At the request of some coworkers, I wrote this up. To be clear, I do not own the TV show Game of Thrones of which this fic is based on. HBO does obviously.
Summary - after the execution of Eddard Stark, his children are rounded up and banished from Westeros by the order of King Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name. The Stark Children are left on their own, braving the harsh winds of winter as they wander out beyond the wall at the mercy of dangerous creatures, wilding savages and an ancient evil forgotten by man…
Jon felt numb when hearing the news of his father's execution. He felt all the worse when Alliser Thorne was the one who told him, smirk etched on his old, hideous face. The cretin was waiting for Jon to burst with grief, rage or some emotion in between, baiting him for an outburst that would require severe punishment. However, Lord Snow wouldn't dare give him the satisfaction. It was probably foolish of him, but Jon felt responsible for the death of his father. Perhaps if he hadn't fled North, circumstances would be different. Sam, Edd and some others gave their condolences, of which he was appreciative. Yet, nothing worked to lessen the hole Jon felt within his soul. He lived his life so far without knowing a mother's love. Now he was subject to live the rest of his days without his father too.
He heard that Robb called the Northern banners to march south to King's Landing. Jon mentally made plans to make preparations in the evening. He may have failed his father, but he would not fail his brother, bastard be damned.
Just then, there was a commotion outside in the courtyard. Jon went out to see what was going on. When he stepped out, the stinging cold of the North was nothing compared to the sharp chill that went through his spine at the sight before him. There were knights and soldiers, most of them wearing Lannister red, Frey green and others who seemed to be sellswords. At the front of the company, were five young children.
It was the Stark children. Robb the eldest, heir (now actually Lord) of Winterfell, Sansa, the eldest daughter, Arya, the youngest daughter, Bran, the middle son, and Rickon, the smallest and youngest of the Stark pups. All five children seemed beaten, tired and terrified for their lives. The look of terror upon Arya's face was enough to make Jon's heart drop.
"What is the meaning of this?" spoke the deep voice of Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's watch. Jon felt a twinge of relief. Mayhaps Lord Commander Mormont could fix this; maybe he could save them.
"By order of King Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name, Lord of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, Protector of the realm, the children of the traitor Eddard Stark of Winterfell are to be banished from the land of Westeros. They are to be cast out beyond the Wall to freeze for the rest of their days and their bodies long after that," said Janos Slynt, Lord Commander of the royal Kingsguard.
"King Joffrey?" said Mormont incredulously.
"Did you not receive word of the former king's passing?" asked Slynt in brash fashion
"Yes, but-"
"And did you not receive the news that his son was to inherit the throne and be crowned the new ruler of the Seven Kingdoms?" asked the arrogant knight in the same rude manner.
"Yes," Jeor said once more through gritted teeth.
"Then I do not understand the confusion. Now, open the gates and let us throw away these traitorous spawns out to the wild where they belong." demanded the terrible knight.
Jeor Mormont stood tall, saying nothing for some moments. Jon could hear nothing else other than his pulse beating furiously underneath his skin. His attention, as well as everyone else's diverted to the 997th Commander of the Night's Watch as he pondered over his decision.
Mormont sighed, then nodded and said, "Proceed."
Jon's eyes widened in horror, as did that of his half-siblings. All five struggled to break free in vain, as the men who brought them to Castle Black cheered in victory at the Starks' demise.
"What?" spoke Sansa, in evident distress, "But we're innocent we didn't do anything-" the redheaded girl was made to be silent with a quick punch to the face. Her body fell to the floor, and blood spilling from her nose touched the fresh snow on the ground. Robb was enraged, as were the other Starks, yet they struggled in vain, for still were they captives, beaten and tired. Jon looked to his Lord Commander, as did all.
"Jeor Mormont," spoke Robb desperately, "Surely you see this is folly, that this is unjust. Do what you want with me, but spare my younger siblings, they are of no threat to anyone-"
Janos struck him across the face, "Quiet filth, the fate of that of you and your kin has been decided. Enough of your treachery."
Robb said nothing, but a fire burned in his eyes. He feared not for himself but for what future punishment may befall his siblings as a result of his actions.
"I am sorry young lord," apologized the Mormant commander, "I wish I could help you. I wish things were different. But I cannot jeopardize the welfare of my men for your sake or that of your sisters and brothers. We are the shield that guards the realms of men." He quoted solemnly.
"Yes, they serve the realm, and in turn, they serve the king. The king's enemies are the realm's enemies, and as such, the Stark children are to be dealt with according to the king's demands."
said Janos Slynt, smug and savagely.
Jon wanted to speak, wanted to fight, but what could he achieve? There were others in the crowd, who gritted their teeth and turned away, no longer wish to look at the tragedy and injustice displayed before them. Nothing good could come of it. But, Robb and the others, they were his family. He cannot sit idly by while they were treated so inhumanely. He went to sneak by the armory and get a sword when another voice spoke.
"Wait," Alliser Thorne walked over beside Jeor Mormont, arm outstretched in a motion to halt the soldiers who were dragging the Stark children.
"Alliser," Jeor said in shock.
Could it be? Did Jon misjudge the bitter man? Would Thorne speak in defense of his family?
"There is one other. The bastard Jon Snow, he is here among the Night's Watch."
Ice truly lived in Jon Snow's veins for his blood froze at the moment his name uttered. His breath still and his mind thought a thousand thoughts. Should he run, hide or fight? Should he boldly declare his name? Challenge the soldiers to battle? Make a mad dash for his family?
"Is that so?" asked Janos Slynt, for once in a tone of surprise and suspicion and not arrogance.
"Jon Snow is a sworn brother of the Night's Watch," stated Jeor Mormont, "and thus has no ties to his family. Furthermore, he is a bastard, who never had claims to any lands or titles, to begin with. He is nothing to you or the king," the Lord Commander said fiercely.
"With all due respect Lord Commander Mormont," said a deep, sinister voice, "Jon Snow can always be legitimized by enemies of the crown, who we will be hunting & dealing with as soon as we've finished here."
"Lord Bolton," Mormont said darkly.
"Besides, he is his father's son," Roose Bolton said with finality. "And thus, he can never be trusted."
"Now, let us deal with the Stark menace once and for all," Janos Slynt said, nodding to another man among the soldiers who came forward.
"Alright, bastard," spat out none other than Black Walder. "You got until the count of five to come out and reveal yerself. If you don't coward, as ye are, we'll fuck the shit out of your sisters and kill the shit out of your brothers here and now." Sansa and Arya were, in turn, bent over and daggers were brandished out to the throats of Robb, Bran, and Rickon.
"One." The Stark boys began to bleed at the throat, and the sisters' clothes were being torn.
"Two-"
"WAIT!" Jon found himself belting out. It wasn't even a choice. He couldn't hide any longer. He may be a fool, but he'd rather be that than a coward who lets his kin suffer such violence. Slowly, his own body against him, Jon dragged his feet to reveal to all in the crowd, walking past Thorne and Mormont, his friends and the rest of the Night's Watch. He stopped mere feet away from his family, all of whom were forced onto their knees. Now that he was closer, Jon had a clearer display of the state his siblings were in. Robb had bruises coloring his skin, from his face, his neck and spots that were revealed from his torn clothing. Sansa's nose appeared broken, freshest upon the rest of the wounds upon her body. Arya, fierce thing she was, was bleeding from the head, a large gash upon her forehead. Bran and Rickon did not seem to be in better condition.
"Is that him?" Janos asked Alliser Thorne.
"Aye, that be him," confirmed the Thorne in Jon's existence.
"No!" yelled Robb. "He's lying! That isn't him." Sansa had a look of realization hit her face.
"Yes, we've never seen this boy before in our lives," Sansa said, trying her best to remain composed given her current position.
"He-he isn't one of us," piped up Bran, Rickon, in turn, nodded to his brother's statement.
Arya was the last to renounce him, even if it meant trying to save her half-brother's life. She did it for that small chance alone. "This man is not our brother," she said weakly as if it killed her to say it.
Jon felt stabbed in the heart by the words of his family but touched by them all the same. They were trying to save their bastard brother, even now, captives at the evil King Joffrey's command. The Stark children could not protect themselves, but they could save their brother Jon Snow. It made him cry, right there before all the men and gods to witness.
"So some are saying that he is and some are saying that he isn't," said (insert Frey name again). "The fuck am I supposed to do?"
"To be honest, I've never laid eyes on the bastard myself," said Roose Bolton, forming a thin line of his already thin lips.
"Alright, how's this," said Ryger Rivers, "you," he spoke to Jon, "are you or are you not Jon Snow?" The knives were held at the throats of his brothers, and now his sisters as well.
Swallowing, Jon Snow uttered the words that sealed his fate, looking into the blue eyes of Robb as he did so. "Yes, I am Jon Snow," he said quietly.
"Speak up boy!"
"I'm him; I'm Jon Snow!" exclaimed Jon. He wanted to demand the release of his siblings from the evil men and their weapons, but he wasn't anyone to request anything. Just a lowly bastard, who wasn't even fit to defend his kin.
"Get over here boy!" spoke Janos Slynt, yanking Jon over to his family. All five Stark children were saddened, and Jon was equally sad for them.
"Thank you," spoke Janos to Thorne. "The crown will not forget this."
"Nor will I," said Jeor Mormont, looking pointedly as his fellow Night's Watchmen.
Jon could spot the friends he made during his time at the Wall. Sam hid his face, crying like a child. Edd was fuming, undoubtedly cursing everyone and everything inwardly. Grenn and Pyp would not dare to look at him, staring firmly at the snow-covered ground before them.
"Enough delay has befallen us. Lord Commander Mormont, we have a long journey back, and we'd like to return as soon as possible, so if you please," said Lord Bolton, apparently bored of the commotion.
"Come now, Lord Commander," said Janos Slynt. "Don't defy your King."
"Don't defy the realms of men," said Bolton mockingly.
"Let's get on with it!" yelled Rivers.
Jeor Mormont inhaled deeply, looking upon Jon Snow with eyes full of grief. The Lord Commander already lost one son, now he loses another so soon. "OPEN THE GATE!" He yelled at the gatekeepers further back. They fumbled to open the Great Gates of the Wall.
"One more moment," said Alliser Thorne. He walked forward to Jon Snow and promptly grabbed Jon's right arm and applied significant pressure on his good arm. There was a snap, and Jon yelped.
"Jon!" exclaimed his siblings in outrage and concern.
"Just in case he wanted to try something foolish."
"Alliser you-" sputtered Mormont.
"Let's go, lads, it is high time we dispose of this garbage," Janos said, leading the men to the gates and the Starks to their doom.
"You won't get away with this," Bran said.
"Oh I imagine we already have," spoke Roose Bolton in his smooth voice. "The second your father's head was removed from his miserable shoulders."
"Any of your traitors think of running back here, you'll be shot down and killed," said Ryger Rivers. "Or hung."
"Or worse," added his brother, Black Walder, smiling devilishly at the Stark girls.
"You lack all honor," scolded Sansa forcefully.
"Yes," admitted Lord Bolton. "And that's why we're still here, alive and thriving. And that is why you are all going to die. You Starks and your foolish honor. It is a wonder how your House has managed to live this long. But no longer. Now, winter has come for House Stark. It's why he did it, you know. King Joffrey thought it would be an entertaining story to tell." He said with a smirk upon his wretched lips.
"Yes our king is a clever one," said Janos, if only to be known to further adulate the current monarch of the Seven Kingdoms.
A sharp gust of wind blew in from beyond the gates, slapping the Starks with the cold temperatures of the wild North.
"Strip them of their cloaks," commanded Lord Bolton. At once were the last protective layers of warm forcibly removed from the bodies of the Stark children. Then all six were pushed, barbarically forced out into the land Beyond the Wall.
"Any last words, remaining members of House Stark?" asked Roose Bolton amusedly.
"We'll kill you if it is the last thing we do!" bellowed Arya ever ferocious, in spite of the winds at her back. The gates were shut quickly, and the blow-back hit the Starks as hard as the winds ahead. The gates were shut quickly, and the blowback hit the Starks as hard as the winds ahead. Thus the Stark children were shut out of the world they thought they knew, and thrust into one they've never understood. Another harsh wind came upon them. They shivered, for now, they began to feel the cold.
"Fuck, it's cold," said Robb, shivering all over.
"Come," Jon said, "It is dangerous in the day but even worse in the night. We cannot linger." At all once came the sounds of the wild, howls from all sorts of creatures. Jon led the Starks away, to make their way in a desperate attempt to find a haven from the winds of winter.
"You shouldn't have done that," said Tyrion of House Lannister, wine goblet in hand. "You made an enemy out of the North."
"The traitor Stark was plotting against me!" spat out Joffrey, supposed King of the Seven Kingdoms. "Hell will freeze over before I gave him the chance to overthrow me!"
"And his children? Sansa was your betrothed! How do you justify that?" questioned the Imp.
"I do not need to justify anything. I AM THE KING!" yelled said King manically. "The Stark filth were not to be trusted any of them."
"What do you have to say of this?" Tyrion turned to his sister, Queen Regent Cersei of House Lannister; she was staring out the window. From her position, she could observe crows picking at the heads on pikes Joffrey had commanded be done. The head her eyes remained fixed upon was that of Eddard Stark. His eyes were already gone, whether they fell out or a crow ate it she did not know, nor did she care.
She turned to her brother and her son and simply said, "Anyone who isn't us, is an enemy." She stood up, armed with a goblet herself, walked around, placing herself between Joffrey and Tyrion. "What right have we to question our King? His word is law; his cause is just."
"Just? What dribble!" exclaimed Tyrion. "What is just about sending innocent children to their deaths?"
"So they can raise an army against us in revenge for their father's death?" argued Cersei.
"You've been talking around in circles about this for the past hour," said Jaime the golden lion, Kingsguard. "What's done is done. Ned Stark is dead, and cannot be brought back."
"Well who has Winterfell now?" asked the Imp.
"I made the Boltons lords of Winterfell," said Joffrey.
"Ha! The Northerners despise the Boltons," said Tyrion.
"And now they have to answer to them," spoke His Grace. "For when I called, they were the only ones of the North who answered."
"It was the right thing to do," agreed Cersei, reaching to touch her son. Joffrey flinched away from his mother, uneager to receive her affection.
"Of course," Joffrey said rudely. "I thought of it."
Cersei tried to remain composed though it stung to be treated in such a manner by her child. Jaime and Tyrion made no mention of the moment.
"The North will never forget this." said the Imp gravely.
"Good, let them remember what happens when they come South," spoke the commanding voice of the Great Lion, Tywin of House Lannister. All three of his children, stiffened and straightened their backs as the Lord of Casterly Rock entered the room. Even Joffrey made sure to be on his best behavior in his grandfather's presence. King he maybe, but even a King could not escape the wrath of Tywin Lannister.
"Father," Tyrion uttered, beside himself. He always hated being caught off guard, and his father still managed the job of doing so. The Great Lion neglected to acknowledge his youngest's existence.
"Grandfather," said Joffrey, "thanking for arriving so quickly."
"Of course, I go where I am sorely needed." Now he chooses to look at Tyrion for the failure he was, as a drunkard, a whoremonger and worst of all a dwarf. He also looked upon his daughter Cersei, eyes piercing enough to stab the Queen right through.
"Now what is this I hear of the Stark children being banished?" quested Tywin of his grandson.
"I-" sputtered Joffrey, "I sent them beyond the Wall -"
"That was incredibly foolish," reprimanded Lord Tywin. "All you needed to do was kill the sons and keep the girls alive. We could have married them off to secure the North." He fumed and then breathed. "But no matter. Lord Bolton has submitted papers for his son Ramsay to be legitimized, we will sign them, and once the bastard becomes Ramsay Bolton, we will marry her off to him-"
"You will do no such thing!" boomed Cersei, Queen Mother. "You will not pawn her off as you did me; I'll not have it."
Tywin turned fully to look at his daughter. He walked up to her and struck her hard enough. She fell to the floor. Joffrey, Jaime, and Tyrion flinched, yet not one intervened. "You are my daughter," growled the Great Lion of the West, "and you will do as I command, as will Myrcella because it is in the best interest of our House."
Lord Tywin then turned to his grandson and said, "You will bestow me the great honor of being Your Hand, you will do so in a ceremony so many can bear witness."
Joffrey didn't know what else to do other than agree. He nodded, "Yes," he said.
Tywin looked upon his first-born son and his Imp of a disappointment. "My children," he said bitterly and stalked out of the room.
Some days later…
They'd been walking for days, the six of them. The cold North was unforgiving, unrelenting. It did not care who the Stark children were or whether they deserved what they got. The winds kept blowing and pushing. The animals they came across most often were large and eager to eat them. With no means to defend themselves. All they could do was flee. None of them bothered to count the days, as they bled together now. What was worse than the cold, was the hunger that bore in their stomach. The emptiness of their bellies was excruciating. The first two days had been bountiful, Robb was able to catch one rabbit, no simple feat without proper tools. Sansa in the meantime fashioned a makeshift sling for Jon, whose arm was not faring any better since Alliser Thorne broke it.
Arya, Bran, and Rickon were tough little ones, but they were still children. Children freezing in the harsh environment of the North, beyond the Wall. T'was no place for a child, let alone three that were to be raised in a castle until grown. They were worse off than the eldest Starks, and it scared Robb, Jon, and Sansa more than any beast or wilding. The farther the children went, the scarcer the options were for sustenance. Time was not on their side; something had to be done. That's when Rickon noticed it.
"Food," he said weakly. The word stopped all of them in the tracks. Sure enough, out some yards in the distance was a camp that seemed abandoned with roasted meat lain aside by a campfire that was put out some time ago.
"No," Jon shook his head, "It's too easy. It's probably a trap." He warned his siblings.
"By who?" asked Bran, who licked his dry lips at the sight of fresh meat ripe for the taking.
"Wildings," said Jon. He was surprised they encountered none so far. Then again, he knew that most of them were going south.
"The wildings I've met are fleeing south," said Robb. "What frightens wildings I wonder?"
"Something evil," Jon said, referring to the night where two former Night's watchmen rose from the dead, undead and undead. Robb regarded the words his brother spoke, his brows furrowed trying to make sense.
"Arya!" Sansa hissed, as her little sister went forth get the meat. Robb went after her to stop her, motioning the others to stay back. Sansa, Bran, Rickon, and Jon held each other close, with bated breath. Arya was a quick one and got to the meat quietly snatching it from the ground. Robb cautiously surveyed the surroundings. Sure enough, it seemed no one was around. Perhaps it was luck.
An arrow whizzed past Robb, grazing his cheek.
They should have known better.
The Stark children ran, and not far behind were Thenns, chasing them down as predators do their prey. The snow and ice didn't make it easy for them, but the children ran all the same. The men were loud and intimidating, grunting and yelling, shooting their arrows and throwing their spears. Unbeknownst to the Starks, however, was that even more Thenns were waiting around, to encircle them in their grasp. They were caught, like rats in a trap.
Thenns were even more hideous than described. Faces scarred, seemingly by choice, Teeth yellow and black, stained with blood, bits of skin stuck in between the teeth and wedged in their dirty fingernails. Once more the Stark children found themselves on their knees, as the savages cheered at their victorious capture. One of them tried to lick Robb's cheek that oozed with fresh blood. The eldest Stark deemed to retaliate with a headbutt, which hurt him as much as it did the Thenn. Before the altercation continued, another person entered the area. A senior woman came forth, great staff in tow, and began to debate with the men. They all communicated in a language the Starks could not understand. Jon realized that it must have been the Old Tongue he heard about.
The old woman kept gesturing to the children, waving her hands frantically, trying to make some point. The men seemed to be very displeased, but eventually, all nodded in agreement in what was to be done. They grabbed the children, making them stand and dragging them off.
The group ended up venturing into a frozen plateau. The winds settled for a time, and there stood six huge and very long wooden poles. The Thenns brought forth rope to bind the children to the poles. Naturally, the children tried to fight, but the cold was taking its toll upon their weakened bodies.
The Starks were bound in a short time, facing towards the vast expanse of the North beyond the Wall. It seemed to be a never-ending frozen wasteland, nothing to see but snow and ice covering the lands for what seemed leagues. The old woman began to yell at it all, making all kinds of gestures with her staff. She chanted something in the Old Tongue. Jon tried making sense of it, but the words were to foreign for his understanding. What was clear though was that she was talking to someone, or rather something. The older woman began circling the captive Starks, now chanting and the Thenns joined her.
While the wildings were chanting, Arya was working on getting herself free. She hid a jagged piece of rock among her rags of clothing. Luckily enough, the men were far too dull to notice what the youngest Stark girl snuck upon her person. She began to cut away at her ropes. Just then, a strange roar came from the distance. Clouds started to roll in forward onto the area, which made the savages stop their talking. Whatever they were trying to summon had finally arrived, which they took as their cue to flee. They left the Starks for dead. That is when Arya went for it. She moved as fast as she could with the limited movement she had to work with. At last after some time she was free and fell to the snow.
A gale began to fall upon the hapless Starks of Winterfell, and the clouds that initially seemed far away now came to swallow them whole. Visibility was a challenge but the least of their worries. The cold, the cold was the worst of it. Arya screamed from it as if a thousand knives were stabbing her simultaneously.
"Arya!" screamed Sansa.
"Sansa," yelled Robb.
"Bran," bellowed Jon.
"Rickon," cried Bran.
Arya made her way through the deep snow; she was closest to Sansa, who was already wriggling her way to freedom. Then she made her way to Robb. The moment Robb was freed he carried her over to Bran, then Jon and finally Rickon. All released, the Stark children made a mad dash as fast as they could, blindly hoping beyond hope to make it out of this sudden storm.
The lot of them tumbled and fell together as they held hands and all six refused to let go of one another. It was one thing to suffer such a thing as freezing to death in a cold and stark land. It was another matter entirely to suffer it alone.
Robb was the one to spot it. "Cave!" was the word he managed to say. He dragged his siblings through and made it to the cavern, which was their saving grace. Behind them, out in the storm, an inhuman shriek was heard. It made them run faster into the empty cave. All the children collapsed into the cavern, breathless from the energy they spent.
"Damn it son of a whore!" Exclaimed Arya, once she regained her breath. Her brothers and sister turned to look at her.
"I lost the fucking meat!" she swore, abandoning all propriety. Then again, she never had much, to begin with.
"There are worse things," Robb said.
"Oh what like starving to death you mean?" said Sansa crossly. "Oh freezing to death? I'd say we're getting there already."
"Are you- are you blaming me for this?" asked Robb, taken aback.
"If you had been more clever, we could have avoided this," Sansa barked.
"Oi, you haven't done anything either," said Arya defensively.
"It's just like you to contradict everything I say -"
"Eat my arm!" said Jon loudly. It garnered the attention he wanted, preventing his sisters from having a row.
"Eat my arm," he said more calmly, removing the sling and revealing his damaged limb. "There no way the arm can heal, not anymore, so might as well put it to use in the only way possible now."
All five of his siblings simply stared at their half-brother, as if Jon had gone made. "No," spoke Arya.
"It doesn't matter," said Sansa. "There's nothing to hunt, that hasn't been already by those savages. The ground is frozen; the trees are frozen; everything is frozen! We've nowhere to go," she said despondently. She seemed to have aged a hundred years at the moment.
"Sansa's right," Bran said, looking over the cave. "This place will be our tomb," he said gravely.
It was the thought that lingered upon their minds as soon as Bran said it. The cold came through the opening of the cavern, which made the children shiver once more. It prompted them to huddle together, in an attempt to stay warm. At this point, each Stark was bony, haggardly and chilling to the other.
There they stayed for more days and nights as the lights moved and changed over the hours. No conversation was to be had, for what could have been said? Death was upon them; nothing more could be said than that.
Little Rickon however, had questions to ask, now that he thought about it.
"Is this all there is?" he asked his older siblings. "Is there nothing after we die?" All five elder siblings looked upon their youngest. Rickon had such a quick life, cut short by injustice and cruelty. His wide eyes were brimming with tears, fear, and innocence. Robb did not know what to say to his baby brother, yet he would not lie to him.
"I don't know little one," Robb said quietly. "But if possible, I'd make one for you, where we could play forever, and we would never leave our home, where we could have all the treats we want and care for our wolves and be safe for all time."
Rickon may have been a young child of merely eight, but he appreciated the words his eldest brother spoke. The little one nodded, accepting Robb's answer. He fell back in Sansa's embrace. Sansa gripped the hand of her eldest brother, and they exchanged a look of fear between their equally blue eyes. Robb's words were sweet but what if there was nothing beyond this accursed life. They would never see their parents again; they would never see anything again, not even each other.
How could the gods be so cruel?
Baby Rickon was the first to go. Bran and Arya tried to wake him but to no avail. Rickon Stark was frozen stiff as a rock; soul departed to wherever the dead go, as the rest of the Starks would soon discover. They knew it was coming, but to experience it was soul-shattering. There was no hope now; there was nothing but despair.
"It's not fair," Bran said. The boy was never one to get angry. Annoyed yes, mostly at his elder sister Arya. But never once did the boy feel rage. But at the loss of his brother Rickon, did he feel fury. It was the first in days where he actually felt something in his dying body. "It's not FAIR!" he screamed, the echo in the cave repeated his cry. "Rickon was a child, just like all of us. We didn't do anything wrong. We didn't, we were good children." Bran cried, as did his older siblings with him, except for Arya. Her grey eyes were cloudy with detachment.
"They're gonna get away with it," Arya said. "They're gonna get away with all of it. That's what gets me. They are selfish and cruel, we were good and kind, and they get to live, and we have to die. And they get away with it."
Those were her last words, for she and Bran died together, more or less at the same time, frozen as Rickon. Sansa cries for her dead sister and brother. She wonders when the tears will cease. It feels as if she has been crying all her life. There was a part of her that resented her little sister for her rebellious ways, her yearning of adventure and now she could think of nothing else but all the time she wasting bickering with her — what a waste of time, what a waste of life.
"We failed," Sansa said, her voice was strange, gravely, almost like a ghost. "We failed our house, we failed ourselves," she bowed her head as her energy dissipated. "We failed each other."
Sansa Stark breathed her last breath laboriously, racked with regret. And thus were the two brothers, Robb Stark, eldest and first born and Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell. It could have been the lack of nourishment, but the cut in Robb's cheek never did heal properly. Jon's arm, due to lack of medical aid, remained broken. Funny enough, however, the fractured appendage didn't seem to bother Jon anymore.
"I can't believe it's going to end this way," said Robb solemnly. He and Jon looked upon their now dead siblings. "She was wrong. We didn't fail House Stark, I did."
"Robb," uttered Jon.
"It's true," wept Robb weakly. "I should have been more clever, sunken to their level. Perhaps if I did, we'd all be fine. But no I had to be honorable. Where did honor get us? Dead! That's where."
"Don't do that," Jon said. "You did all you could do, all anyone decent could."
"It wasn't enough," Robb said.
"No," Jon agreed, with sorrow. A deathly silence hung over them.
"Do you remember the day we taught Rickon how to swim?" asked Robb. His voice was starting to change, as Sansa's had.
Jon did his best to nod, yet his head was so very heavy all of a sudden. "Aye," he said weakly.
"Warmest day in the North. Rickon was so fearless that day," recalled Robb.
"That was because he knew that he had his older siblings with him," spoke Jon as they stared upon Rickon's frozen corpse. "He knew that if anything went wrong, we'd be there to protect him." Tears well up in his dark eyes.
"We must have been there for hours. Sansa was there too, beautiful as she was," said Robb, eyes so very far away, into happier days long past.
"We threw her into the water," Jon said, but could not bring himself to chuckle at the memory.
"She was livid."
"Yet she stayed, and decided to be a child instead of a lady for once."
"Arya and Bran were little hellraisers that day too," smiled Robb sadly.
"We ended up going back into your quarters and fell asleep there, all six of us on your featherbed."
"Father went mad looking for us, assuming the worst no doubt."
"But then he found us, all curled up together." As they were now, most of them corpses instead of sleeping children.
"Aye together."
Jon woke with a start. His eyelids felt so heavy. His head felt heavy but also light, as he felt removed from the rest of his body, which seemed not to be responsive at all. For a moment, he forgot where he was. It was a moment of bliss until his eyes fell upon the corpses of Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Sansa was too his left, in between himself and Robb. He found it so very hard to breathe as if a boulder were upon his chest. He wheezed to breathe, as he had when he was younger afflicted with smallpox.
"Robb," he croaked out. He didn't sound like himself. "Robb," he tried again, louder but it hurt his dry throat. He wanted to reach out and touch his brother, but his damn arms would not move. Robb did not hear his cry. That was when the panic seeped in.
"Robb, Robb, Robb" he kept calling. Robb sat still.
So very still.
Nononononononononononononono
"Robb," Jon sobbed. "Robb" with the little strength he had left, he pushed with his weight to the left. Sansa, whose body, in turn, pushed Robb, who fell on his side to the cold floor of the cave.
Robb Stark was now a corpse, along with the last of the Starks. House Stark has ended, in this cave, their tomb. All that was left was the lowly bastard, Jon Snow.
All of it rushed through him, the rage, the despair, the regret. Every negative emotion he ever felt in his life burst like a waterfall as he screamed a heart wrenching, loud and terrible scream. Over and over he screamed, deep from within his gut, from within his soul. It would be the last thing he ever did, scream into the cold void of the frozen North where dead men told no tales.
But what Jon Snow did not account for was for someone to hear him screaming.
Nay, not someone. Something.
He heard it walk through into the cave and it made him stop screaming. He breathed out, his air coming out in visible wisps. What he spotted before him was seemingly a form of a man. As the stranger got closer, it was clear that this was no man. Mayhaps once in an age forgotten by man, but not, this being had skin so cold it resembled ice itself. Where hair may have once been was replaced by sharp curved spikes. Spikes which could be compared to a crown. Nails had been grown into black claws and the armor the thing wore was thin and surely did nothing to shield it from the cold. That is, if the cold even bothered him, which it did not seem too. If anything, the creature appeared to represent the very personification of cold.
This ominous being came to a stop just inches before Jon Snow's seated body. It made the thing tower of him, which made him all the more terrifying. He looked upon the corpses of Jon's dead family, fixated. Jon did his best to look at what the being's cold blue eyes were looking at. Stripped down as they were, the Stark children's clothes have one thing in common. The dire wolf sigil was stitched upon them. Jon looked at this being, as the creature looked down at him. What Jon bore witness to next was something he wished he had never seen. Something that robbed him of the ability to scream from sheer fear alone.
The creature smiled. And that smile turned into a grin, wide and fearsome. His ice blue eyes had come alive, and they wanted Jon. The being's blue hand grabbed Jon by the neck as Jon struggled to breathe, unable to look away from this monster. He felt his neck snap, and then he felt no more.
The bodies of the six children were dragged away from the cave, out into the cold, unforgiving North where the lands could not harm them any longer.
The creature that killed Jon Snow led a group of similar looking monsters, which were known as White Walkers. The Walkers carried the children, while their leader, the Night King, led them to their home. The Land of Always Winter.
Upon this ancient and uncharted land lay one structure. It was a structure built eons ago and untouched by man for equally as long. The Stark corpses would be the first in millennia to come into contact with it. In the center of this structure lay a pool of dark water, which is where the children were lain into. They were inserted into a shape that bore a resemblance to a circle. Their bodies sank into the depths, unseen. The Night King dipped only one finger into the water, and the entirety of it froze, sealing the Starks in.
The children of Eddard Stark were no more, for now, they were the children of the Night King. Children of winter, and soon winter was coming for Westeros.
Out in the city of King's Landing, storm clouds brewed over the city. No one paid any mind to it. However, it was not rain that fell from the sky. It was little specks of snow.