Game of Thrones

Blood Betrayal

The Red Queen: Chapter XI

"Thank you for all your many lessons, Lord Baelish. I will never forget them."

A heavy door groans open as footsteps echo in the dark. The dungeons of Winterfell were full today, the men behind their bars, flayed men stitched into their tunics, strain their eyes in the darkness. A form in golden armour with a white cloak walks between the cages. There was the clanking of metal as keys were turned in locks, and cage doors swung open. Their saviour did not say anything, nor did the men, they made their hasty exit as soon as their cage doors were open, leaving the white cloaked warrior to finish opening doors. The final pen of iron bars did not contain any men. A woman sat cross legged on the floor muttering in a strange foreign tongue. The door to her pen swung open, a pair of eyes opened and looked upon the warrior as the corners of her mouth curled into a smile. "You let Maggy out, you know what happens next." The witch grinned.

The white cloak nodded and stood to one side, the witch rose to her feet and walked past the Knight, she disappeared up the staircase into the castle above, leaving the Knight in the gloom of the dungeon. At the end of the rows of pens, a final door stood, a separate cell, with a heavy iron door separating its occupant from the rest of the prisoners. The Knight put a key into the lock, it took great effort to turn this one, with a heave the ancient hinges sprung to life as the door creaked open.

The cell was pitch black, the dim light from outside began to creep into the darkness. The Knight saw a form on the floor, battered and bruised, a mass of flesh, scarred and burned,a giant of a man. He looks up at the Knight, and with all of his strength manages to pull himself to look the Knight in the eyes. "Fuck do you want?" He barked. The Knight said nothing, the two remained in silence until the Knight dropped a thick black cloak onto the floor next to him. "What's this?" He croaked. The Knight made no reply. There was a clatter of steel on the stone floor as The Knight dropped something else. The man on the floor reached out, his hand found the pommel of a Valyrian steel sword he was very familiar with. Widow's Wail.

"You're still her Sentinel Clegane." The Knight finally spoke, "She'll need you now." The Knight turned and left Clegane face down on the floor. Footsteps echoed away, as the man who had been a hound most of his life gripped the pommel of the sword. His body screamed with pain, but against all odds he managed to pull himself up from the floor. He covered his burned, twisted flesh with the cloak, and pulled the hood up over his face. Every step was agony, but he was resolved. He left his filthy cell, and walked through the rows of empty pens. Finally he made it to the staircase, one step at a time he climbed, one step at a time, each one sent pain shooting through his body, but finally he reached his summit, and stepped into the light.

…...

Snow continued to fall gently in the Godswood. Bran's eyes widened at his sister's words. His eyes scrolled over the runes etched into her skin, an ancient script the three Eyed Raven had not seen for a thousand years. He reached out half in panic and grabbed her other arm. He pulled the sleeve of her dress up to reveal more runes, ancient spells dabbed onto the flesh. "I assume you don't want me to disrobe." She said dryly.

"These spells." Bran spoke intently

"Protection." Sansa said simply "The witch said they would work. What was it you said brother, you see every possible future, some are more obscured. What do those futures show you now?"

Bran closed his eyes for a moment, there was the sound of distant shouting beyond the Godswood Walls, the clash of steel rang in the air. Ser Harry Strickland's eyes shined an eerie blue as he drew his cold sword from its scabbard. "You fool." Bran breathed "You damned fool. You think because you wear a crown, you understand responsibilities. You have no comprehension of the powers at play here."

"I know you think that brother." She nodded intently "You all do, Jon and Arya as well. It's understandable. Jon is the Prince that was Promised, Arya a Faceless Man, you are The Three Eyed Raven. Robb's name lives on as well, The Young Wolf, people still believe he could become a wolf himself. Even Rickon…. The last son of Ned Stark was always wild, more wolf than boy growing up, where did Shaggy Dog end and Rickon begin? And then there's me. The other Stark. No magic in me, no prophecies. I was just to marry, and reproduce… Joffrey… Ser Loras… Tyrion… Ramsay. I was to be a powerful man's wife… nothing more."

"Sansa…" Bran snapped

"I haven't finished." She held her hand aloft, and looked him dead in the eye, as the shouts from beyond the Godswood walls grew louder, the ringing of steel more intense. "When I was a little girl, I used to dream I was Lady. I used to dream I could see through her eyes, hunt as she did. Just a silly dream I thought. But I felt it when she died. I felt the pain, and the fear. I ignored that feeling for a long time. Carried on reading the songs and the fairy tales. Now I am Queen. I read other things. I read our histories. Are we wargs because we are Starks?" The Kings of Winter married the Warg King's daughters… What happened to those that held the neck before Howland Reed? The old Kings of Winter and The Reeds accepted The Pact, and took the Old Gods of the forest, the Marsh Kings did not. Keeping the First Men's original Gods cost him his life and crown. His daughters were spared though… married to the Kings of Winter. But blood spreads brother, and as long ago as that was... The North Remembers."

"The Witch." Bran breathed in realisation

"Maggy the Frog." Sansa half smiled "Where else would she come from?"

"Damn you." Bran's eyes glossed over a milky white, and then shone blue as he reached out to his Raven Company.

"It's too late for that brother." Sansa said gently as she reached out and touched his hand "Look to your futures. When all this began, I must confess I was overwhelmed. How could I fight you? You, who sees everything that has been and will be. How could I fight against such an advantage? But then I remembered a piece of advice I was given once….. Don't fight in the North or the South…."

…..

Dont fight in the North, or the South. Fight every battle, everywhere, always, in your mind.

Beyond the walls of Winterfell, a sprawling tent city stands in the snow. Knights of the Vale, Riverlords and Crannogmen all camped beyond the castle. They had taken The North, and now await the long march to The Wall, to fight for the living once more. Thousands of men huddled around fires, wrapped in cloaks and furs, the winter was as fearsome as the dead that awaited them beyond The Wall. Sprawling to the West of the castle, the Riverlords have made camp, the edge of the Wolfswood providing some natural shelter from the snow. At the centre of these tents, a pavilion of red and blue, the colours of House Tully stands, inside it, Lord Edmure Tully warms his hands on a brazier before going back to his parchments. A sound grabs his attention, a low rumble, followed by shouting. "No…" He whispered to himself. "To Arms!"

They came from The Wolfswood. A small force of riders flying the Ironwood banner of House Forrester rode straight into the riverman's camp. Lord Asher Forrester, swung his house's ancestral greatsword and everything in his path, as his screamers and mounted men followed in his wake. By the time Edmure Tully had left his tent, sword in hand they were halfway towards his pavilion. A bold strike, but a small force. The Rivermen were quick to respond, and men armed with spears, swords and bows quickly enveloped the small mounted force. Edmure Tully ran towards Asher Forrester, when a second roar stopped him in his tracks. From the Wolfwood a second wave emerged from the trees. A mass of men charging on foot this time. The ragged animal skin banners of Greylynx, Flint, Wull and Norrey emerged, flying over a mass of men. Dressed in skins, with flint tipped spears, rusting swords and cudgels, the men of the Hill Tribes and Mountain Clans of the North swarmed over the camp, taking the Rivermen from behind, as the mounted Forresters continued their path.

Kirk, Chieftain of the Greylynx tribe swung his castle forged steel axe at men and horses, carving a path through the rivermen.

Edmure Tully rallied his Lords to him and entered the fray, he cut down a Norrey Spearman, and drove his sword through the gut of a charging Wull, a Forrester swordsman galloped towards him, he sidestepped the horse slashing at the beast as he did. Finding himself amongst the mounted Forresters, he saw Asher Forrester swinging his greatsword. He ran to his horse, pulling the younger Lords cloak and unhorsing him from his mount. Forrester landed with a thud but quickly regained his footing and held his greatsword aloft.

Edmure Tully hesitated for a moment before rushing towards the younger Lord, he swung his sword at Asher, but the young Lord was able to parry his shots. They danced for a time, with neither getting the advantage, he swung high, the young Lord, ducked underneath the blade and brought his own blade surging forward. Edmure let out a grunt, his eyes opened wide. He brought a hand to his chest, Asher Forrester drew back the Greatsword, leaving a gory hole in his chest. A single trickle of blood flowed from his mouth, as the Lord of Riverrun sank to his knees. Asher Forrester brought his sword back one more time, bringing it down across the neck. "On to Winterfell!" He screamed, as Edmure Tully fell to the floor.

…

Everyone is your enemy. Everyone is your friend.

To the East of Winterfell, in a white and sky blue Pavilion, the Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East is roused to action. Horns had begun to be blown, word was already being spread that the Western camp is being attacked. The young Lord, in his shining silver armour, places his helm upon his head and walks out into the snow. A young squire brings him his horse, as the once awkward boy effortlessly leaps into the saddle. Those knights already ahorse, begin to follow their Lord, beneath Falcon and Moon banners they begin their gallop across the field. A mass of tribesmen can be seen in the distance fighting their Riverman comrades. Drawing his sword aloft he leads his men with a gallant war cry.

As the charging knights draw ever closer, a second blast of horns can be heard. From the direction of the Kings Road, waves of Northern cavalry appear on the gentle sloping hills that surround Winterfell. Robin Aryn brings his horse around as his eyes widen, flying in the wind, banners of House Manderly, Hornwood, Mezin, Cerwyn and the Dreadfort. The cavalry draws closer as a mass of tribesmen on foot break away from the fray with the Rivermen. Robin Aryn nods in realisation as he brings his horse around and charges towards the centre of the Northern cavalry. The two lines of horses clash in a chaotic mess. Robin Aryn sees the aging, fattening Lord of White Harbour and drives his horse into Manderly's, sending the Warden of the White Knife crashing to the ground. He rose his sword high above his head ready to thrust at the fallen Lord.

Another rider came between them, and clashed swords with the young Lord. Not a Northman, a southern Knight, in a distinctive rounded helm, a flaming heart emblazoned on his chest plate. "What are you doing here?" Aryn demanded as he swung his sword.

"The Lord of Light, wishes us to fight for the living." Ser Justin Massey replied, parrying the young Lord's sword and driving his horse back.

"That's what King Bran is doing!" Robin countered swinging again.

"A false King." Massey swung his own sword this time "Look to your sins boy…"

"Look to your ow…" Lord Robin Aryn finished his sentence with a grunt as Ser Justin's sword caught his straight in the neck, his sword dropped to the ground, as the Young Warden of the East slipped from his saddle to the frozen ground below.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors.

…

Every Possible series of events is happening, all at once.

The Broken Tower. A ruined part of Winterfell. Set ablaze from a lightning strike over a century ago, this ghost of a tower looms over the rest of the castle. It was here that Brandon Stark took his first steps to becoming the Three Eyed Raven. Pushed from the tower's crown after seeing something he should not, a boy fell… a raven flew. On this sacred ground, Howland Reed, the Lord of Greywater Watch stood at the very window his liege Lord was pushed from, watching the snow fall upon the battle outside. Footsteps echo through the tower, as slowly the steps are climbed. Howland Reed pulls down his hood, revealing an old worn face, a beard peppered with grey and long straggly hair. Dressed in boiled leather, with a single bronze lizard lion pendant on his chest, he turns as someone joins him in the chamber. "Your magic is strong, witch."

She sauntered into the room, greying hair with plants and twigs woven into it, heavy makeup around her eyes, dressed in layers of black and green. "Of course it is Lord Reed." She grinned "Maggy's good with the real Gods."

"The Gods of the forrest are the real Gods." Howland sighed "Uncountable and timeless, nameless Gods watching us through the Weirwoods, the Children knew, they always knew. They created the Three Eyed Raven, to keep the world as it should be, as the Gods wanted. I studied with the Greenmen, I sent my children to help Brandon Stark become The Three Eyed Raven. This is what is meant to happen."

"Says you…" Maggy nodded "... my ancestors thought differently. They held the Marshes before and after The Children brought their hammer down upon us. They didn't betray the real Gods to worship trees. They kept the Greenhand, they kept the Storm Gods and the Drowned God, The Lady of the Waves and the Lord of the Sky. Long ago your ancestors took the Marshes from us, took the Marsh King's daughters as well. The North Remembers, Lord Reed."

"You've waited a long time for your vengeance witch." He nodded, as more footsteps began to echo through the tower, more were coming.

"Oh I have." She nodded "But my vengeance is not important, not compared with the fate of the living. The children are gone, but the dead, and the Three Eyed Raven remain, they had to be defeated. All Maggy needed was to wait for the Red Queen to rise. I thought another was destined to do it for a long time. Maggy went West to wait for her, but I tasted her blood… and saw I was wrong. Twas a Wolf, not a Lion that was promised, the Little Lioness had a different path. Maggy looked to the stars, and then she saw it… when the stars fall, The Red Queen will rise at the Dreadfort. The fact that you are here… well that's just Maggy's reward."

The footsteps climbing the tower's stairs grew louder. "My daughter?" Howland asked.

"She lives, Howland Reed." Maggy grinned slightly "Missing a few parts now… she kept your secrets for a time, but a flayed man has no secrets. Maggy used her blood to etch the spells on the Red Queen, to allow all this to happen. But her price has been paid now, she will live."

"Thank the Queen for that mercy." Howland nodded, as the door to the chamber opened again. Kirk, chieftain of the Greylynx tribe entered and stood at Maggy's side, followed by several of his men, all with the red X of their tribe daubed on their faces. Howland let out a smile as he stepped forward.

"You look happy Lord Reed?" Maggy asked with a twist of her head

"I'm off to see my son." He replied drawing his sword "And now it ends."

…

Live that way and nothing will surprise you.

There was chaos outside the walls of Winterfell, the snow ran red with blood. The Northern forces under Wyman Manderly had combined with the Mountain Clans under Asher Forrester, and routed the unexpecting host. In a warren of crudely constructed wooden pens, the Wildlings that had been taken captive watch on. Finally the Hill Tribesman smash down the pens, freeing the Wildlings who take up the weapons of their former guards. Amidst this carnage, chained to the ground with heavy iron, an adolescent giant that had followed the King Beyond the Wall. Hill tribesmen with axes and hammers went at his chains until the youth was free. Standing at near ten feet, he flailed the heavy chains like whips knocking down several mounted knights of the vale at one time. He roared, as the Northern host rallied around him. Then, in the midst of battle there was silence. The Three Eyed Raven's army parted, and the attacking Northmen were still for a moment. From the gates of Wintrfell, a giant in his own right emerged, dressed in gold plate armour and helm, a white cloak flying in the blizzard. He wields an icy greatsword. He marches out of the gates, followed by two hundred men in silver armour, green cloaks waving in the wind. All of them had eyes shining like sapphires in the snow. The Three Eyed Raven's seventh sword, Ser Gregor Clegane and his Raven Company had entered the fray. Their shining armour and pristine cloaks were a pretty cover, but the cold dead eyes and pale skin could be seen by those that looked hard enough. In the eerie silence of the battlefield, Ser Gregor took a step forward. The young giant walked forward to meet him, the two stood chest to chest, and for the first time in any of his lives, Ser Gregor looked up at someone.

The giant swung his chain, Ser Gregor ducked, the giant swung it again, this time the Knight caught it, he pulled the giant down to a knee, and struck the chain with his sword, shattering it into a thousand pieces. The giant lunged forward with a clubbing blow that sent Ser Gregor flying from his feet. The Kingsguard did not stay down for long, with a sickening click of his neck he sat upright, quickly regaining his footing he charged at the giant. The young giant avoided the knight's icey sword once, but the knight grabbed one of his flailing limbs and pulled it from his shoulder, pulling him down to his level and delivering punch after punch to the young giant, before swinging the sword again. The ice burned as it passed through his chest, the giant fell to the snow.

"Not bad big brother." A voice coughed. Ser Gregor and the Raven Company turned in unison to see another form emerge from the gates of Winterfell. Shrouded in a black cloak that blew violently in the wind, the huge man carried a Valyrian steel sword in his hand. The wind blew down the man's hood, and Ser Gregor looked upon the burned and twisted face of his younger brother. The younger brother who hated him so much he threw them both into the flames to end their rivalry. No such luck. "But it's not a giant who comes for you. It's me. It's always been me."

Ser Gregor let out a cry of rage that no dead man should make. He ran at speed, his greatsword aloft.

Sandor Clegane, The Hound, The Sentinel raised his own sword high above his head and charged, screaming all the way.

Both brothers swung at the same time, ice met Valyrian steel with a deafening clang. With the brothers locked in combat, the field once again erupted in chaos, as the Raven legion engaged the Northmen.

Their blades were a blur, ice and steel striking with a bone breaking ferocity. The Mountain took a step back and threw down his helm, his own burned and rotting face looked upon his brother's. A hatred that had lasted in life and death burned on, the brothers charged each other again.

….

Everything that happens will be something you have seen before.

"... will be something you have seen before." Sansa watched her brother as he looked off into the distance, to the battle being fought beyond the Godswood. "Tell me, did you see this coming brother?"

Before The Broken King could answer, heavy footsteps crunched the virgin snow of the Godswood. Bran turned to look over his shoulder, and gazed upon this new arrival without emotion. His Lord Commander, Ser Brienne of Tarth stood with the Weirwood at her back, her hand resting on the hilt of Oathkeeper. Her white cloak flying in the wind. Bran's eyes flicked white for a moment as he looked into the recent past, and saw his Lord Commander freeing Sandor Clegane, the witch and the others. "Ser Harry." He spoke coldly.

The former commander of the Golden Company went forward, swinging his frozen sword, the Lord Commander parried with Oathkeeper. Ser Harry's eyes glowed blue as he delivered strike after strike. He was stronger than she was, her whole body ached with every strike she blocked but she stood firm.

Brienne of Tarth put some distance between her and Ser Harry, as he hurried forward, he swung his sword again, she ducked under it, as she came back up Strickland caught her with the butt of his sword. Brienne staggered back, colliding with the Broken King, sending his chair tumbling over flinging Bran into the snow. Ser Harry rushed forward, Brienne side stepped him, she sliced through his white cloak, her sword slicing into his armour. The undead sellsword lost his footing and went to a knee. Brienne brought Oathkeeper high above her head and brought it crashing down. Ser Harry rolled out of the way, Oathkeeper sliced through Bran's toppled chair, splintering the wood.

Brienne swung towards Ser Harry again, he blocked all of Oath Keepers thrusts and swipes. He looked back over his shoulder to see Bran pulling himself along the snow covered ground, towards the Weirwood.

Sansa rose from her seat and took several steps back.

Ser Harry lunged forward again, Brienne ducked under his blade, stepped forward and thrust her sword backwards. This time she heard the Valyrian steel pierce the gold plate armour and find the flesh beneath. Ser Harry stopped, the sound of ice cracking began to fill the air, as the Kingsguard crumbled to ice and dust, and scattered amongst the snow of the Godswood.

"Stop brother." Sansa spoke softly, as she watched Bran crawling across the floor.

The Broken King ignored her, he reached the Weirwood and placed his hand upon it. His eyes went their milky shade of white "Ser Gregor…." He called out

…

Outside the Walls of Winterfell Ser Gregor Clegane knocked his brother to the floor, he swung his sword down to the ground, but the younger Clegane rolled out of the way. Ser Gregor went to swing again, but a shooting pain went through his head. He could hear the Three Eyed Raven's commands, he could feel him trying to take over his body, to Warg into him. The giant of a man resisted. He looked down at his brother and swung the sword again, Sandor rolled out of the way and got to his feet.

…

"No." Bran spat as he removed his hand from the Weirwood. His creation had betrayed him, Ser Gregor's hatred for his brother was so strong that even his power could not keep him from his feud. Bran swallowed hard and touched the Weirwood again. His eyes glazed white. "Hear me… all of you."

…

Beyond the Godswood Walls, as a battle raged on, two hundred men in silver armour and green cloaks fight their way through the Northmen. All at once they stopped, their blue eyes glazed white. "Come to me." They all spoke in unison. They all spoke in Bran's voice. At the same moment every member of The Raven Company turned and began to sprint towards the Godswood.

…

His eyes still burning white The Three Eyed Raven allowed himself to smile. "My Raven Company will be here soon, Ser Brienne. You can not fight them all. Your betrayal was for nought." His eyes flickered from white to brown, to white again. With a pained noise he placed both hands on the Weirwood, as if drawing from it. He let out a pained noise again, as Brienne stepped forward.

"Your Grace?"

The white dissipated from his eyes as Brandon Stark looked upon Brienne of Tarth. "It's weak." Bran spoke wearilly "Warging into all of them, it tires the raven. I can't hold it for long. You have to end this."

"Bran is that you?!" Sansa asked breathlessly, as she rushed to her brother's side.

"No stay back." Bran snapped, as his eyes flickered from white to brown again "The Weirwood will make it strong. The Raven Company will be here soon… kill you both… end it… help Jon beat the dead."

"Bran we can help you." Sansa spoke desperately as she held his hand.

"No…" Bran shook his head "... I wanted to fight for the living… but the Raven wants something else… you have to end it now." There was the clatter of armour and heavy footsteps in the snow, as The Raven Company entered the Godswood, snapping twigs and frozen leaves beneath their feet.

"Brienne end it!" Bran screamed "They'll kill you both."

Brienne turned to face the fast approaching Raven's Company "Take him and go." She barked at Sansa "I'll try and hold the,."

"It wont work." Bran chastised her, as his eyes flashed white again "You have to end this. Your King commands you. Please… I don't want to fly anymore." Bran's eyes flashed white again, as the Three Eyed Raven placed both his hands on the Weirwood. The Three Eyed Raven grinned "Too La…"

His words were cut short. Brienne of Tarth thrust the point of Oathkeeper into her King's back, it's point exploding through his chest. The white faded from his eyes, as the charging Raven Company exploded into dust and ice and scattered across the Godswood.

…

As the battle raged on, the Clegane Brothers continued their blood feud. Bloodied and battered both raged on. Sandor was on his knees, his brother standing over him. With one hand Sandor brought his frozen Greatsword down towards his brother. At the very same instant Sandor thrust Widow's Wail towards Ser Gregor. The frozen point of The Mountain's sword was set to make contact with the Hound's chest, surely piercing his heart. At the same moment, the cold point of Widow's Wail was poised to pierce the Mountain's throat, driving the Valyrian steel up into his skull. Finally the brothers would end their feud. Or so they thought, before either brother could strike the killing blow, resolving this hatred, satisfying at least one of them, The Three Eyed Raven breathed his last. Both The Hound and The Mountain exploded into ice and dust and blew across the battlefield.

…

Brienne drew Oathkeeper back, the blade was covered in blood, she held it up to look at it, and struggled to find her words. Her hand shaking she threw the blade to the snow covered ground and dropped to her knees. With tears in her eyes she dropped to her knees and held her head in her hands, letting out a sickening scream she broke down.

Beneath the branches of the Weirwood tree, Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, cradled the body of her little brother. She closed her eyes tightly as she stroked his hair, and made a soothing noise, rocking him back and forth slightly. With a single tear running down her cheek, she looked over her shoulder to The face carved into the Weirwood. The blood red sap flowed like tears along the bone white bark, Sansa cocked her head slightly, the face carved into it looked like Bran, had it always been like this? She could not be sure.

Sansa gently let Bran's body rest in the snow beneath his Weirwood, she slowly stood, and wiped the tear from her face. Swallowing hard she walked to where Brienne of Tarth was kneeling in the snow. Standing over the Kingsguard, she took a deep breath and composed herself. "You will order Bran's forces to stop fighting." She spoke coldly. "It's done."