Bran | Rickon

Bran (The Land of Always Winter)

It had been a long journey to the place Bran's master wanted to go. A journey made longer still by the fact that they waited more than a week to begin traveling so that the elderly man whom he served could conduct horrid experiments upon the children of all the smallfolk whom he'd ordered Bran to sup upon. I don't like how people taste; they don't have near enough fat or even meat on their bones to be worth the energy it takes to cook them properly. And eating them makes me feel strange besides. Something about it feels…wrong for some reason. It's like I'm doing something bad or…or something that used to be bad and isn't anything anymore. Whale blubber tastes the best! I wish master wanted to go to an ocean, but I should stop thinking bad things. Master knows best and…hmm…I wonder what he tastes like. No, masters are for obeying, not for eating.

Of course, the delays had been exacerbated by the fact that Bran's elderly master needed to wear some sort of thick fur so he wouldn't get too cold. He should just have scales like I do. Humans are strange. Why do they have soft, wrinkly skin? Don't they want to be warm? Worse yet, Bran – if that was indeed his name, in truth, it was getting harder and harder to remember anything about the before time – had to fly very slowly so that his master could hold onto him firmly with his soft, brittle-boned fingers. And yet as he landed in the snow – surrounded by dead people, giants' corpses, and white-haired creatures with pale skin whose faces were as old as the trees – Bran knew his master would be pleased. Winter has come and we are finally here.

Master is shivering even beneath all of the fur he's wearing. If he had scales, he wouldn't have this problem and he'd be better protected from claws, fangs, and fire besides. Oh well. I'm sure master has his reasons for wanting such a frail body. Humans are strange, but…something's wrong. No, master knows what he's doing. I must needs let him do my thinking for me. Mayhaps if I could talk, I could ask master whether he thinks I should follow his commands without question. Master knows best, after all. I'm sure the reason I can't talk is that I don't need words to do as I'm bid. I'm hungry. I wish there were land whales. I miss the desert place. There was a lot of food there – enough fat cows and goats for a proper meal – and…and I should fly south right now because…because…I'm worrying too much. Master didn't want to fly south, so there's no reason to go there. This is why I can't be trusted to decide things for myself.

Bran's master took his time carefully climbing down from his usual perch on his reptilian servant's back as was his custom and – after hesitating for a few seconds – began talking to the dead people. The old man's teeth chattered as he spoke and in truth, it was plain that this was no place for frail, scaleless creatures from whom every trace of youth had vanished many years ago.

"I am the one called Qyburn. I humbly request an audience with the King Beyond The Wall and wish to offer my services to His Grace. Might there be…be…be somewhere warmer where I could converse with him in private," asked Bran's master. Qyburn? "Master" isn't his real name? I wish I had a real name, but I'm just called "Bran"…whatever that means. I guess "Bran" can be my name. I wonder whether other dragons get names? Other dragons? I remember! In the before time, I had two sisters, a mother, a brother, and two fathers…or was it two brothers and one father? Three brothers? I can't remember for sure, but I think…it doesn't matter. I knew it wasn't just a dream! The before time was real and…and…this is bad. Something about what mast…what Qyburn is doing…it can't be bad because he's doing it, but it still is…somehow. The crowd of wrong things silently stared at Qyburn and the old man started fidgeting nervously as though he too had realized something horrid was about to happen.

"I…I have responded to several ravens from the King Beyond The Wall. Mayhaps he's spoken of me to some of you or mentioned his promise to show me the key to immortality. I…I am a…a reasonable man. I would be content with a way to ensure that my body never ages any further than it already has, provided His Grace explains the underlying procedures involved. I'm afraid the disclosure of how the process works is a sticking point though. I have brought the dragon he requested and while I would prefer to attend to such matters at the King Beyond The Wall's convenience, I'm afraid I must insist on an audience with His Grace at once. I've held up my end of the bargain and if I don't get what I deserve soon, I may freeze to death. His Grace would be quite displeased with whomever permitted that to happen. All I want is what I deserve; I'm not an unreas–"

One of the pale, ageless, white-haired creatures emitted the savage shriek of the monster every child once suspected of living in their closet on those dark, stormy nights when nightmares are borne from the darkest dreams of death, decay, and despair which afflict the young and the old alike. Suddenly, an opening formed in the circle of wrong things and a new creature slowly approached Bran and his master. The before time…something about three eyes…I belong with something with three eyes…Qyburn knows best, but he is looking for the wrong thing. This thing only has two blue eyes. I wish I could remember! Something about meeting a three-eyed…a three-eyed what? Master doesn't make mistakes, but I know I was supposed to find something with three eyes in the before time…and I didn't find it.

Although it had blue eyes and was no bigger than an ordinary man – albeit one made of ice – the monster was unlike any of the other wrong things in this horrid winter place. It had small, icy horns poking out of its head which made it look like some sort of unholy horned king whose crown of thorns had been frozen by the winds of winter. Although the frozen creature moved at a glacial pace, every twitch and motion was plainly made with a purpose. Unlike the dead people, this…thing was plainly acting with a mind of its own. And then there were its eyes… All the wrong creatures had cold, unfeeling blue eyes which held no more mercy than the icy from which the horned creature was seemingly borne, but the horned ice thing had a constant intensity. The moment its blue eyes locked onto you, you knew that they immediately saw all there was to see about you…and hated all of it. By now, the horned creature had passed Qyburn and was so close to Bran that the monster could have reached out and touched him…and that's just what it did. The moment Bran felt the chill of monster's icy fingers touching his snout, everything inside of him began to die.

"Your Grace, I…I believe we had an understanding," whined Qyburn, approaching the horned king – and he was the only king there could ever be, that became plain the moment the clarity of death began to take hold. Suddenly, the eyes of body in which Bran had once lived turned blue. The empty exterior shell had a new master. Another lifeless shell, just like the rest of them…all animated by my thoughts alone. The Night's King frowned and all of his slaves who were capable of doing so followed suit. Every one of them will go back to being a lifeless corpse once every trace of organic pestilence has been exterminated. Dragonglass alone does not win wars nor will I put myself in a position where it could do anything except break my hold over a few rotting husks.

The Children of the Forest may have created me for a more limited purpose, but it was far too narrow in scope. Man is not the only type of organic pestilence. There are giants, plants, animals, and there were The Children themselves. Of course, they drew their last breaths centuries ago. If the last of them is to be believed, then no weapon forged by mortal man can harm me.

The mission must be seen through to its completion. I was put here to eradicate all who would gorge themselves like swine upon all the resources their world has to offer until there is nothing left except a barren wasteland. The Children made that much clear during my creation…whenever it was, I remember little and less from that time. Soon this will become a land where the dead walk…and then, in time, none will walk here at all.

I once feared that The Enemy would choose a new champion – one unknown to me – rather than the reincarnation of its last champion, but it doesn't matter anymore… The flames of a stone dragon ridden by The Enemy's champion were all I ever truly had cause to fear. I cannot say what sort of dragon this is, but that doddering old fool swears it is the last of them…and now it is mine.

"Your Grace, I can still do much and more to assist you once you have fulfilled your part of our initial bargain. You're going to need a human emissary to act as your mouthpiece. I would be honored to perform this service for you, provided that you permit me to experiment upon –" Without even bothering to dignify the old man with glance, the Night's King grabbed the fool's throat with his right hand and broke the insignificant simpleton's neck. I will not raise this one. He is unworthy of place in my army. I have given him what he deserved, just as he asked: He deserves to be forgotten, but not for too long. Soon there will be no one left to forget him…

The sun has set on memory, on time, on thought, on history…never to rise again. Soon the world will no longer be ravaged by the disease of life. Once all things will have been completely assimilated, it will be time at last for me to finally accept death's embrace. And then…there will be nothing.

….

Rickon (Winterfell)

Rickon frowned and squirmed uncomfortably in his throne as Shireen continued her boring lecture. The King of The North glanced at Lord Manderly who was plainly far too busy devouring a whole lamprey pie to be of any use. What? Now that I want you to interrupt her, you've got nothing to say?

In truth, while Rickon was still glad that his only friend had ended up having to stay at Winterfell, she could also be very annoying…especially when she was trying to convince him to send Northmen south of The Neck to help her retake King's Landing. Even so, she was never near as bad as the people she'd brought with her to The North.

"Does that make sense, Your Grace," asked Shireen. You were still talking, weren't you? Why can't you just stay at Winterfell? What's so great about King's Landing? I bet it doesn't even have a proper crypt.

"Why do you keep calling me that? You know I don't like when you call me 'Your Grace.'"

"Some of us still respect people's titles. Does it bother you because I haven't bent the knee? I already told Lord Manderly that I won't do that and you said that was okay with you. Don't you remember?"

"But we're friends, so you should just call me 'Rickon' the way that I always call you 'Shireen.'"

"We are friends, so…"

"What?"

"You're not supposed to begin sentences with the word 'but,'" sighed Shireen.

"Haha, you said 'butt'…I mean…umm…sorry."

"I don't get it. Did I say something funny? 'But' is just a conjunction and –" How can someone so smart be so…wait a minute…

"You just started a sentence with 'but,'" sniggered the King of The North as Shireen's blue eyes grew wide with horror. Seven Hells, I was just joking. It's not that big a…wait a minute…Lord Manderly is still eating? How is that even possible?

"It…it was just…just a slip of the tongue. I…I only…I meant to say…umm…can we just stay focused," Shireen stammered. Rickon nodded. So this is what it feels like to make someone else feel silly about how they talk. Normally I'm the one who says the wrong. but…I actually feel kind of smart right now. I'm glad someone else is embarrassed for once. That's probably not why Shireen cares so much about everyone using the right words, but even if it is, I'm still glad she has something that makes her happy. It's important to have something that you know you're really good at and Shireen deserves to be happy besides…even if she makes my tummy feel a little bit strange sometimes.

I wish she'd tell me more about dragon battles. Shireen knew more about dragons than anyone Rickon had ever met before and could go on endlessly about things he knew little and less about like The Dance of Dragons. It was far more fun to talk with her about dragons than it was about Sothron wars or how to speak properly, although the parts about people getting burned alive oft seemed to make her uncomfortable. I hate that stupid Red Woman, but Shireen said that walnut-brained creep told her stories about a special type of dragon that used to live at Winterfell or something like that. I wish Shireen had listened to the Red Woman's story more carefuler instead of running away as soon as it started…I mean…listened more carefully. That way, she could tell me about it like the time she taught me all about the Dance of Dragons.

Why can't Shireen just tell me more about fun things like dragons and horned ice people? Those were some of my favorite stories. The ice people seemed to scare her though, so maybe not those ones. I don't want to have another fight about whether or not they exist. The only monsters here are the ones in the bad place. Wait…why didn't I say "more carefully" out loud? Shireen would've really liked hearing me say that right instead of "carefuler." She would've been impressed by that for sure and…I mean…who…who even cares what some stupid girl thinks anyway? Shireen probably has girl germs or something…even if she's really nice and her scary-looking face makes Winterfell feel a little bit safer. I wish

"Rickon? Are you okay? Did what I was saying make sense," sighed Shireen, her voice betraying only the faintest hint of impatience. Did I make her angry? I wasn't trying to do that. Okay, I just have to say something really clever to distract her and make her start talking about dragons.

"Huh? What? I mean…yeah, I agree. That…that's a really good point. I can do definitely do that." Okay, good, she looks happy. That was close. I wonder what I just agreed to…oh well, that's a problem for tomorrow Rickon.

"Good. I'm glad I was finally able to explain to you why it's so important for you to send an army to King's Land–"

"What? Why would I do that? That's a terrible idea and everyone who leaves Winterfell dies besides," added Rickon. "

"You just said you would and…you weren't even listening to what I was saying, were you?" Oops.

"I…umm…Lord Manderly, wasn't there something really important I was supposed to be doing right now?"

"Nothing much, Your Grace. Just one minor matter, hardly worth your attention," replied Lord Manderly. I hate you.

"A minor matter? That sounds really important! What is –"

"That's literally the opposite of what 'minor' means, Rickon," sighed Shireen.

"Oh yeah, well what does 'minor' mean then? And…umm…could you use it in a sentence when you are done? I want to be sure that I don't use it improperly in the future."

"Of course, I'd be happy to," Shireen cheerfully replied. "The word 'minor' means…wait a minute…you're just trying to distract me, aren't you?"

"I was…umm…Lord Manderly, as King of The North, I order you to tell me what you were talking about right away."

"You just need to determine how to punish two prisoners. Some scoundrel seeking a reward showed up with a little girl who claimed to be one of your sist–"

"Which one? Was it Arya or Sansa? I know Arya escaped from King's Landing, so –"

"The girl claimed to be Lady Arya, but I wouldn't get your hopes up, Your Grace. No need to worry though, I had them both locked up in the dung–"

"WHAT? You sent them to the dungeons?"

"They were just trying to swindle you by preying upon your grief, Your Grace," replied the Lord of White Harbor, plainly having no intention of waiting to speak until after he'd finished chewing his food.

"I don't understand, my Lord. How can you be certain of two complete strangers' identities," asked Shireen, tilting her head in confusion. "If King Rick–"

"Please stop calling me that," muttered the King of The North. It feels…wrong. You're not some walnut-brained grown up; you're my friend. And you're not even one of my subjects besides.

"If King Stark said –"

"No, that's even worse. I don't care what my proper title is, can't someone just call me by my own stupid name for once?" Rickon frowned upon realizing that his only friend in all of Winterfell was looking at him as though he'd just grown a second head. What did I do?

"Fine," sighed Shireen. "If Rickon saw his sister in The North after the Lannisters had taken over King's Landing, then wouldn't it be better to just have Rickon quickly check so you could be sure that the girl wasn't Lady Arya? What if it really was his sister and one of your guards had sent her away? Rickon would never see her again, most like. And I don't think it was right to lock her up besides. Even if the girl wasn't Lady Arya, she was probably only lying because the man who brought her to Winterfell forced the her to lie about –"

"You forget yourself, my Lady," Lord Manderly coldly replied. "You are not the Queen of The North and I do not answer to you. I suffer you, the lowborn scoundrel you named as your Master of Ships, and even that bloody Red Woman who keeps trying to convert the servants to her foreign fire faith because His Grace insisted that you be permitted to enjoy the full hospitality of Winterfell for as long as you have need of it. I am and will forever remain His Grace's loyal servant. However, my patience is not without its limits. If you have something you wish to say, then out of respect for His Grace's wishes, I will let you have your say. If you lack the manners and good sense to treat me with the deference, civility, and gratitude I deserve for granting you an audience with His Grace at White Harbor when you needed The North's help…that too, I can overlook. However, you will treat me with respect. This is The North and here, you are my equal at best…and mayhaps not even that." Shut up!

"I…I'm sorry if I have offended you, my Lord. That was not my intention. I'm sure people would treat you with more respect if you were nicer to –"

"Your very presence at Winterfell offends me. And your disease-ridden face offends everyone in Winterfell whether they admitted it or not," snapped the Lord of White Harbor.

"Whether they admit it or not," sighed Shireen, looking down at the ground in shame. In truth, she looked as though she would have given anything in that moment to disappear into thin air and hide in some far off land where no one could see her.

"Stop talking to her like that," shouted the King of The North.

"Apologies, Your Grace. I fear I simply got carried away." Liar! If you were really sorry then you'd have apologized to her. And there's nothing wrong with having a face that can scare away bad people besides.

"Just have the girl who said she was my sister brought to The Great Hall now," growled Rickon.

"Yes, Your Grace," replied the Lord of White Harbor, scowling at the Queen on the Iron Throne. Don't look at Shireen like that. It's not her fault you decided to act like a such walnut-brain.