I'd not if I were you." the boy added and it was only then that he noticed the birds in the tree.
"A man felt this to be an apt choice given all he's done," he said as he moved his hand from his knife and felt no need for more mummery.
"It will not be, not unless you have help to see your god's work is done." Bran Stark said Jaqen so wished to play the Game of Faces, just to see if he could discern the motives of the thing in front of him.
"A man will see his god's work done, what care does a boy have for such?"
"To help."
There were few times in his life that he'd found himself shocked or surprised. Given all he'd seen and done, it was not something that he expected and yet for once, he truly was.
"A boy knows what a man's god seeks?" he asked after a few moments and Bran Stark nodded "And still he seeks to help?"
"He does."
"A man would trust a boy, why?" he asked curiously.
"A boy seeks a different death. One that a man's actions can help bring about. In this we are allies are we not?"
He nodded and then walked away, keen to be away from the thing in the chair, and that night as he ate alone, he found himself wondering even more if he was doing the right thing. Looking to the High Table he saw the Boy King, Arya Stark of Winterfell, and the girl she named as a sister and he saw the boy in the wheeled chair. Three of them looked like what they were, kin, while the other very much did not. When the boy looked at him, Jaqen saw the nod of his head and offered him one of his own. They were allies, after all.
Winterfell 304 AC.
Missandei.
When the sun stopped shining she had feared the worst. It had been hard enough to get used to the cold and greys of the North as it was, as well as the shorter days, yet at least they had been days. To walk around in perpetual night was soul-sapping. It hit at the very core of her, as the memories she had both from her childhood on the Summer Isles and the days in Essos, all seemed to be so far from the reality she now faced.
While others around her worried, it was to the queen's own people that her thoughts and concerns went. To the Dothraki women and children and the few Unsullied that made up her personal guard and so over fires and with torches lighting, Missandei had done her best to reassure them. She'd told them that their queen and new king, their Khalessi and Khal would Bring the Dawn. That this was only temporary and that she feared not the night, for the moon still shone and the sun would rise again.
As mummeries go, it was a decent one and one she was most happy to perform. Worried though she was, it allowed her to concentrate her thoughts on other things than the worst of her fears. For her queen, her king, and her love, she could and would be strong. Only when she lay down and was alone in her room did she allow her tears to fall and her worries to take hold. In her dreams, she watched helplessly as the worst came to pass. Then when she woke the mornings after them, it took her some time to ready herself for the day without the light that lay ahead of her.
Mayhap that was why she began to look forward to leaving with the rest of those who were heading further south. Or mayhap it was because of the woman who had nursed the man who made her queen so happy that was the reason she began to feel somewhat better. Wylla took the time to speak to her, to offer her words of wisdom, and to help her faith in her queen and king be restored. The older woman's own was unyielding after all.
"My prince will Bring the Dawn and we will see the sun again, Missandei of Naath."
"You fear not for him?" she asked to a smile and a shake of the older woman's head.
"I feared more for Baelon when I was far from his side in Dorne than I do for him now. Not even knowing what it is he is to face makes me fear for him nor does this…" Wylla said waving her hands at the darkness around them "So-called Long Night, for I have no doubt he'll be victorious."
"How can you be so assured in your belief?" she asked shakily.
"Death itself couldn't take him from this world, Missandei. His uncle's wishes that he never know the truth of himself and all he did to see it so wasn't enough to stop his truth from outing. The life that his mother and father wished for him, the crown he wears on his head, and the woman he loves by his side, that was what Eddard Stark tried to deny him and yet the Gods of his mother would not see it come to pass." Wylla said almost reverently "Do you believe that they allowed for all of that, for my wish to see him and hold him in my arms once more, do you believe they did all of that just so he would lose?"
"No," she said, almost whispering the words.
"No. He and the Queen will win and in time you and I will laugh and smile as we watch their children grow." Wylla said and despite her fears, Missandei felt a smile come to her face.
There were others who offered her comfort and gave her the strength to at least look as if she feared not for those who were not there. The two Stark girls were as different from each other as could be and yet both had gone out of their way to make sure that she had all she needed. Both for her people while they were still in Winterfell and for them when the time came to head further South. While she rarely saw the young king, she did see Lord Davos and he too went out of his way to make sure she had all she needed.
As the time drew closer, her resolve grew and then her anger did. She'd not expected to ever see Tyrion Lannister again and had no wish to do so. So to see him arrive and listen to him tell a tale of how he lived when others did not had angered her greatly. As it did with how he would look her way and almost seem to be gloating somewhat. More than once she'd thought of bringing about his end. For some reason he now reminded her of the Masters and how they'd look at people and so she'd considered having one of the Unsullied, see to his death. Only to decide that it was not for her to sit in judgment over him.
A part of her worried that she was angered by him being safe while those she cared about were not. Another that it was simply that he had lived while far better people than him had lost their lives. The largest part, though, felt there was something wrong about him being here. The reason he was here did not bode well for her queen or her king. He had not forgiven Baelon for showing his counsel in such a bad light and for ostensibly taking his place, no matter what honeyed words he'd spoken to the Starks or others that suggested he bore the king no ill will.
She'd set Black Flea and others to shadow his movements and had been surprised to find he'd spent so much time with Brandon Stark. Few people did so and even his kin avoided the strange boy in the wheeled chair and yet Tyrion seemed to enjoy his company far more than most. None of those she'd sent to spy on him had been able to get close enough to hear what words were spoken, but Missandei was certain they were not ones her queen or king would welcome. So on the night before she was to leave, she set out to speak to Rickon Stark and to offer him some words of warning regarding Tyrion Lannister. To her surprise, it was to the crypts she was taken and she felt the cold and unwelcome feeling of the place as she made her way to speak to the King in the North. Only Ghost's presence by her side gave her the will to walk deeper into the crypts.
"You wished to speak to me, Lady Missandei," Rickon said and she looked around at the open space they were in, the large cave feeling more welcoming to her than the crypts themselves had.
"I will be leaving on the morrow, King Rickon. Me and the last of those heading further south."
"You have all you need, my lady?" the boy king asked and she smiled as she nodded that she had.
"Have you heard word from their graces?" she asked to a shake of his head.
"I know they are well, my lady, but only because of my connection through Ghost."
As he spoke the words she looked at the white wolf who moved toward her and licked her hand which made her giggle a little. The feel of his tongue somehow brought a feeling of calm over her that she'd not felt since Torgho Nudho, her queen, and her king had left some weeks earlier.
"Tyrion Lannister, King Rickon," she said a few moments later.
"I'm well aware of him, my lady. I know his true feelings towards my brother." Rickon said, almost snarling "He is well watched."
"He has spent much time with your other brother, Brandon," she said and the snarl only seemed to grow larger and louder.
"Aye, I know." Rickon said before seeming to take a breath and calming himself somewhat before he spoke again "You trust him not?"
"Only a fool would trust him," she said and Rickon chuckled, surprising her.
"And it's more than clear you are no fool, my lady." he said which brought another smile to her face "I shall double my efforts in seeing him watched, should he give me pause or reason, then I'll have no qualms in seeing Lannister blood spilled. For they spilled far enough of my family's and owe us much of their own. You know what they say about Lannisters, my lady?" Rickon asked and she shook her head "They always pay their debts."
It was enough, more than enough and she made her way back to the keep and slept a peaceful night's sleep. When she woke the next day, she broke her fast and they were saying their goodbyes less than a few hours later. Again her eyes were drawn to Tyrion Lannister and again she liked his expression not. Something that Wylla picked up on and before she knew it, the older woman was whispering in her ear.
"My prince will see that half-man in the ground one day, this I know," Wylla whispered, and mayhap if she'd not wished for the same outcome she may have asked her why that was. Instead, she did not and soon enough she was on her horse and riding out of the gates of Winterfell heading south.
There were some ladies of the North and some lords to guard them, men, women, and children and carts carrying supplies. When they'd return none of them knew and yet she felt that she'd return, she believed she would. She'd see her queen again, her king, and more than anything she was sure she'd see her love again too. The smile came unbidden to her face as she looked south, the light from the moon illuminated their path and yet all she could think was that when next she saw Torgho Nudho, it would be in the light of the sun once more.
Winterfell 304 AC.
Princess Sarella Martell.
The first thing that struck her was that the defenses were basic. They relied on catapults, scorpions, archers, and men at arms and were out of date to her eyes. When she had studied in the Citadel, one of the links she'd formed had been on Warcraft, and while she'd left the iron link behind upon her return to Dorne, she'd not forgotten what she'd learned. Something she was most relieved about now as it was clear that compared to those around her, she had learned far more than they.
With Ser Daemon by her side, Sarella walked the grounds of Winterfell. She strolled along the walls and was given odd looks by the men of the Riverlands and North that defended them. Yet they bothered her not, as for years while studying in the Citadel and performing a mummery as Alleras, she was well used to strange and odd looks. After she was satisfied with the knowledge she'd gained from the inside of the walls, it was to the outside that she next made her way. Ser Daemon had horses readied and her sister Tyene along with the foul-mouthed sellsword that she was sleeping with, both joined her on her ride.
Again it was around the walls she looked first, then it was to the grounds and the lands surrounding Winterfell itself and she smiled at some of the sights she saw. Trees were aplenty, so wood would not be a problem. While she'd have liked to dig pits and trenches to slow the dead should they manage to get past the army led by Baelon Targaryen, the ground she feared was too hard for such. Instead, it would be above ground and covered in oil that she'd set obstacles in the dead men's paths. For the briefest of moments she wished she had some wildfire, the thought quickly being forced away from her as her mother's fate was not something she wished to ponder too long on.
" You saw her dead?" she angrily asked Tyrion Lannister.
" I did not, my princess, though I saw the devastation my sister wrought upon King's Landing and I fear few if any survived." the Imp replied.
Feeling the tears threaten to fall, she steadied herself and concentrated again on what she'd ridden out here to see. She stopped her horse by a stream to allow it to drink and as she dismounted, she took note of the distance between the trees and the keep. Bidding Tyene, Ser Daemon, and Bronn join her, she began to ask them questions and to see if they thought as she did.
"Should the army manage to make it past our own, how would you prepare this ground for them?" she asked.
"Were it anywhere but here, I'd use trenches and fire pits." Ser Daemon said.
"Aye, your knight has the right of it, Princess. The weather here is too cold for such though. I'd pile wood stacks, cover them with oil and use the best of the archers to set them alight. It wouldn't stop many, but if we were lucky it'd be enough, and even more than that it would let us fucking see the cunts in this endless night."
"We could set markers too, set them alight so we'd be able to judge the distance and ready ourselves." Tyene added to what Bronn had just said."
"We need to ready the keep better, I have some ideas, but it'll take many of our men to see it done." she said to relieved looks from Tyene and Ser Daemon.
"Speak to the Starks, Princess. The young king is a fierce fucking wolf and I'm sure he'll welcome your suggestions." Ser Daemon said and she resolved to do so as she moved back to her horse.
After riding back to the keep, it wasn't to the Starks that she went, though, instead it was to the smiths. She saw box upon box of broken Dragonglass. Smaller pieces that had shattered when trying to work them into spear tips, axheads, or arrowheads. Picking up a handful of them she smiled when one cut her hand slightly.
From the smiths, it was to the builders that she next went. Sarella sighed when she saw them badly make catapults and scorpion bolts that weren't tipped with Dragonglass. Taking note of the materials that were on hand and more importantly what they lacked, she turned and headed to the keep and to her rooms. She ate her dinner alone in her room that night, surrounded by pages of parchment, and at one point she even ran out of ink and had to send for some. By the time she was finished, it was morning, or what passed for morning now that the sun shined no longer.
Though she wished to get to work on what she'd come up with right away, she was tired and so it was to her bed that she went. Her dreams soon came to her and she saw Obara, Nymeria, her mother, and her father in them. They seemed happy to her, they were together and she swore that when she asked to join them they shook their heads. When she woke up it was with a phrase in her head that she swore she'd heard her father say to her, though she couldn't be certain it was not just something she remembered from the day she'd left to go to the Citadel.
" You are the cleverest of all my children, little snake. Prove that to them all and know your father is proud of you."
Sarella broke her fast with her sister and Bronn. The two of them looked as if they'd spent the night exhausting themselves with each other and she, while not liking the man, thanked him for the smile her sister wore these days. When news had come about their mother's death, Tyene had taken it even harder than she had. It hadn't been her who'd comforted her and gotten her through it either, that job falling to Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and so that and the smile her cousin now wore, had earned him some of her favor.
"The king?" she asked as she ate her meal.
"Hasn't arrived as of yet. I saw the white wolf head towards the crypts so…" Tyene said but she interrupted.
"The Lannister?" she said almost sneering.
"Left before you arrived, cousin."
"You really hate the little fucker don't ya." Bronn chuckled.
"Were it not for him then my father would be here leading us this day," she responded angrily as she rose to her feet.
It wasn't the king nor the Starks that she got to speak to that day. Both Stark girls were busy elsewhere and there was no sight nor sound of the king even when luncheon was held. Instead, it was with the new Lord of the Stormlands and Hand of the King that she was granted an audience. Lord Davos Seaworth was no doubt expecting anything but what it was she spoke to him about.
"You can build these, Princess?" the older man asked as he looked over her drawings.
"With the right men and enough of them I can."
"And you truly believe you can do so quickly?" he asked and she felt her breath hitch as she worried that he'd heard the news from the King and Queen.
"Has something…"
"What? Oh, gods no. Not that I'm aware of, it was simply a question, Princess." Davos said apologetically.
"I think we may need them built quickly, Lord Davos. Best we do so just in case regardless," she said to a nod of his head.
"And this is all you need in the way of materials?" he asked and she nodded.
"I'll see it done at once, Princess. See that men and materials are yours to use as you see fit and then I'll pray to the Seven that none of this will be needed." Davos said with a small chuckle.
"As will I, Lord Davos."
For the next few days, she spent as much time in the yard as she did in her rooms. Her own men pitched in but it was men of the North and some of the Free Folk who did most of the heavy lifting. As they worked on making the scorpions, catapults, and balls of pitch to her design, more and more people spent time looking at them doing so. The two Stark girls, Lords of the North and Riverlands, and finally the king himself came to see what it was they were working on. Rickon Stark even walked right to her and asked her about the works, thanking her profusely when she told him the truth about them.
"I believe my brother and Goodsister will be enough to hold the army of the dead back, Princess Sarella, yet I'm glad that you're with us in case they do not."
"I find myself hoping for it not to be needed, King Rickon."
"As do we all, Princess."
Within a week of her starting it, it was done. The scorpions had been adapted to fire bolts with Dragonglass tips, the catapults to fire nets that would open and shower any below them with piercing pieces of Dragonglass. She'd placed spikes along the top of the walls that were made with broken Dragonglass so that if the dead sought to climb, then they'd find their hands pierced by the blackened material.
Two large scythes had been made to drop from the walls, their edges covered in the sharpest Dragonglass she could find. That she had to admit had been an idea she'd stolen from Baelon Targaryen who'd told them all of the defenses of the Wall before he'd marched there. Balls of pitch, wooden piles soaked in oil, small pits within Winterfell itself that were spiked with spears tipped with Dragonglass and could be used to allow defenders to stand behind. She'd done so much in a week that she wondered what she could have accomplished in a moon or more.
She even sent riders after those who'd headed south to safety, letting them know of some small ways they could defend their camps should the worst come to pass. It wouldn't be enough to save them, more's the pity, but it may buy them some time, enough for some of them to escape. The truth was that it was the army led by the king and queen that was their best chance of victory. Should the dead beat them and add them to their ranks, then all she'd done here was for naught.
Sarella's biggest fear when she would take to her bed was thoughts of the dragons being under the Night King's control. Should he manage to beat Baelon and Daenerys Targaryen, to beat their army, then their fate was already sealed. Yet in her dreams, those fears would be washed away when she saw her father, mother, and sisters. She'd laugh with them, jape with them, listen to them speak and to her mother's soft lullaby when she sang her to sleep. When she'd wake the next morning it would be refreshed and ready for the day ahead and so it went day after day until the day it did not.
"You sent for me, your grace?" she asked as she stood in the King's Solar with the king, his sisters, Lord Davos and Lord Edmure, and some Lords of the North.
"The army marches our way, Princess, the war comes to our door." Rickon Stark said and Sarella shivered as the images swept over her once again, images of dragons and dead men and of bright blue eyes.
Winterfell 304 AC.
Rickon Stark.
He used to hate going into the crypts.
Firstly, it reminded him of the horrors he had seen after Theon betrayed them. Of the losses he personally witnessed, Rodrik, Luwin, and those he imagined, Beth Nan, Gage, and the rest of the household. It upset him to think of a time he felt helpless and was fighting for his life, with people no longer here to protect him, while people like Theon Greyjoy were given a second chance.
Then it reminded him of his own demise. The feeling of intense sadness that had washed over him as he felt his life leave him while he was so close to getting his family back. The sepulcher for him was still there, between his father's and Robb, opened to remind him that his place was here to rest, and it scared him to no end.
When he found out the truth about Jon's parentage, it reminded him of the secrets and lies his family had buried with them and which had caused their downfall. The statues of his father, aunt, uncle, and grandfather were dressed and clad in silence when there was so much to say. angered Rickon and he wouldn't have gone there if not for Jon spending his time with his mother.
He had no idea that soon, thanks to Howland Reed, he would start liking the crypts again.
"For the last time, Lord Reed, you can call me Rickon when we're alone," he grumbled as they settled and walked there, just after Jon and the army's departure to the Wall.
"Aye, Rickon…" the old man smiled. "Now try to concentrate. The Old Gods have sent you a message in your dreams, more than once, hadn't they?"
"I… I dreamt of a lot of things, my Lord. I've written all I thought were important."
"And did all of them come to pass?"
"All but two," he admitted shyly.
"Can I see your notes, Rickon?"
The King in the North nodded and gave the Lord of Greywater Watch the journal he had made, watching him look at the pages with apprehension. Some of his written dreams came vividly to his mind and the added notes showed how much he had tried to study them.
The grey wolf with no face and the needle in its fur finds it back as it stares at Winterfell. Shaggydog is happy to see it.
The Needle is Needle, the grey wolf is Arya. Sansa may think she is not but I know she is the real one.
Shaggy said so and I can feel it in my heart.
A white wolf was surrounded by dragons made of stone and laid down to make a nest while a green dragon flew over its head.
I don't like it. The white wolf is obviously Jon. Why would he make a nest somewhere other than Winterfell?
I understand now. The place is Dragonstone. I have seen it. Was Bran right? Will Jon leave us and make a new family? Are we no longer, am I no longer his family?
Jon would never do that. This dream is a lie.
Shaggydog is in the crypts. Near my tomb. I don't want to go there.
A mockingbird with a giant shadow tries to whisper into a wolf's and bear's ears, but neither wants to hear it and the white wolf chases it until it disappears. The red wolf will rejoin the pack and Shaggy seems happy.
I haven't seen what would happen to Sansa. Only that Littlefinger would disappear.
Why couldn't I predict what he would do to my sister?
Is it because it wasn't supposed to happen this way?
A man looking like ice with eyes bluer than I have ever seen tells me I don't belong here and I have to come with him before it's too late. I'm so cold now.
The Night King? A White Walker?
Why would they call me? Is it because I am dead?
Shaggy is back, he wants me to go back to the crypts. near Aunt Lyanna's statue. He is digging under it.
Beware of the wolf in disguise. Do not trust it.
Who is the wolf in disguise? Bran? Sansa?
Shaggy wants me to go back there now. It's too dark, I can't see where I am.
The White Wolf gets pushed by someone with no face, falls into the water, and rises as a green dragon.
Jon is in danger. the Faceless Men are after him.
This is the third time I have had this dream. Now that I know what I know, it makes more sense.
Jon will know soon too, but what about the Faceless Men?
Shaggy tells me to go to the Heart Tree, but is it really Shaggy? After what Bran did I'm scared that he's the one getting into my dreams.
A green wave surrounds the city with the red castle and topples it to the ground while a green dragon cries as it flies over it and a lion rejoices.
How could I dream about King's Landing a fortnight before it happened?
Could I have prevented it by saying something?
The Night King, I know it's him now. The Night King is coming and tells me to come with him, but Shaggy comes and brings me to the crypts. I don't like it here, but it has magic in it. I feel safe.
"Who is Shaggy?" Howland asked and he stopped reading and turned to him while frowning.
"My Direwolf. The Umbers killed him but he appears a lot in my dreams." Rickon replied sadly, he missed his wolf terribly and had he not had Ghost by his side then he would have suffered even more than he had.
"It seems that he wants to show you something in the crypts," Howland said, taking him from his thoughts.
"I think he wants me here because that's where I was the safest in Winterfell when we were hiding with your children to save our lives."
Howland seemed to ponder Rickon's explanation before shaking his head.
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