Harrentown, the Riverlands (284)

It was early morning on a warm summer day, the sun was barely cresting over the horizon. Men and women were rising up and getting ready for the day, scurrying around the streets of Harrentown. Several men were stepping out of the Drunk Duck tavern, heading off to work after an early morning drink. An old man in a worn leather jerkin stepped out as well, followed by a younger man. The old man looked up at the towering castle of Harrenhal as its shadow loomed over them, reaching out to the northern edge of the God's Eye. He muttered to himself before heading to the docks.

"Come on, son," the old man grunted as the young man struggled to keep up with him. "Before we run out of fish to catch."

"Don't work the boy too hard, Lenny," one of the other patrons called out as they went off. "And take care of your old man, Carp. He's not as young as he used to be."

"Nor as smart!" another retorted. The old man, Lenny, grumbled to himself as the drunkards let out loud bouts of laughter.

The father and son made their way down to the lakeshore, passing through the center of town where several stalls were being set up for the day. Farmers and merchants, selling wheat, wine, silks, and other products. As they neared the small dockyard of the town, the old man spied a large group of people camping out at the edge of town. Most wore ragged and worn clothing, with little to no personal belongings, owing to their impoverished lifestyle. A few of the more well-off individuals had aurochs and other cattle carrying their supplies.

Lenny narrowed his eyes as a few of the individuals surrounded a young child in a green cloak. The boy seemed to be telling them something, as he gestured with his hands. They were too far away to overhear, but they all seemed shocked and delighted with whatever the boy was saying. The boy took something from his cloak and gave it to one of the travelers, who gave the child a hug.

"What do you think is going on over there?" the old man's son, Carp, asked.

"Don't mind them, boy," The old man replied, making his way to the boathouse that housed his skiff and fishing supplies. "Just a bunch more fools, thinking there's a better life up in the frozen shithole up north."

"I heard the new lord of Winterfell has been making a lot of changes in the north," Carp continued as they carried some fishing nets and other equipment on to the skiff and started unmooring it. "Kevan from the Shadow of the Castle said that-"

Lenny smacked his son on the head, and gave him a stern glare. "What'd I tell you about going to that seedy, shit stain of a brothel. That place is full of liars and thieves. And what would a drunkard like Kevan know about anything, other than how to drown in his drink? The north is a land filled with uncultured savages who worship trees and like to lie with wild wolves, and the Starks are the worst of them."

Someone cleared their throat behind them. The two men turned around and saw the young boy in a green cloak from earlier, standing by the open doorway. His face was partially covered by the dark, hooded cloak, but his violet-grey eyes and kind smile were still visible. Under the cloak the boy wore lambskin breeches, and a bronze-scaled jerkin. A small satchel was hanging by his shoulder, and a very short sword on his belt. The old fisherman narrowed his eyes at the attire, it was the common look of the crannogmen.

"Pardon the intrusion," the cloaked boy said. "One of the dockworkers pointed this boathouse to me, saying you hadn't left for the water yet. I was wondering if I could borrow your skiff to get to the Isle of Faces. I'm willing to pay for it."

"I don't have time for a snot-nosed, frog eater like you," Lenny spat. "And I doubt you have any coin to afford my boat. If you want to get to the island, you can swim there. I heard you mud men could breathe underwater anyway. Now get out of my boathouse, you're getting in the way of my livelihood."

The old man turned away as he untied the last rope from the post, but turned back when the cloaked boy dropped a small pouch next to him. The old man picked it up and threw it at his son, who fumbled but caught it. "I don't want your fucking copper," Lenny growled in annoyance.

"F-Father," Carp stuttered out.

"What is it, boy?" Lenny asked, his patience wearing thin as he turned to his son. The old man's eyes widened. Carp had opened the pouch and pulled out several gold coins. They stared at each other in disbelief, before slowly turning their attention back to the cloaked boy.

The boy still wore that childlike grin on his face. "There are twenty gold wolves in there, recently minted by House Goldstark of the northern mountains, and approved for use around the seven kingdoms by King Robert two months past. They're worth half a gold dragon, but should be enough to get you by for a year at most, I reckon."

The boy pulled out another pouch from his bag, this one seemed larger than the first. "I'll give you thirty more if you sell me your skiff right now, no questions asked."

A few minutes later, Lenny stood next to his son, with two pouches of gold in their hands. They watched as the boy in the green cloak started rowing out of the boathouse. "You've done a great service to House Stark today," the boy called out as he went farther out to the lake. "You have my thanks."

As the boy left their line of sight. The father and son duo turned to each other, still in a daze from the strange events. "What did he say?" Carp asked.

"I don't know," Lenny said. "And I don't really care. We're fucking rich now, let's get back to the tavern and get as drunk as a Dornish whore."

"I'm starting to think you don't actually know anything outside the riverlands," Carp mumbled to himself, as he followed his father out of the boathouse and back to the Drunk Duck.

Arthos let out a disgruntled sigh as he rowed away from the unnecessarily prejudiced old fisherman. As he got to a point on the lake where he knew no one would spot him and stopped rowing. He let his mind go into auto-pilot as he used his powers to steer the boat across the blue and green waters of the God's Eye.

The young Stark looked out across the lake, at the large island at its center, covered in a thick canopy of green, with several of the blood-red leaves of the weirwood trees interspersed around it. He took in a deep breath as he prepared himself for his little quest. He'd been hoping to visit the isle for a long time, but he'd been too busy for the last six months.

After his talks with the mountain clans, Arthos had sent for men to start working on the mines but had hit a small hurdle. Most of their builders were already busy with the reconstruction of Moat Cailin, so they hadn't any men to spare for the amount of work required. Ned had proposed asking the king to send them some workers from King's Landing, so they sent Robert a raven.

Robert, however, hadn't been able to send any men. They also needed builders since the capital had sustained major damage when the Lannister army sacked it during the rebellion. So Arthos suggested that the king send them some of their homeless residents. Arthos would offer them food, shelter, and a chance at a new life up north. It would help the capital's poverty problem, while also giving the north a much-needed boost to their workforce.

Arthos sighed, placing his head in his hands as he floated through the God's Eye. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, but he hadn't expected all the problems that would come with it. Hundreds and thousands of the smallfolk traveled up the Neck to live in the cold north. At first, the immigrants were a big help, doubling construction time. They got the mines up and running in little over a month. Benjen had taken residence in the mountains to oversee the mining and minting of the ore. He'd taken a new name, Goldstark, after Arthos jokingly called him it one time, because Benjen had named his new holdfast Goldridge.

Problems came quickly, though. Arthos had had to place a double order on imported foodstuff from the Reach and the riverlands so he could feed the new settlers, leaving a huge dent in Winterfell's coffers for some time. They made the money back when the gold and silver mines started churning out some revenue.

There was quite the friction between the northerners and the southern immigrants, mostly about religious beliefs. While most of the new settlers were open to living with those that worship the old gods, some even taking up the faith of the north themselves, there were those who refused to tolerate anything that wasn't the Faith of the Seven.

Arthos spent half his time getting the immigrants settled into northern life, and the other half dealing with the Faith of the Seven. He'd let them build a small sept in winter town, but when the fanatics started calling out for the felling of weirwood trees Arthos had had enough. He'd had them thrown back south of the Neck, and had the sept moved to Moat Cailin for his Aunt Catelyn.

He'd received some backlash from the Faith, even getting a letter of complaint from the High Septon, and a warning from the crown to treat the Seven with more respect. To which Arthos replied, "Why should I respect those who'd spit in my face when I offered them bread and salt?"

Things settled down after some time, but Arthos had been left exhausted from all that happened. Maester Luwin had suggested he take some time for himself, away from his duties. Ned had agreed, assuring Arthos that he'd take care of everything while he took a well-deserved rest. Arthos had been hesitant, but eventually agreed, deciding to use his free time to continue his research on the children of the forest. The young lord had asked to take some time away to visit Lord Howland at Greywater Watch.

Arthos had found very little information in Winterfell's library, despite its extensive collection. He'd concluded that the best source of information would be the green men on the isle of faces, and since Lord Howland was the only one he knew that had ever gone there, Arthos had to talk to the man. It took some time, but he'd eventually convinced the lord of the Neck to cover for him as he went to visit the isle alone. So, Howland let him slip away from Greywater through the Green Fork river, disguised as just another crannogman. He'd lent Arthos a few trusted men to get him past the Twins undetected, but once Arthos disembarked near the Crossroads, he was on his own.

"The green men are reclusive, like those of us in the Neck," Howland had said to him. "They rarely show themselves to visitors, preferring to keep to the valley of the gods. You must seek them out alone, offer them a gift as a sign of your peaceful intent."

Arthos patted the small obsidian dagger his mother had given him when he left Starfall. He'd read that the children of the forest fought with obsidian weapons. He hoped it would be a good enough gift, though he did question whether it was a good idea to give a blade as a peace offering. Hopefully, the green men wouldn't take it as a threat.

Arthos hoped he had enough time on his hands. The harvest feast was in three months, and he couldn't afford to miss it. He'd missed last year's harvest since he'd arrived at Winterfell a month afterwards, but this next one would be very important. He'd be meeting with all the northern lords, and he'll need to make a great impression if he wanted to get his plans in motion.

The young lord looked up at the night sky. It had grown dark since he'd first sailed that morning, yet he was still far from his destination. The stars shined brightly, dotting the sky like glowing jellyfish under the cold, dark sea. He'd not seen so many stars since his quest with the Hunters of Artemis, though that still could not compare to the sight before him. He smiled ruefully as he stared at his favorite constellation. The Huntress.

Through sheer coincidence, this new world had the same pattern of stars as that of Zoë Nightshade's constellation. Most of Westeros referred to it as the Archer, or the Piercer by the wildlings, but Arthos fondly called it the Huntress, often looking towards it as a reminder of where he had come from.

"It seems I've got myself in a big mess again, Zoë," he whispered to the stars. "Hope you're having a good laugh at my expense."

Arthos looked back at the island, still so many miles away. He sighed and took out some stale bread and salted jerky he'd saved during his trip, and ate his supper before lying down to sleep. He wasn't worried about tipping over, he would always be safe in water. He counted the stars until he grew tired and dozed off into his dreams.

Arthos stood on a high ridge, overlooking a great mountain range that stretched as far as the eye could see. The breeze howled in the high altitude, like the untamed wind spirits from his old life. Snow fell endlessly, blanketing the land in cold, white frost. The air was colder than what Arthos was used to, the winds eliciting a shiver as he felt them on his skin.The mountains opened up into a small valley, where a village was situated at the base of a small hill. A large hearth fire burned at the center of the village, where several of the settlers were gathered and trying to keep warm.

"Watch," someone spoke beside him.

Arthos turned to look and found a cloaked figure standing next to him. They were unusually tall and slender, covered by a ragged and torn cloak as white as the ever-falling snow. Their face was shrouded under the shadow of their hood, and Arthos could see no features through the darkness.

"Who are you?" Arthos asked. His voice sounded hollow, like he was talking through a long, empty hallway. "Where am I?"

The figure did not respond, simply raising a spindly arm, pointing their one bony finger at the small settlement. Arthos looked back and saw a large rolling cloud of ice and snow coming in from further north. The skies above the snowstorm had darkened, blocking out even the pale light of the moon. The blizzard seemed to move with purpose, a strange source of sentience, as it funneled deliberately towards the village.

Arthos watched in silent horror as the storm tore through the valley, swallowing the village, snuffing out the light of the hearth. The screams of the dying echoed up the mountains, as if the blizzard was rending through their flesh and bones. They seemed to scream for hours, until all was silent again, except for the whispers of the freezing wind. The raging cloud of death seemed to calm down, as it began to slowly roll out of the valley.

"He hungers," The figure whispered, in their soft, distant voice. Arthos realized they sounded female, and suddenly saw long, flowing locks of shockingly, white hair, tumble down her still shrouded face. "Always, he hungers."

"What was that?"

"Prepare," the woman said, ignoring his question entirely. "He comes for you."

Arthos felt a chill in his soul as he turned back to the retreating storm. His eyes grew wide as he saw a horrible face form in the clouds, pale as milk, with burning blue eyes, and a cluster of horns in the shape of a bony crown. The storm began to make its way closer to him. Arthos fell down to his knees, as a cold, heavy presence bore down on him. The face in the storm smiled wickedly, as it came closer and closer. Arthos felt drained, dropping to the ground, his hands keeping him up. His eyes widened in fear as he felt his arms go stiff and cold, his skin growing pale blue.

"He senses your light," the woman whispered, her voice sounding strained, as if she had grown weaker. "You must go. Night gathers, and others join the board. The white worm and the singers, the grey sheep and the lightkeepers, the shadow of sorrows and the red witch. Beware them all."

Arthos let out a strangled gasp, pain creeping up his chest. The woman kneeled down in front of him, raising his head to look at her. He could see her eyes. They were as bright-blue as stars, the same as the horrible face in the storm. Her brow was creased in effort, as if she was struggling to remain.

"Be vigilant, my star-eyed wolf," the woman whispered as her image began to fade. "My siblings stir from their slumber. They sense your presence, and know you don't belong here."

As darkness overtook his vision, and he felt himself slipping away, he heard the woman whisper out one last thing.

"May my mother guide you, Perseus."

Arthos woke up with a gasp, eyes wide and breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his brow. He was lying down on the skiff, staring up into the sky. It was a cloudy morning, the sun had just risen. Arthos saw a flock of birds soaring through the air. He sat up slowly, his back a little stiff from lying down all night in a bad angle. He calmed himself down, letting out a relieved sigh as he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. His eyes narrowed as he pulled his hand back and found some slowly melting snow. Before he could react to it, he was lurched forward slightly, as the boat shuddered to a stop.

Arthos looked up and saw that he had reached the shore of the Isle of Faces.

The young lord disembarked from his skiff, taking a few steps in the soft, sandy beach, dotted every so often by little outcroppings. It was a hundred feet across from the shoreline to the tree line. From what Arthos could see, the entire island, or at least the side he was on, seemed to be filled with firs and pines, with several groves of weirwood trees in between, and a cluster of mountains in what Arthos presumed was the center of the island. He dragged the boat further inland, tethering it securely to a tree and covering it up with a huge canvas, and some foliage just in case.

Arthos grabbed his little satchel with all his essentials, strapping it on securely. He looked through the forest, between the hanging branches and the overgrown thicket. He took a deep breath before wading into the underbrush. The forest was quite beautiful, and relatively quiet. Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy of green and red leaves, lighting up the thickets with breathtaking colors. Songbirds chirped their melodies happily, while the other forest critters scurried along. Arthos saw some squirrels, a field mouse, and a herd of elk passing through the forest. He even saw a black bear scratching itself against a pine tree.

The young boy spent a good few hours wandering south through the woods, trying to figure out where he was supposed to go. There weren't exactly any roads or signs to point him in the right direction, other than the few mountains tall enough to be seen over the trees. As he trekked through the undergrowth, wading through the bushes and trying not to trip over the large roots, he suddenly stopped. Something felt off to him. Arthos scanned his surroundings, watching and listening for a few minutes, before he realized what was wrong.

There was no sound anymore. The birds had stopped singing, the crawlers stopped skittering across the forest floor, only the sound of the wind passing through the leaves. Arthos narrowed his eyes in suspicion, clutching the hilt of his sword tightly. He slowly started wandering further in, his senses on high alert.

Arthos heard a barely perceptible rustling of leaves, he turned at the sound but found nothing except a pile of fallen leaves. He kept moving, hearing sounds of movement but never catching sight of whatever or whoever was following him, keeping him on edge. Suddenly, a large bush in front of him started to rustle violently. He slowly started unsheathing his sword, preparing to strike out. As the bush kept shuddering, a small creature leapt out. Arthos slid his sword out, raising it to strike down on the deadly... fluffy... big-eared fox.

The fox looked up at Arthos, seemingly unconcerned at the sight of a human with a raised weapon, as it tilted its head like an inquisitive dog. Its eyes seemed to shine with more intelligence than it should have. Arthos let out a relieved sigh, as he sheathed his blade, crouching down in front of the fox. "Were you the one following me?"

The fox watched him, wagging its tail around, slowly. Arthos brought out a piece of jerky from his pack, reaching out to offer it to the fox. The fox sniffed it before snatching it from his hand. As it bit into the meat, Arthos stood up and looked around, ears perked and not hearing any movement around him. He relaxed slightly, but still on guard from the seemingly instant disappearance of the other animals around the forest.

"You wouldn't happen to know what happened to the other animals, do you?" Arthos asked the fox.

"Oh, I sent them away," a chipper voice suddenly spoke up behind him.

Arthos whirled around, sword out once again and ready to strike. There was a loud 'eep!' as whoever spoke ducked down and rolled to the side. They rose back up, hands raised in a pacifying manner. "Hey, put that down! Are you trying to kill me?!"

Arthos stared in confusion. A little girl was standing in front of him. She had short, choppy red hair, bright green eyes, and freckled cheeks. She looked about eight or nine years old, wearing a green tunic, wrapped in brown leathers, under a cloak made of leaves. She seemed nervous, which was understandable since there was a sword pointed at her throat.

"Who are you?" Arthos asked, lowering his sword slightly, but still prepared in case he needed to defend himself. She may have looked young and nonthreatening, but she had still been skilled enough to sneak up on him. He eyed the girl suspiciously. "Were you the one following me?"

The girl's shoulders relaxed as Arthos stopped trying a sword through her face. She straightened up, pulling at the hem of her green tunic and clearing her throat. "My name is Kiki, and I was. Not for any nefarious reasons, I can assure you." She quickly put her hands up again, letting out a nervous chuckle.

"Then why were you following me?"

"Well, uh," she grinned nervously. "My mother sent me. She said you were looking a bit lost, so she told me to take you to her."

Arthos started to ask who her mother was, when his eyes widened in realization. "You're part of the order of the green men."

Kiki nodded and grinned more confidently. "Yes! We've been expecting you for some time now."

"You have?"

Kiki hummed in assent. "Mother knew you were coming days ago. She saw you in her dreams."

"We didn't think you'd get lost in the forest. Most of your people have always been very good at traversing the woods. Though I suppose it's quite different from your swamp." She stepped past Arthos, stopping to pet the little fox before moving on. "That's why I'm here. Come on, I'll show you the way."

The girl walked through the forest with no trouble, leaving Arthos behind to stare at her in shock. They knew he was coming. They had been watching him the moment he stepped onto their shores, and sent one of their own to guide him. Which was pretty embarrassing, especially since they thought he was one of the crannoogmen of the Neck.

He felt something tugging on his cloak, and turned to see the fox at his heels, pulling at the edges of his cloak. It let go and darted back through the bush that Kiki passed through, before reappearing with an insistent look and letting out a yip.

Arthos hesitated for a second, looking around him cautiously before following the fox. Arthos was growing tired from walking all day, and the constant vigilance had taken its toll on him. The fox showed him a small hidden foot path, that lead up to a small clearing at the base of a mountain, with a small tunnel that lead deeper inside. The fox turned back with a yip, before diving in to the dark cavern.

The tunnel cut through solid rock, about the width and height of one of Winterfell's hallways, rising at a small incline. As he moved deeper into the hillside, the rough stone floor became smoother, and reed torches started lining the walls and lighting the way. The torches burned but did not smoke.

A few hundred yards away, Arthos could see the tiny silhouette of the fox, next to the waiting form of Kiki, in front of a square of daylight. She was waving and calling out for him to hurry up. As he got closer to the end, the glow grew brighter until he finally burst into sunlight.

Arthos gaped in awe. Spread out at his feet was a set of stairs, leading down into a bowl-shaped valley several miles wide. The basin floor was rumpled with smaller hills, golden plains, and stretches of forest. A small clear river cut a winding course from a lake in the center and around the perimeter. Nestled by the lake was a small village made of wood and stone huts, partially hidden in the trees that ran along its western shore.

On the northern part of the lake, was the tallest weirwood tree Arthos had ever seen, almost half as tall as the shortest mountain on the island. It was surrounded by a dense grove of other weirwoods, none of which could match its incredible height. It blanketed its surroundings under the shade of its constantly falling leaves.

"Welcome to Tyrrak Shyr," Kiki said proudly.

"The Land of Eternal Spring." Arthos whispered in awe, recognizing the words in the Old Tongue.

Kiki gave him an impressed nod, before picking up the fox and placing it around her neck like a scarf. "Come on, I'll show you around."

The girl made her way nimbly down from the tunnel entrance, like an excited mountain goat. Arthos let out an exhausted, but still happy, sigh. He smiled tiredly in triumph. He'd found the green men. He took a minute to catch his breath, before descending into the valley, following Kiki and ready to meet the keepers of the woods.

A/N:

Arthos goes to the Isle of Faces to learn the children's magic from the green men. Sorry if I took my sweet-ass time with this chapter. I went through so many revisions (for some reason keeps erasing the lines I put to seperate stuff), and also had to take a break to prepare for the holidays. I wanted to write more, but it felt like I already wrote too much for one chapter so I'll leave it for next time.

I hope you all like it.

Merry Christmas!