The Lion and the Rose: The North

[Lumine]

The North:

Overview:

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

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

[Lumine]

Jon Snow:

Who does Winterfell belong to?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Melisandre smiled.

[Lumine]

Reek:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lumine]

Jon Stark:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lumine]

An Announcement on the Will of Rob Stark

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

So Says the King,
Stannis Baratheon

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

[Lumine]

Reek II:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lumine]

The Lord Commander:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lumine]

Reek III:

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

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

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

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

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

The man walked back, his face pale.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Ramsay! Ramsay, please! No… No… N…-

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

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

-I HAVE A SON!-

And Lord Ramsey cried... in his joy.

[Lumine]

Reek IV:

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

-Weaklings. - Lord Bolton had shrugged the losses –

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

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

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

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

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

And he smiled once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-He… he is flying…-

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

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

[Lumine]

Reek V:

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Wish me luck... Reek.-

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

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

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

After all, can you flay a man of ice?

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

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

-Theon...-

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

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

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

Theon knelt.

[Lumine]

Samwell I:

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

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

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

-Egg… Egg… Egg? –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aaaarrrrooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Aaaarrrrrooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Aaarrrrrooooooooooooooooooooooo!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lumine]

Theon I:

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

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

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

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

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

And so their marched…

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

-We’re here, Reek.-

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

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

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

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

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

Aaaarrrrooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Aaaarrrrrooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Aaarrrrrooooooooooooooooooooooo!

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

And then…

And then…

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

The Wall had fallen.

[Lumine]

this is very good post

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

[Lumine]

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

[Lumine]

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

[Lumine]

Melisandre:

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

-Keep moving! – Shouted Stannis to the men –

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

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

And then all had gone wrong…

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

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

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

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

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

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

-You could have done that before.-

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

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

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

[Lumine]

Jon III:

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

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

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

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

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

-Lord Stark! –

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

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

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

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

Oh, gods, Arya and Val…

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

-Arya! –

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

-You…-

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

-Val…-

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

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

[Lumine]

Theon II:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arya…

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

-No…- Theon gasped without knowing –

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

The Battle for Winterfell was over.

[Lumine]

Osha:

She should have known.

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

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

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

-Rickon! Stop staring at the trees! –

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

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

Harren.

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

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

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

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

-To the boats! –

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

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

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

[Lumine]

Theon III:

He had never truly liked Benjen Stark.

All those years of being a ward, or a slave, inside the walls of Winterfell – for Theon could hardly repress his memories now, even while the battle of the castle was being fought – Benjen had been amongst the ones that treated him with most contempt, not even acknowledging his very presence in all those family reunions Lord Stark was so fond of. But even disliking Benjen Theon could not help but to feel somewhat sorry for him, because for all his new found strength, all of that new magic of fire he somehow had learnt to perform, he did not stood a chance. For all the memories that continued to haunt him every time he started to A… the Queen and remembered the painful, painful past, he knew it could not be done. Stannis Baratheon, tough as he was, had gotten close, yet even he had gone down to the King. Surely a half dead Stark would not even give a single scratch to the lord of winter that he still served, but not willing…

Shhh, Reek, shhhhh… Theon or Reek, you must push it away… The King, y-you mustn’t betray feelings to the King… or betray the King? Shhhh… Theon… Shhhh… Reek…

-Here we stand then, monster.-
-You will watch your tongue as you address me, scum. – The King would have none of it – And you will show some manners, lest I have my men teach it you.-
-They are gone, MONSTER! – Benjen was angrier now – Wherever those dragons came from, they are melting you precious army to pieces. I myself have had little trouble melting your pitiful little snow soldiers.-
-YOU WILL SHOW RESPECT, YOU BASTARD! – Culrikhan roared – You’re no one! –
-I am Benjen Stark. And you’re sitting on my nephew’s place.-

The King’s face turned into a blank expression, the Queen suffering a small shock as her expression turned colder still. Now smiling and even laughing, Culrikhan stepped down from the skull throne, more content that he had been in months. Using his sole arm to draw his sword, Benjen made a gesture of pointing to the frozen stump and then laughing as rudely as possible, his sword drawn to.

-Is this the power of the King of Winter? – He jested – I would find no use in my nephew’s spells, my sword would be enough to kill a cripple.-
-You will be silent. – Culrikhan did not take kindly to being called a cripple – And you will bow before my throne! –

Both men locked swords as fiercely as possible, hatred glowing between their eyes as each of them knew winning was not a commodity, it was what would ensure the future of their causes. Benjen was inspired to win, Theon knew, but so was Culrikhan. Surely he would show no weaknesses, a hand less or not…

-You’re slow, bastard! –
-Do not call me bastard, Stark! –
-Only a bastard would dare sit on that throne without permission! –

But it was Benjen who was clearly better at swordplay, as his senses were stronger than any man Theon had ever seen. He clearly was not the same, yet he looked normal enough to further confuse him as he withdrew to the back of the room, still shivering from the sheer cold. It was then that Benjen made what looked like an impossible fast forward movement, putting enough strength on his blow to make a cut across the King’s chest to sending to the floor. Benjen moved forward to put his foot atop the wound as the King cursed, and the Queen remained emotionless as ever. Benjen had… won… had he? A surge of courage almost got out of his heart before being ruthlessly killed, as Theon saw that the skull throne was starting to move. Benjen did not know about that… almost no one did. Yet in lack of a better seat, King Culrikhan had an undead throne… skeletons still alive as mindless wights, moving their bodies to create a firm seat for their King… and defend him should the need arise. Theon felt true sadness as the skeletons rose from the floor, all almost flying towards the challenger.

-Die! –
-Oh, gods! –

Again he showed skill by using fire spells to shot down the barrage of corpses raised towards him, yet they were too many… dagger by dagger, wound by wound, a swarm of slaves stabbed Benjen Stark and left him for dead as blood flooded the area. Culrikhan stood up again, weakened by the blow and breathing too quickly… is he wounded? Could he ever lose? No… no…

-U-Un-Uncle… B… B-Benjen.-

That voice… he knew that voice… but he was dead.

-UNCLE BENJEN! –

His scream roared across the frozen room as Culrikhan and the warriors looked at him, Beltaine starting to shake as her face began to contort. It was Jon… or something resembling Jon, who looked almost grey and emotionless before giving that powerful shout.

-Well, well, well… Jon SNOW. – The King smiled again –

Jon fell to his knees as he put his hands on his head, clearly in pain. The room even started to heat as it seemed Snow would be on fire at any time, the pain so intense Theon thought he might drop dead given his expression. Yet all he did was shout, in anger and frustration as he stood up and charged the wights and Sidhe warriors with an expression that showed he was out of his mind. Whatever force controlled him – for Theon saw with surprise a bit of himself on Jon – was gone, leaving one raw… emotion.

-Culrikhan! You bastard! You killed them all! You killed Val, you killed Arya! –

One by one, Longclaw swung killing the Sidhe with single blows, the wights going down as well even as they tried to group and go for the kill. Endless wounds he sustained by fighting, yet he would not stop, he would kill and the King even looked surprised and… afraid? Could he be afraid? Could he realize he is… mortal? NO! NO, THEON! REEK! NO! Do not… do not tempt… do not think, do not… do not… But Jon killed them all, even as his wounds grew deeper and pieces of something black fell from his coat, he made sure every single one of them was dead. Except for the King, who waited his moment to strike.

-SNOW! – The King shouted, stabbing Jon in the back with an ice knife picked from the floor –

As Beltaine started to shake more and move her head in denial, Jon let out a scream of pain and fell to the floor, his force abandoning him on account of his grievous wounds… He can’t fight anymore, he can’t… no one can win fighting up front, as they all tried. The King was right, you can only win by surprising them, by striking where they won’t expect… No… no… Please, go away, do not tempt me. I can’t… it may be my last chance, but I can’t… please… No!

-It’s over, Snow. You have no idea how long did I wait for his moment… and how much I will enjoy turning you into one of my wights. – The King’s smile almost looked out of place on his grotesque expression –

He is going to… he will put an end to… he will win… will he?

-After you become my servant, I will put an end to this. I will change the weather from the skies if I need to and bring the bitch dragon queen down, and then I will march with the army myself down south. AND I WILL KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM! ALL OF THEM! -

Now… now? Is now the time? Reek, not Theon… Theon, not Reek… Reek… Theon… Reek… Theon… Reek…

-THEON! – He shouted for the first time in what seemed like eternity – MY NAME IS THEON GREYJOY! -

One of those pieces of what looked like dragonglass was on his hand, having picked it up while submerged on his own dilemma. Seeing Culrikhan raising his sword to give the final blow, he rushed, he ran towards Culrikhan and screaming to the top of his lungs with all the pain and cold of years of slavery he rammed the knife into his back, drawing an even louder scream from Culrikhan.  Shaking as the knife got stuck in the back of the King, Theon fell to the floor.

And Culrikhan fell too.

[Lumine]

Bran II:

-To think it would be you... who found me...- Jon said, breathing with difficulty -
-It's been years since you left. - Bran said, more accusatory than he would have wished to be -
-Probably... not my brightest choice. I should have stayed with Robb.-
-You would have died with him.-
-Aye.-

Silence set in as the storm quieted down the fires still burning in Winterfell, and Bran saw with utter amazement the three dragons circling upwards to leave the area. To think they could be real... Whereas it was dragons that left Westeros in ruins once, they had played a key role in defeating the Sidhe. The songs would sing of the Dragon Queen, but Jon and Bran knew the true victor to be Queen Beltaine... their sister. It hurt to realize just what sort of hell she had to go through, only for her to reject what was her family, both brothers deeply disturbed over the end of the most bitter of struggles for their ancient home. Rickon and Sansa were still out there, lost, uncle Benjen was dead, and both knew Arya... or Beltaine, would never return.

It hurt.

-I hoped... I really hoped she would come down with us. Sidhe or not, she is my sister.-
-You mustn't talk, Jon. I need to find a way to get you help.-
-Help... as if help would do any good.-
-Don't talk like that, Jon! - Bran snapped - Your wounds are not that deep.-
-Wounds? Wounds are not only left for the flesh, brother. My life has been a long one...-
-But the Sidhe are gone. There's still a future ahead of us.-
-There is a future for all of you, Bran. For Sansa, for Rickon, for you. I... I lost so much.-
-And you still have much to recover.-
-Not Arya. She's lost, and I could see her in her eyes despite the hesitation. She's not coming back... Val's not coming back either, nor are the rest. All gone.-
-Jon... - Bran was beginning to sob - Don't. Please, don't! -
-We all have a time to go, Bran... and you must play your part, as I have played mine.-
-No... No. You still have much to fight for! You have a watch that is not over! -
-My watch... my watch has ended, Bran. My watch is... is over.-

Jon closed his eyes, and died. Not of his wounds, as Bran could sense with all the bitterness in the world. No, Jon Stark died of a broken heart.

...

It took a while for Bran to even tolerate the sound of Meera and Leaf's voices, asking him to return. He was far, far gone in the middle of his memories, looking again and again at the moments he had learned to master. The fights and games of Winterfell, the finding of the direwolves, the last days of enjoyment before his family was forced to march South... and then the pain. The pain of his fall, the pain of his brief rule as Prince, the pain of Theon's betrayal, the pain and ruin of House Stark in the South, the pain of his long march North, the pain of becoming one with the tree... The pain of his father and mother, the pain of Arya and Jon, of Ser Rodrick and Master Luwin, of Robb, of all the souls lost in the immensity of horror their beloved North had become.

The pain of emptiness, which was all he could feel.

He spoke no word until the Sidhe hordes passed near the cave, bringing their wights with them and ending the siege they had barely survived for months and even years. It was the knowledge of her sister passing near him for the last time on his life that finally forced him to snap. That, and Meera tearfully asking him to end it for once. Much as they all had lost someone, she said, it was left for them to look ahead. Each of them still had family to return to.

But even as some of the bitterness melted away, Bran had larger fears to tend to.

-I can't move, Meera. Bloodraven made me one with the tree. This... I think, is my place to stay.-
-You know that isn't true, Bran! You never asked for that power! You don't belong here! -
-What can I do... I cannot move my body.-
-You can.- Leaf said, a hint of immense sadness on her eyes -
-What...? What are you talking about? -

And Leaf confessed. Eternal as the predicament of Bloodraven had been, it was just a choice. It was Bloodraven himself who had taken his new existence as a punishment for everything he had done when he was still one of the Targaryen Princes, punishment prolonged in the future once he had realized he could not return to his old life. But even a man as tough as the one who had struck the fear of the Gods on the Westerosi Lords had found his breaking point, for Bloodraven had not felt capable of taking it anymore. Unwilling to fight anymore, weary of life, he had found the perfect replacement on Bran, who would stay on his place out of a true sense of duty, not to fulfill the ideas of pain and punishment held by a soul too old to care anymore.

-You were meant to take his place, Bran. You truly were. But not forever.-

For the first time in a long time, a brief glimmer of hope passed before the boy's eyes.

...

The days, weeks and months went ahead, Bran going through the slow, and painful process of reducing his connection with the tree so he could restore his body again. The test was long and harsh, but this time he was unwilling to give in, not after all he had went through. If there was a chance... slim as it was... And sure enough, his arms came to move first. His chest and head soon became separated too, and then his legs became unattached. Not even the weirwood could restore his legs to move again, but he was free at last. Leaf, her own sadness aside, assured him Bloodraven's throne was safe empty for now that the Sidhe had returned home, but that she hoped Bran would do his best to restore the balance of the ravaged North. It was him, she assured Bran, the only one who could really do it.

It was a tearful goodbye, that of Bran and his companions and Leaf, having lived in the cave for such a long time. But they all agreed it was necessary. Bran rode Hodor once again as Meera grabbed her bow and arrows, and taking a good last look at Bloodraven's cave they began to walk North.

-I missed being able to watch the skies. - Meera said, taking a good look at the vast immensity of the snow -
-Hodor? -
-That too, Hodor. - She laughed -
-It is going to be strange to go through the Wall... or what used to be the Wall.-
-Much will be different, Bran. - She said - But we will still find things we can recognize... and bond with.-
-True. I can't wait to see Sansa and Rickon... if they are still alive.-
-They are. Don't ask me why, but I know they are.-
-You're not turning into a greenseer now, are you? -
-Gods, no! That was Jojen's task. A brave task, but not the right kind for me.-

They stopped talking for a moment, admiring the bright rays of the sun that illuminated the wide landscape of the North.

-Where now, Bran? -
-Winterfell, I think. - He said, only to shake his head - No. We're going home.-

She returned his smile as they began to move again, knowing the road ahead to still be a hard one to walk.

It was the middle of winter, and the thirteen year of Bran's life.

[Lumine]

I'm sorry it took this long, but I hereby close the Battle of Winterfell. I'll in the middle of writing the Epilogue as well.

[Lumine]

Bumped in light of last night’s GoT (which makes the way this storyline ended hilarious in hindsight)

I did little else but complain all the way while I hosted, but this was a damn good game and a damn good storyline. If I had time and energy to host anything again I would be even tempted to revisit this and start it again (or another ASOIAF scenario).