"There's more to that. You can feel his emotions, you wrote that he was happy when Arya came back, that he confirmed it was Arya. I think he is your guide and the fact that he is insisting on you going to the crypts is not something to dismiss so easily. There's something there for you to find.``
"I… I'd rather not stay. I really don't like it here…" Rickon admitted, gulping in shame.
"I know and I understand, Rickon. I will not let you go there alone. I'll be with you. Whatever you decide, I will follow, my king."
Rickon let out a deep sigh, feeling the exhaustion of the previous days come to him. The overwhelming emotions, Jon's departure, his fear of losing him and of the Army of the Dead, and the responsibilities he has toward the North as its King were too much at this instant.
"Maybe another time? Today has been eventful, and you deserve some rest." Howland said, patting his back, and Rickon felt grateful for the man's thoughtfulness.
He went back to his room and collapsed onto his bed, letting the fatigue he'd felt submerge him and welcoming the darkness as slumber came for him.
He woke up in front of the crypts, the door was slightly ajar and he could hear his name being called as the wind carried the sound to his ear.
Come to us!
Become what you were always meant to be.
Come, Rickon Stark. Do not be scared.
He shook his head and stepped back, only to be stopped by a mass behind him. He gasped as he turned to see Shaggydog, his companion's bright eyes and welcoming lick on his face making him giggle.
" I suppose you want me to go, right?" he asked to another lick. "I am scared, Shaggy. What if I end up like Bran? What if it's a trap? Maybe I'm not brave enough to do the things I have to do…"
Shaggydog huffed, looking affronted.
" I know you would not bring me to harm, but you're not here with me except in my dreams," he said and Shaggy turned his head to make him look near him, the movement made Rickon jolt awake.
He shouldn't have been surprised to see Ghost there, watching over him, yet his heart clenched as he realized that everything had been put in place to make him safe. Shaggy would never leave him alone and that was why Ghost stayed with him instead of going with Jon.
"I'm an idiot…" he chuckled, as the Direwolf proceeded to lick his face gently. "I should have known from the start. You'll stay by my side, right? Then go get lord Reed. We're going down there."
His hand never left Ghost's fur as he progressed into the crypts. They walked past his father's statue and he could smell the winter roses surrounding his Aunt Lyanna's, the fragrance calming him somewhat and giving him the strength to go forward.
He remembered the names of the statues he crossed paths with, as Bran had told him about them when they were hidden there back in a time when he still looked up to his brother. Edwyle Stark, his great grandfather. Lord Willam and his brother Artos the Implacable. Lords Donnor, Beron, and Rodwell. One-eyed Lord Jonne, Lord Barth, Lord Brandon, and Lord Cregan Stark, the Wolf of the North.
He stopped in front of the statue, feeling chills all over his body. This was the farthest he had gone and even with the torch in his hand, the lack of light made it seem inhospitable. Yet the statue was turned towards the darkness, as were the others, and Rickon knew he had no choice but to walk some more.
"This is King Torrhen Stark…" he heard Howland's voice laced in wonder in front of him. "The King Who Knelt. The last King of Winter. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought to see his statue in Winterfell Crypts."
This prompted Rickon to move toward the awestruck Lord, and as he arrived in front of the statue of his ancestor, he felt something jolting him from the inside.
He was under a tent, looking at two men who were arguing. They were clearly from the North, judging from their accents, and Rickon gasped as he saw the crown on one of the men's heads.
It cannot be…
" You can't kneel to him, brother! You can't!"
" That's the only choice we have Brandon. You saw it yourself."
" I… I don't know what I saw!"
" You may not have accepted these visions, but we cannot deny them. The Old Gods gave us a warning. There's a reason why dragons came to Westeros."
" I have seen the black one, but the two others were not of the same coloring."
" Does it really matter? Winter is Coming for our line and we will need the dragons to save it."
" None of your sons will be happy with your decision, Tor, and neither will our people. They'll think you as mad as they do Old Nan, with all her stories about the Long Night."
" As long as they are safe, I do not care about sounding mad. They can hate me all they want, Winter is Coming and the dead are coming with it."
" This is… There must be another way…"
" Even without the visions, you've heard what had happened to the other Kings. Do you want our sons, our people to die in a field of fire?"
" I… What about our pride? Our honor?"
" Fuck honor! I'd rather live." Torrhen Stark said, making Rickon gasp as he remembered saying something along the same lines once to his sister. "I'd rather see you live another day and lose my crown than mourn my family. This isn't worth it. Honor means shit compared to life."
Rickon?
Rickon!
When the boy turned to the source of the sound, he found himself looking back at Ghost's worried gaze. He sat up, realizing that he might have fainted, and shook his head to get to his senses.
"What happened, lad?" Howland asked with concern.
"I… I think I dreamt of… No, I saw him. Torrhen Stark. I saw him with his brother." Rickon answered, still lost in the vision he had. "I… It was so strange… I felt as if I was warging, but I wasn't within an animal. I was there, I saw them talking about the army of the dead and…"
"Tell me everything," Howland ordered and he proceeded to explain the vision he had earlier.
The Crannogman didn't interrupt him, even when he asked the questions that bothered him out loud, instead smiling brightly as Rickon tried to understand what had just happened to him.
"You've been hit by magic, son. You went to the past and witnessed a moment of history. A moment you wouldn't have been able to witness had you not been blessed by the Old Gods."
"But how?"
"I believe this was why you needed to come here. This place is probably the one where your gift will bloom to its full potential." Howland said excitedly.
"But why now? I've been in the crypts more than once, and it never happened before."
The tingling in his mind made him turn to Ghost, who seemed to want to get his attention. Without hesitation, he slipped into the Direwolf's mind and was almost shocked at the amount of power he could feel around him.
" It's magic, brother. It is surrounding us and I couldn't feel it until this point." Ghost simply said.
" Where did this come from?" Rickon wondered as Ghost lifted his head.
" From here. The Old Gods are with us here."
Rickon watched in awe as the ceiling and the walls surrounding the Kings of Winter were tangled with Weirwood roots. The white of the bark and the red veins left him no doubt about them coming from the Heart Tree. They were under the Godswood, and thanks to Ghost's vision he could see where the veil of magic started. The runes on Torrhen's Stark statue glowed as he came closer to it, and he could feel the protection it bestowed on this part of the crypts.
"It seems that we found our safe place to train, Lord Howland…" Rickon said to the man's utter joy.
"How do you feel? Do you want to trigger another vision?"
"I do not know how to proceed…"
"Focus on one statue. Mayhaps you should touch it first and think about what you know and what you would want to know about him."
He looked around him, searching for any name that would trigger a memory. He paused before the one who he remembered hearing from Lyanna once. King Rodrick Stark was the one who took back Bear Island from the Ironborn, or so they said. There were so many stories about how he did it and it had always intrigued Rickon. Now he wondered if he would be able to find out the truth?
He got closer to the statue and smiled as he saw one of its runes glow.
He was now outside, in a place he doesn't know, but he could feel many eyes on him.
" What do you want, Stark?" an Ironborn reaver asked.
" You know what I want."
" And I'm telling you you can't have it." the reaver sneered.
" This island belongs to my wife's family."
" Your wife? Didn't know the wolf was on a leash now!"
" Bear Island only belongs to the bears, and they are of the North. This place has been blessed by the Old Gods, not your fucking salty one."
" Har! The bears can all go screw themselves for all I care. This is Ironborn territory."
" I won't waste my time talking with you. I have asked nicely and the time for niceties is over. Leave, or I will make you."
" With what army?"
That seemed to be the answer Rodrik wanted, for soon his eyes glazed over and Rickon gasped as he saw a full horde of bears walking threateningly toward the Ironborn.
" You… You're a warg?"
One of the bears almost trotted towards Rodrik, who petted it and gave it a wolfish smile.
Aye, it was definitely his familiar.
" I give you five minutes to leave, Greyjoy. You and your men. Leave this land to the bears and nothing will be done to you. Stay here and I will make sure you and your scum family will have nowhere to go. For I will always be watching you." Rodrik said and the bears roared their agreement.
Seeing the Ironborn scramble to flee amused Rickon greatly, as well as Rodrik's reaction after they left. He turned to his familiar and hugged him.
" Thank you for your help, my friend. I hope Nan was right and that it will be enough to gain Lynara's favor." the king sighed, chuckling when he received a lick from the playful bear. "I know, I know, this is a gift, I still have to court her; What a Chore! Come, we need to finish this before nightfall."
Rickon woke up groaning, still reeling at the reason his ancestor took over the island.
"Judging by your face, you didn't like what you saw…" Howland said, amused.
"I will never say this to Lyanna. Never," he whined, shaking his head.
"But you did see him? King Rodrik?"
"Aye, and he was a warg who scared the Ironborn so that he could be free to wed a Mormont…" Rickon said smiling though he knew it not.
"Love can lead you to do great things, lad. If it wasn't for this, House Mormont would not be as leal to your House as it is."
Rickon nodded tirelessly and tried to get up once more, only to be unable to move. His legs were shaking under his weight and he would have fallen to the ground if it hadn't been for Ghost.
"I think that's enough for today." Howland declared.
"What? No! There are a lot more things I have to see!"
"And you will, but not today. You've been touched by a powerful magic, Rickon. It is taking a toll on your body. You need to gain your strength back and get some rest."
Despite his wish to protest, he knew he wasn't in a position to discuss it further as Ghost quietly knelt so he could climb onto his back. He felt the hunger and the tiredness when they arrived at his room and was glad to see some food waiting for him, as well as his sister.
"Nymeria told me you would need this," Arya said.
"Thank you."
"Are you going to tell me what it is about?"
"Not yet."
"Eat," she said sternly and Rickon complied, glad that she would not push the subject tonight.
The following days were spent in the same fashion, with him breaking his fast with his sisters and Davos, before spending little time with Lyanna and his friends at the sparring yard. Then after making his rounds to make himself seen by the other Lords from the South, he'd end up spending the rest of his day in the crypts with Howland Reed and Ghost. No one questioned his whereabouts, even if he knew most of them were curious about what he was doing.
He had tried to see the future, to see if anything would happen as his brother said it would, but either he wasn't strong enough for this or the gods didn't want him to see it. It frustrated him immensely and he started to somewhat relate to Bran. For what good was it to see the past if it couldn't help you change the future?
"You cannot go too quickly, lad," Howland said, responding to his frustration. "Before you can run, you have to walk. Before you can dive, you have to know how to swim."
"How does knowing that Theon the Hungry Wolf planted a Heart Tree in Andalos, or that Bael the Bard knew he would die by his son's hand be useful to fight against the Long Night?" he asked frustratedly.
"Trust the Old Gods, Rickon. If they think you should know things about your family's ancestry, then it is for the best. Now, try again."
He tried once more to focus on the one he most wanted to see. The one who, according to the tales, had seen, fought, and repelled the Night King more than eight thousand years before. Yet every time he wished to see Brandon Stark, the founder of his House; he had been shown yet another of his namesakes.
He saw King Brandon who won against the Magnar of Skagos and condemned them to isolation after taking all of their ships.
He saw Brandon the Burner, who in his grief of losing his father to the sea decided to burn all of the Northern fleet.
He saw Brandon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, granting his brother Karlon a tract of land to create his own House, which would later become House Karstark.
He even saw his brother climbing the Broken Tower and being thrown out of it by someone he couldn't see, which had frustrated him even more.
This time he was in the crypts, and he knew he wouldn't reach his goal when he heard a familiar voice. One he'd not heard in many years.
" He went back to the Wall, leaving his love behind, for he knew as soon as he saw his son that he wouldn't unite his kingdom to the North. This was his main goal in abducting and charming the Stark Lady before he let his love make him forget about his duty to his people. He knew from the vision he received from the Old Gods that his son would be the one to end his life, and as much as his love tried to prove him wrong, it eventually came to pass."
" So Bael's son killed him?"
" Aye. Benjen Snow took his grandfather's name at his death, becoming the Lord of Winterfell, and Bael came to treat for his people to cross the Wall as he heard his son had become Lord. He had thought that his mother would have told him the truth, but she didn't, and Benjen killed his father, becoming a kinslayer in the process."
" Come, Nan. It's horseshit. Ouch!" a young man yelled as he got his ear flicked by the Old woman.
" Never call me a liar, Brandon Stark!"
" I haven't!" the aforementioned Brandon whined. "I know this is just a tale, not real history. Like the one you keep telling about the taking of Bear Island."
" I love that story too!" a young girl exclaimed. "There is no greater proof of love than to fight for the woman you seek to court."
" Of course, you would like it. You have a soft heart beneath your rude appearance."
" I'll show you rude, you fucker!"
The girl launched herself at Brandon, followed by another boy, while the former kept laughing at them. Rickon smiled, reminded of the scuffles Arya and Bran got into when they were younger.
" Lyanna, Benjen, stop it now! Why can't you behave like sweet Ned over here?" Nan growled and Rickon gasped as he looked at his smirking father.
Young Eddard Stark looked nothing like the man he remembered. He could see the mischievous glint in his eyes that showed how much he wanted to join his brothers and sister but kept away so as to not get into trouble. The other siblings didn't seem to hear Nan's orders, too busy screaming at each other and trying to rip their clothes.
" Very well. No more stories for you!"
" Aw, Nan! Don't be like that!" they all whined as one, Rickon's father included.
" What good does it do if you do not believe a word that I say?"
" I believe you!" Lyanna protested whilst Brandon scoffed. "You're the memory of this House and we would be lost if it wasn't for you. Father always says so."
" Father also says that she's old enough to have met Bran the Builder." The youngest, who Rickon recognized as Benjen, was taunted, only to be elbowed by his sister.
" One day you will go to the Wall, Benjen. You will become the pride of your House and protect the realms of men. Think of my stories when you venture beyond the Wall, it might save your life." Old Nan retorted, before looking straight at Rickon. "Old stories are like old friends. You have to visit them from time to time lest you forget their meaning. A Stark should never forget where he comes from, nor should he forget his duty to the people, for Winter is Coming, and the dead come with it. You are the Wolf of Winterfell, and this is your duty."
" Who are you talking to, Nan?" young Benjen asked, frowning.
" A ghost. Someone who died and had been blessed by the Old Gods. Someone who traveled through time to see this moment. Have I ever told you about greenseers?" she said, to Rickon's surprise.
" Being in the crypts does you no good, Nan," Lyanna said, grabbing her hand. "Come, I wish to go to the Godswood to hear your next story."
" Did I tell you that Bael's wife, the Stark woman he had stolen, was your namesake?"
" Aye, and one day I shall have a son I will call Bael. I love this name." his aunt Lyanna said smiling beamingly.
" I know you do… And I know you will have your own song to sing one day, my sweet Winter Rose…" Nan chuckled, nodding in Rickon's direction before being dragged outside of the crypts.
I will come for you when the time is right. He startled at the voice in his head, the one that resembled the old woman's.
"She saw me!" he yelled as he woke up. "How? How could she see me?"
"Who? Who saw you?"
"Old Nan! She was… She was talking to me and spoke about greenseers. How is it possible?" Rickon exclaimed while shaking his head in wonderment.
"What did she say?"
"She called me a ghost, and… She said she will come to me when the time is right."
"Then come she will, lad."
"It's impossible. She's dead. The Ironborn killed her during the sack of Winterfell." he said sadly.
"Nothing is impossible for the Old Gods. You know that. Do you want to try again?"
Rickon nodded, still at a loss to explain what had just happened, but Nan's memory was too much for him to forget, for every time he tried to focus all he could see was her.
It made no sense to him. None at all. Until he found himself facing his younger self in the Great Hall of Winterfell. He almost choked as he saw his mother tending to him. His memory of her hadn't done her justice, for she was even more beautiful than he remembered.
Sansa looked so much like her, and Arya like Father. Who do I look like the most?
" Did Nan frighten you again with her stories?" his father asked, smiling softly, as a much younger Rickon nestled his head in the crook of his mother's arms.
" Not us, Sansa. She is so fearful of everything it's not even funny!" Arya sighed loudly.
" Which one was it? The Long Night? The Ice Spiders?"
"' Twas the Rat Cook, father," Robb said and Rickon felt tears welling at seeing his brother alive.
He walked closer to them, to his united family, seeing Jon looking longingly at them from another table and avoiding the scattering gaze of his mother. His father was laughing and shaking his head while Sansa sobbed.
" Her stories are awful, Father. They are nothing like those of the South. They speak about death and horrible creatures. Why can't she tell stories like Florian and Jonquil?" she whined and present-day Rickon rolled his eyes at her antics.
" Because those stories were stupid, Stupid," Arya answered before being elbowed by Bran.
" Old Nan only tells the stories she knows, sweetling. The North is a harsh place to live, especially in winter, and Nan has seen more winters than any of us." his father said, his words a welcome sound to Rickon's ears.
" I bet she was there during the first one, the old bat." Theon mumbled, only to be chastised by Ned Stark.
" She may be old, but she deserves respect. She has cared for our family for as long as I can remember. She was already here when my father was born."
" They say that she was the one to nurse Bran the Builder, father, is it true?" Bran asked as Robb and Theon scoffed.
" Then she would be older than the Wall, son," Ned explained, smiling again, and Rickon wondered if he always smiled so.
" Maybe she is!" Arya exclaimed. "She tells the stories as if she was there the whole time."
" A person cannot live that long, Arya, that's just nonsense." Robb chimed in.
" If someone can live this long, it would be Nan." their father joked. "Do not tell her what I said, else she will find a way to punish me!"
" Ned!" his mother said, affronted.
"' Tis the truth, Cat! No matter how old I am, no matter I am the Lord of this keep and Warden of the North, I will always be little Ned to her. Even my Father feared her."
" You're afraid of her, Father? Truly?" Sansa gasped.
" Nan is the memory of the North. She carries with her the spirit of the Old Gods. Remember that, sweetling."
Rickon woke up with a heavy heart, wishing he could stay longer to witness the sweet moment with his family. While he was loathed to see Jon excluded from it, he couldn't deny that he still missed his parents and brothers.
He wiped out his tears and tried to focus on what he had seen. Old Nan seemed to be important in his quest and he wondered how he could use her tales to get to his goal of seeing more of the past.
He didn't have time to think much of it, though, for he felt Ghost tugging at his mind in urgency. When Jon told him the dead were crossing the Wall, he felt that he had already sensed it. War was upon his brother and so he bid him be careful, as well as his goodsister, and he felt Jon appreciated the concern Rickon expressed from his wife.
" Do not worry, brother. We have a plan and we will hold true to it. Then we will end the threat and come back home." Jon said with confidence, giving Rickon the assurance he needed, so much so that the night falling on Winterfell signaling the start of the fight against the dead almost didn't phase him.
Later on, after talking to the Lords and Ladies and trying to engender hope in what would come to pass, he summoned Sansa, Arya, and begrudgingly Theon, as he too had been present in his dream. He was glad however to find the latter not coming, as Sansa said that he wasn't feeling well.
"I dreamt much about Old Nan lately," he spoke as casually as possible given the subject he was about to broach. "I don't remember much about her, but I know she used to tell her tales and that Sansa didn't like most of them."
"An understatement, brother." Arya scoffed and Sansa shook her head.
"Do you remember some of them?"
"I'm… I'm sorry… I don't… Robb loved to scare me with them. That's all I remember." Sansa mumbled.
"I remember the Rat Cook. It inspired me with my vengeance for Walder Frey. I served him his two sons in a pie, as the Rat Cook had done to his enemy." Arya said proudly, making them scoff.
"Do you recall anything she said about Bran the Builder?" he insisted.
Sansa frowned and shook her head, while Arya seemed lost in thoughts.
"I think… She used to say that he prayed to the Old Gods for a place to call his own, and they led him to the hot springs where he would have to build Winterfell. That's the only thing I can remember about her tales about him, though they were more pleasant than some of her others." Sansa said, and he noticed her little shiver. "Father used to tell us that when the Long Night arrived, he repelled the army of the dead with the help of giants and Children of the Forest, then he was tasked by them to guard the North while they left beyond the Wall."
"Nan said once that Bran the Builder was a frail child whose mother died and he was nursed by a Direwolf under a Heart Tree when he was but a babe. That's why the Starks are so close to Direwolves and why we took them as our sigil." Arya added.
"Under a Heart Tree, you said?" Rickon gasped and stood up quickly.
"Why is this so important? Nan used to talk about nonsensical things." Arya said confused by his actions.
"Such as wargs, skinchangers, and greenseers, right?" Rickon retorted, smirking as Sansa seemed to get his meaning.
"You mean all of it was true?"
"I don't know, but I mean to find out tonight. Jon may be fighting the Night King as we speak. If I can find his weak spot…"
"Go," Arya ordered. "Do what you have to do."
He practically ran toward the crypts, not even waiting for Howland to join him this time. His heart was pounding when he arrived under the roots of the Heart Tree.
"Is this what you wanted me to know, Nan? Is this where Bran the Builder was nursed?" he asked as he slowly touched one of the roots.
He was instantly transported to a vision, and this time he recognized the place. He was in the Godswood, only it wasn't the Goswood that he was used to visiting. There was the Heart Tree, and the pool next to it, and even though he was surrounded by snow, it felt more primal and the wind not natural, almost unwelcoming.
" Why did you bring me here?" he heard a voice say. Turning to him he saw a Northman covered in furs speaking to a being he had never seen before.
" You've asked the Gods for a place to make your own. Do you remember this place, Brandon?"
" I do not."
" Do you remember the first Heart Tree you saw?"
" The one above the cave where I grew up… The one where Nan found me…"
" It is. Your mother believed in the Old Gods, the god of her ancestors, while your father never wanted to pray to them. When your father died and your mother felt her time was about to end, she came to this very Heart Tree and prayed you would be safe. She gave her life in exchange for yours, so you could survive, and the Old Gods answered her prayers. They sent Nan to nurse you and to make sure you would not follow in your mother's footsteps, and the magic in your blood did the rest."
Did they say, Nan? Wait… Is it…
" As she made you stronger, you also made her different. The moment you made her human was the moment we knew we would need your help." the being continued
" Why would you need my help?" Brandon asked.
" A mistake has been made, child. A mistake only you can help rectify."
" What mistake?"
" Someone is coming. Someone who desires to kill you above all things and erase your line from existence. An enemy we have in common."
" What? Why would they want to kill me?"
" Because of who you are, because of the magic in your blood and what it represents. But you need to survive for the world we live in to keep existing."
" The magic… In my blood?"
" The same that made a Direwolf's skin change into a human. The same that brings Winter to your enemies."
" I am but one man…'The Builder said, visibly at a loss. "You have blessed many others, wedded wargs, and skinchangers. Why would you have me fight when you have an army?"
" Because none of them has the blood of Kings in their veins. You descend from Garth Greenhand, High King of the First Men… As does our enemy. "
" So your enemy is my kin? You want me to become a kinslayer?"
" Should we have another choice then we wouldn't ask it of you."
" Cursed is the kinslayer!" the man protested and Rickon nodded while the child looked sadly at his ancestor.
" Nothing can beat the Ice magic of our foe. Nothing except for Winter itself. For Ice and Winter are made of the same, and one cannot go without the other."
" As I say, I am but one man."
" You have to unite the people of these lands to have a chance of surviving, but you will not do so alone." the being said and Rickon startled as he heard a howl, surprised to see Bran the Builder smile wolfishly. "Your pack will help. Nan and her sons will never leave your side. Become the King you need to be and protect these lands. Make Winter come for him like you did those who tried to end you before him."
" How? If I accept… How will I be able to defeat him?"
" With the same thing that he takes his strength for." the child answered, opening his hand to reveal a piece of Dragonglass.
Another howl rang, breaking Rickon from his vision, and he gasped seeing the scene in front of him as he came to his senses.
"Finally. You've finally opened your third eye." the old woman chuckled as she petted Ghost who acted like a puppy near her.
"How? Why?"
"I cannot explain the how. I had never been able to. From the moment my fur gave way to skin, my fate has been intertwined with your family's. Brandon did his best to end the threat, but he only managed to wound the Night King. His fate wasn't to kill him anyway. This task belongs to someone else. Someone who -"
"You… You're a skin-changer…" Rickon said in awe before howling in pain, his ear burning from the scuff he received.
"Since when do people interrupt when someone tells a story?"
"I'm… You're really here… You're not a vision…"
"Of course, I'm not!" Old Nan replied, seemingly offended.
"I thought you were dead."
"I am drawn to this place, and can only appear when there is a Stark in Winterfell and the time is true. When everyone left, so did I. And when you came back, it took me some time to get to contact the right Stark of Winterfell. I couldn't come to you before the time was right."
"Why?"
"Because of your brother."
"Jon?"
"Brandon," she answered and he shivered to see her face harden. "I loved him. As if he was my own. I even let my only grandson and my other kin leave with him. Had I known he would be the one… Had I known… then I would have done things differently."
Rickon's heart clenched hearing the pain lacing the old woman's words. He remembered then that Hodor was her family, and if what he saw was the truth, there might be chances that Ghost and his pack were to be descendants of her original pack as well.
"I'm sorry, Nan," he whispered truthfully.
"Fate cannot be changed, my sweet. I remember when you were born, I felt there was much in you, as much power as there had been in Bran, in my Bran. Maybe as much as there was in Lyanna's son. Yes, I know about Baelon. I've always known, and I didn't say anything because I knew of his purpose. He needed to go to the Wall as Jon Snow to find out the truth about the White Walkers. I could not intervene anyway. For I too am but a servant of the Old Gods."
"Why now then? Why are you intervening now?" he asked curiously.
"Because the Old Gods bid it of me. Because my time has come to finally rejoin my pack, my family, my ancestors." Nan said and Ghost whined. "Do not cry for me, little one. I have been here for a long time and I welcome the end of it. I welcome it knowing that it leads this young one to learn of his true purpose."
"My purpose?" Rickon repeated, swallowing anxiously.
"You know how to end the Night King. But before you can run, you have to walk. Before you can dive, you have to swim. And to understand the how, you must know the why. Take my hand, Rickon, the Stark of Winterfell, son of Eddard, son of Rickard, son of Edwyle, son of Willam, son of Beron, son of Cregan, son of Rickon, son of Benjen, son of Bael, King beyond the Wall. You are the King of the North, a descendant of the First King of Winter, Bood of the Wolf, and those who sing the song of the world which flows in your veins. Ancient magic will soon be needed. Remember the promise to the Gods you made?" she asked and he nodded. "You will protect my family, even from themselves. You were born to do so and the Gods took your vow on earth and on water, on bronze and iron, on ice and fire very seriously. To protect them. Look closely, and protect them."
"Do you think I'm ready for this?"
"Aye, I do."
His hand was shaking when he grabbed her offered one, and soon he felt the signs of an upcoming vision.
The cold swept in his bones and he could barely see in front of him. The mutilated corpses around the glowing heart Tree made him recoil in shock, but not so much as seeing his older brother walk in front of him. He was so used to seeing Bran in his wheeled chair that it took him back for a moment and he forgot where he was. Was this a dream, another vision?
Bran turned to the right and gasped, making Rickon look that way and shiver as he watched the Army of the Dead waiting for them. He looked on in alarm as Bran walked fearlessly through the army, which didn't react to his presence, and Rickon breathed a sigh of relief when he realized they were both simply in a dream. He walked not so far from Bran while making sure not to make himself caught by his brother who didn't seem to catch on his presence. He froze in shock as they arrived face to face in front of the Night King and his Lieutenant. Why was Bran willing to see the Night King? Was he trying to find how he could be killed?
Suddenly the Night King grabbed Bran's arm and Rickon could see the panic in his brother's eyes.
" You… I've seen you… You're a Raven." the Night King's icy voice rang, speaking the Old Tongue which surprised both Bran and Rickon.
" How? Why?" Bran stuttered, looking for a way to escape.
" So it has come to pass. Finally. What is your name?"
" Brandon Stark, but -"
" Fitting that you got the name of the one who started it all."
" What has come to pass? Who are you talking about?"
" The irony is not lost on me, Brandon the last Raven. I will come for you and rid the world of your unholy existence."
" I have done nothing to you -"
" Yet. I will not let you have the opportunity to do so either. I know where you are now. Say the last prayer to your Gods before I send you to meet them."
Bran began to yell in panic and Rickon could see the mark on his arm getting blacker. When his brother managed to disappear, the Night King turned his eyes on his frightful form and he could feel his body react to his icy glare.
" I will fulfill my destiny. I will come for him. Nothing and no one will prevent me from doing so. Either join me and be spared or join him and be destroyed."
RICKON! RICKON! COME BACK! he heard Ghost's voice in his head and latched onto him to get away from the vision.
This one had drained him more than the others and he could barely keep his eyes open. Yet he could feel it. The atmosphere had grown colder and he could feel the storm closing in. Howland was there now too, the older man watching him with concern.
"Arya came to get me to come here. By the Gods, you're bleeding…" Howland said and he could feel the warmth of blood coming from his nose. "Why didn't you wait for me? You know how dangerous it can be, yet -"
"Where is she?" Rickon asked him, making him frown.
"Who are you talking about?"
Nan was gone, only the black fur she had been covered in which now laid on Rickon's lap, and Howland seemed not to have seen her either. It wasn't a figment of his imagination, though, and he felt a pang in his chest thinking that she went to join her ancestors and that he would never see her again.
"Fuck!" He suddenly cursed before running out of the crypts and towards the Broken Tower, all of his senses making him come here. He climbed the stairs despite the protests and the worried calls from others and almost collapsed when he saw the storm looming over the Wolfswood.
Bran was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs when he walked back down them, as expressionless as ever, although Rickon would swear he had seen a bit of fear in his brother's eyes. He didn't have time to confirm his suspicions, though, for he needed to reach out to Jon.
It was now much easier for him to get into his friend's mind, especially when it was to talk to his brother. He hoped he would be there, that Jon wouldn't be caught in an unnecessary fight that would prevent him from coming back.
" I'm so sorry, brother. I thought… We thought…" Jon started urgently and Rickon sighed with relief as he caught onto what had happened.
" This is not your fault, Brother. He blindsided us all. They're almost here."
" I'm on my way, Rickon. Be strong, be careful, and if the fight comes to you before I do… Whatever happens, do not let him come near Bran."
The flow of worried faces he had to face when he got back to his body was overwhelming. He quickly composed himself and ordered the Lords, Ladies and his family to be brought to him at his solar. While he laid out his plans for what was to come, only one thing stood out in his mind.
Nothing can beat the Ice magic of our foe. Nothing except for winter itself.
It would come down to one of them, Bran, Rickon, Arya, Sansa, or Jon. It would come to one of them to end the threat of the Night King, and while he was confident in his and Arya's skills, Sansa and Bran were no fighters, even though the latter was gifted in other ways. The fact that the Night King was after his brother was also something he could not set aside in making plans for the battle to come, and yet he wasn't skilled as Jon was in tactics and warfare.
They needed him back, and quick. Though he feared the fight would come to them first.
"He's here," he said simply.
The Wolfswood/Winterfell 304 AC.
The Night King.
Each mile took him closer and he could feel his presence more and more. It was as it had been all those years ago, the sense of the thing he marched to end almost pervading everywhere he looked. When he'd touched him and left his mark upon him, he'd felt it even more truly than he had before. Yet even that compared to this was like night and day. In the trees, in the ravens that looked his way before they flew no more, even in the air itself, it was everywhere and it was as he feared. Only growing in strength.
This had been what he'd tried to warn them about. What he'd tried to stop before it ever came to pass. He'd told them that their path would lead to this and had bid them change course. His warnings fell on deaf ears and earned him rebuke and exile. Making them see him as the threat and not the one warning them of that threat. They saw him as a problem rather than a solution. Named him misguided when he was the only one who saw it clearly. Then they had sought to rob him of his power and force him to do their will when their will led to the doom of all.
Was it how he was able to resist?
Was that why he had found the strength to follow the true path?
Did they realize they were wrong in the end?
Did they regret the choices they had made?
They were questions without answers, or to be more precise, those who could have answered them were no more. He was the last of them, the only one with the strength and the magic to stop the thing that named itself a raven and he cursed them for it. For being made to walk this path alone and for them not believing his words when he'd spoken them so fervently. More than that he cursed them for putting their fate in a child born from his brother's line and not one born from his own.
" Many different paths my sons will forge, many different lands will they rule over and their descendants will spread for millennia." his father said to him and his brother.
" And our paths, father?" he asked.
" Are one and the same and lead North."
He let the memory of his father's words wash over him. Though he blamed him too, he loved him still. For he had loved all his children equally and had given each of them the same advice. His father couldn't have known, the voice inside him would say. It was a true voice he believed. For he had not known, not then, and he had believed that like him, his brother only sought what was best. How wrong he'd been.
Millennia ago.
No man knew war as well as his brother, and few if any were more feared among the Children of the Forest than he. So much so that they named him the Bloody Blade and it was that which Brandon was known as far more than anything else. Not even their father could contain his brother's bloodlust once it had risen and while it was true he'd driven the giants from the Reach, it had come at a terrible cost of life and one that bothered Brandon not.
He had almost wept when he'd seen the lake. The blood that had been spilled there had been far too much and while Brandon reveled in it, he did not. Nor did he enjoy hearing men say that it should be called Red Lake now instead of Blue. No words he spoke to his brother got through to him and though he held no love for the Children of the Forest, he had no desire to see them slaughtered indiscriminately either. Mayhap that was why he beseeched his father to make peace and break bed with them, why he and his brother came to blows and Brandon found that he was no child or giant and more than his equal.
"Enough! You are brothers, I'll not have a Kinslayer for a son!" his father shouted and not even Brandon was man enough to risk their father's wrath.
"We have them beat, father, we have them beat and he wishes to break bread and make peace with them." Brandon said loudly "They are our enemies, they have always been our enemies, they will always be our enemies."
"We only make peace with our enemies," he said and he caught the soft smirk on his father's face.
"We could beat them, true enough but at what cost?" His father asked, "How many more do we lose, or do they lose before it's enough? I've seen the waters of the lake and my tears alone were not enough to turn them back to their true color."
"Why weep over the dead?" his brother asked.
"Why not." his father replied.
In the end, it was his father's will and his will alone that was followed and so they made their way to the Isle of Faces and the pact was signed. He gladly paid the cost that was asked of him and drank the Weirwood paste when the children bid it of him. When his brother stormed off and his father left, he did not. Little knowing it was to be the last time he would see them in the flesh.
How long he spent training was hard to tell. Winter turned to Summer, Summer to Winter and he spent his time with the Green Men and the Greenseers before finally they told him it was time for him to take his place. He'd seen much, learned much, and watched as his brother's wife bore a son and that son soon had one of his own. On and on it went until finally, a son showed a promise that not he, his brother, his half brothers, or even dare he say, his father had ever done.
He'd smiled to hear him named Brandon, and now he looked forward to seeing the future he'd bring to the North and to all the futures that were to come.
"it's time for you to become me." the Greenman said.
"Am I ready?" he asked.
"No."
Yet he did as he was bid and felt the power wash over him. It was like nothing he could imagine, the different images he saw were of the future he could tell, but they were fleeting and hard to pin down to a single one. Time was a river, the Children had said, one that he must learn to navigate and he'd thought himself more than able to do so. This river however ran faster than any he'd ever known and it almost overwhelmed him. Soon enough he was underneath it, in the water itself and he struggled to breathe.
" Be at peace, son." his father's voice said.
He took in the air in deep gasps, watched as the river slowed, and made his way to the banks of it before climbing out. How long he sat there, he knew not, but eventually he felt ready to try again and when he did, it was like nothing he'd ever imagined before. Soon he was moving in the water as if it was still and in each place he looked, he saw a different time. Years from now, Centuries, Millennia, all of it was so close that if he reached out he could touch them almost.
The Andals came and war was upon the shores of the lands that would be named Westeros once more. Kingdoms rose and fell, kings were crowned and lost their heads. He watched a Wall of Ice be built that rose as high as the eye could see and stretched the entire length of the North. He looked on as ten thousand ships set sail and arrived at a land of sand and as an empire crumbled under fire and molten stone. In time he saw dragons land on an island and then he watched as three of them turned six of the seven kingdoms into one.
In his father's lands, he saw the bounty they produced and could almost smell the fruits and flowers and in the lands that his brother's sons had named as their own he looked on as a stone keep rose from the place where Winter was to Fall. It was this he looked at most of all, the lands ruled over by his brother's sons, his nephews and at first, he was more than pleased with what he saw. True there was war, strife, famine, and death, but there was peace too, there was love, and the lands along with the people that lived there thrived. Or they did until he began to look more deeply at those lands until he saw the corruption of those lands.
His brother's line was tainted, cursed, his brother's actions had never been forgiven and from what he could see they never would. Long into the future he looked, only to then be horrified by what he saw. For that taint, that curse, never would it show itself more than when they tried to make a descendant of his brother's line into what he now was. To give so much power to one so ill-equipped to use it, and to not see the danger in doing so was hubris. It led to the end of all things, all lands, all people. Power corrupts enough as it was, it makes you face the truth of yourself, and to give power to a corrupted thing, that was more than folly, that was more than to court disaster, that was to assure it.
His brother's lands, his father's, lands of sand and ice, fertile and not, all were tainted by the corruption of his brother's descendant. War, famine, pestilence, and finally death roamed the lands and through it all, he sat uncaringly. The last of his brother's line, a thing that was no longer a man, unfeeling and uncaring about anyone but himself. Not even his own kin was saved from him, a brother falling, a sister, another, and then another. A fate that had been foretold and was then denied to him to see, had somehow been usurped by the thing that shared his brother's blood.
"Enough" he shouted and around him the Children of the Forest looked on with dispassionate eyes.
He knew what he had to do and so he called out for the gods, and while he waited for them, he looked back at where it all began, to the pact, to his father and his brother, to the path that had led him to where he now was.
The Pact.
It had been his words that had been listened to by their father, not his brother's. Brandon had earned a new name, the Bloody Blade and while he reveled in it, their father hated that one of his sons did so. Mayhap that had been the reason why it was he that his father sided with, or mayhap it had been seeing the carnage at what had now been named Red Lake. Mayhap it was simply that victories were fleeing and while celebrated one day, their defeats would follow the next. Whatever the reason, it was to the God's Eye that they made their way across the lake to the small isle where they rowed their boats.
They were given bread and salt when they arrived, a rite known as the Right of Guests and one that his father had bid all to follow. Around them, there were Children of the Forest and Wood Dancers, while with them were mighty warriors and chiefs. None more respected than his father and even his brother feared Garth Greenhand's wrath. As they sat around an unlit fire, he could see how the Children looked at his brother, the hate in their eyes as they did so was almost a visceral thing.
"Many lives have been lost, on both our sides. We could fight another age and still be where we are." his father's voice boomed.
"You seek our ends! Cut down our trees! Spill our blood!" one of the Children said.
"Aye, as you do ours." his father replied.
"We seek peace." a different Child said "But there is a price to be paid so we know it's one you'll keep to."
"What price?" his brother asked.
"You." the Child responded.
He listened as the price was laid out and heard how his brother raged against it. Knowing full well that Brandon's stubbornness would cost them the chance to end this war, he rose to his feet.
"I'll pay the price," he said to a proud look from his father, an angered one from his brother, and curious ones from the Children and Wood Dancers.
"Why would we settle for you when it's him we seek?" the Child asked curiously.
"I am my father's son as is he, his blood flows in my veins and my brother will keep to my father's will if you'll accept me in his stead."
"Will he indeed?" the Child said enigmatically.
"Is this acceptable?" his father asked and after some time, the Children nodded as one.
"In light of this accord, we shall give your line a boon, Green Hand, one which…"
"I want nothing from you, I'll take nothing from you." His brother said angrily as he rose to his feet "You're my enemy, and I kill my enemies."
"You would break my word, boy! You would dare break my word."
He watched as his father grabbed his brother and moved to separate them before a fight could break out, then he listened as his father spoke words that shocked even Brandon.
"No more are you welcome on my lands, no more will you bear my name. Begone from my sight and never deign to grace me with your presence again. Exile is what you've reaped, Boy, and exile is what I give to you."
"If I see a Child of the Forest, I'll strike them down, hear my words," Brandon said as he moved towards the boat.
He heard it then, they all heard it, words were spoken in a tongue he knew not, and each and every one of the Children and the Wood Dancers spoke them at the same time. The sky darkened, or at least he thought it did. Then it brightened once more and he looked on as Brandon seemed to stumble and fall to the ground before he then made it to the boat and rowed away.
It was after he'd taken the paste that the words that were spoken had become known to him. After he'd said goodbye to his father for the last time and felt his pride in what he'd done. He had then asked and been told, then wished he'd not.
"Wherever he names his home, wherever he rests his head, he and any from his line will find that Winter comes for them. Ever does it come and ever will it find them. His lands will not know plenty, they'll not know fertile fields, and each place that he names his own will be a place where Winter Falls."
The Wolfswood 305 AC.
The Night King.
He'd done it again, drifted off in the memories of the past, and lost himself in them. They'd marched ever closer to his destiny, ever closer to ending the thing he'd seen all those years ago. Kin but not kin, blood but not blood, and once again he found he wished he'd just ended it all those years before. He could have, he would have been able to. No, that wasn't true, he couldn't become a Kinslayer, he couldn't take his brother's life, not then, not even now was the thought in his head a true one.
His descendants though, those who'd come from his brother's line, those he could and should have ended. Not the one he'd tried to, that had been a mistake, folly, and hubris on his own part, and were he able to still, then he'd have laughed at the irony of that. He'd called them all out for their hubris, then fell prey to his own. It should never have been the Builder he sought to end, it should have been one of the many that had come after him. He should have waited and bided his time, but he'd moved too soon and had paid the cost for it.
It was not the only cost he'd paid, he thought bitterly as he moved his hand to his chest and touched the stone where his heart had once been. They had cursed him, just as they had his brother and yet he had deserved it not where Brandon had. He'd done their will, had shown them the truth and they'd paid him back by turning him into this, this thing. He was almost as unfeeling and uncaring as the thing he sought to end, almost. For he was not from his brother's line, and while both were their father's sons, only he truly took anything from their father.
They moved through the trees and he tried not to remember a time when those trees were full of Children of the Forest. He tried not to think as bitterly on them as he now did. Just as he tried not to dwell on the fact that he had, in essence, done his brother's work for him. That it had been he who'd carried out what Brandon had sought, he who'd brought an end to the Children of the Forest, and to the thing in the tree that had become as he had once been.
" Your path is wrong," Bloodraven said.
" I am the only one of us who was ever right."
" No, you're not."
" I warned you all, I told you all. What reward was I given for my warning? How was I paid back for speaking truths you all had no wish to hear?"
" All is as it was meant to be."
" No, it's not, but soon it will be."
He'd left the cave that they'd retreated to with none alive in it. It had not been what he'd wished, but he'd been left with no choice. Even right at the end, they'd denied the truths that were right in front of their eyes. Even after all the warnings he'd given them, his words had been ignored. To pass the power on regardless, the mere thought of it angered him still. To give the power to the boy was to doom the world and just as back then, he was the only one who saw it clearly.
Millennia ago.
It had taken time for them all to gather. The Children, the Wood Dancers, the Greenmen, and the Old Gods themselves. Though their presence was in the faces carved into the trees and their will would be known only in the changing of the weather. He knew that now. How they communicated with those who they sought to do so with. Winds, the blowing of leaves, the darkening of the sky above, and the brightening of it too. Rain, snow, storms, and a winter's chill, all were different answers to different questions.
What answer would they give him now?
What words would they speak here today?
Would they see as he had?
Had they not already?
He knew not the answers to those questions but felt that he soon would.
"Why have you called for us?" one of the Greenmen called out.
"Why are we here?" cried another.
"Why have you summoned us?" one of the children asked.
He looked at them and readied to speak the most important words he'd ever spoken, words he needed them to listen to.
"I've seen the end times. Looked on as all men fell, as the Children, the Trees, even the animals themselves all ceased to be."
"When?"
"How?"
"It cannot be."
The voices all merged into one and it was one of the Greenmen who quietened them and bid him continue. He told them it all. How one of his brother's descendants would one day be named the Three-Eyed Raven and be unworthy of the task. How he'd use the power not for what it was intended for, but to serve his own ends and how in time, he'd see every single living thing fall. First those he thought of as threats, then those who displeased him, and finally any who raised a voice, be it in support or not.
"You are wrong."
"The Old Gods would intervene."
"You are mistaken."
"This shall not come to pass."
Again the voices fell into one and again, the same Greenman quietened them, this time however the Old God made their presence felt too. He felt the chill of the wind, the blowing of the leaves and then the sky darkened. Before he knew it he was grabbed and pushed against a tree, he was bound and he watched as one of the Children cut his chest and licked the blood that flowed from the wound. It was his fear that at first stopped him from feeling his powers taken from him, then it was pain as he watched the black rock be pushed into his chest where it had been cut. Never had he felt such pain before and then he felt naught but cold.
" One day you too will play your part." he heard a voice say, a voice that he and he alone heard.
Winterfell 304 AC.
The Night King.
He had felt some remnants of the power still inside him, some pieces of it that he'd held onto. No longer could he see into the future or the past as he once could, the river no longer one he could navigate. Yet he'd seen things too, strange things, odd things. A wolf had laid down and turned into an old woman, words had been spoken that he'd not heard. A black wolf had run beside a white one and both had howled loudly.
He'd seen ravens fall from the sky and watched them be attacked by wolves. Had watched as dragons flew and laid down their flames. There had been a man wielding a sword of fire and a woman crying out in a bed of blood. A boy ran for his life as arrows flew and he dodged them all effortlessly. A throne with many different people sitting upon it. A silver-haired woman, a golden-haired one, a fat-bellied man, a scab-ridden one, a boy with no legs, and finally a half-dragon half-wolf, green and white and with eyes of grey.
Then he'd seen his own path and it had led him to a battle fought too soon. A battle that he'd lost and which had almost ended him. He'd retreated from that battle and licked his wounds and had readied for the next one, little knowing just how long he'd have to wait or that when the time came, it would be a battle against the thing that had sealed his fate. This was a battle he could not lose, one he would not lose.
"You ignored my warnings."
"You caused this."
"You are at fault, not I."
He shouted his words to the Old Gods and felt their answer as the winds grew and the storm gathered. Ahead of him, he could feel him and as he raised his hands, he bid his army forward. When this was all done, when he could rest easy once more, he'd no longer be the things they'd made him. No longer would he be, the first Three-Eyed Raven, no longer would he be the Night King. When he had beaten his enemy, he'd be as he had been once before.
"My name is Rickon, Son of Garth Greenhand and my time has come."