Book II – Chapter 15: Nightmares
The Fate of the Riverlords
Sansa would be lying if she said she wasn't a little bit giddy at the prospect of what was about to happen. Mainly because she knew none of it would probably have occurred without her own efforts.
Margaery would be proud of her. Her mother would be proud of her. Was proud of her, looking down from the heavens above.
Even Arya couldn't deny that Sansa might just be useful for something after all. What surprised Sansa more than anything was the realisation that she genuinely seemed to care about what her pain in the ass little sister might think.
How odd.
Hands bound with a tight leather cord behind her back, Sansa was dragged from her wagon by two Blackwood soldiers. The plain grey dress she'd been given was a bit too long for her, and the hem mucked the muddy dirt at her feet as she walked. Her shoes were just as useless, the thin slippers most highborn ladies wore. They were not suited to trekking across the country. Not in the slightest.
At least Sansa hadn't been expected to walk the entire way from Raventree Hall. That would not have done at all.
The location Tywin had chosen for this meeting between Blackwood, Mallister, Bracken and Lannister was called the Inn of the Kneeling Man, according to a conversation Sansa had overheard before they departed Raventree in secret the previous day. Or, rather, had been allowed to overhear the conversation, as the soldiers thought the irony rather hilarious. Sansa did not. For the Inn of the Kneeling Man, it was said, had been built near the place Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. The only bending of the knee Sansa wanted to see was Stannis and Renly and Mooton and everyone who dared to challenge Jon and Margaery. Preferably with their heads on a block. But that might be asking a bit too much.
Gods, maybe she was a bit like Arya? First the sneaking, now wishing people murdered?
Executed. Not murdered. Difference. Sansa was no savage.
Apparently, the Blackwoods were the last to arrive, as the inn was already swarming with men in Lannister red armour. Lord Tytos and his son dismounted from the lead carriage and stalked towards the entrance. The soldiers shoved Sansa behind them, being sure to keep a hood over her head, though it didn't stop the prying eyes of Tywin Lannister's garrison.
This meeting was supposed to ease hostilities in the Riverlands enough for the Lannister army to cross and finally confront the Knights of the Vale and the forces loyal to Stannis in the east. But Sansa wasn't dumb; she could see the hidden agenda beneath the obvious. House Tully was obliterated… Sansa's mother's house, practically gone from existence save for a crazy aunt in the Vale and a missing uncle. That meant Sansa had more Tully blood in her veins than just about anyone. Lord Blackwood clearly intended to use her as a bargaining chip, offering up Sansa in exchange for something – maybe even Riverrun itself.
Tytos shoved the door to the inn open and made his way inside, Hoster, Sansa and the soldiers pushing her along just behind. The interior of the inn had been cleared of tables. Instead, Lord Tywin himself sat at the head of the room, a dozen Lannister guards arrayed behind him.
He looked much as Sansa pictured him in her mind. Grey haired, face etched with harsh lines, eyes hard as stone. Intimidating, intelligent and powerful. The only outlier was his clean-shaven chin. Sansa had always imagined him with stubble for some reason.
Three simple chairs had been placed in front of Tywin, each one at an equal distance from the other. Two were already occupied. Barbara Bracken sat on the left, long red hair braided and falling over her shoulder. She'd forgone finery, it seemed, having dressed in a grey hauberk with a steel breastplate affixed atop it, a golden cloak clasped at her shoulders, a red stallion stitched into the cloth. Wow. Just… just wow.
Lord Jason Mallister perched stiff-backed in the middle seat. Tall and lean, with a northern complexion and well-styled short brown hair, the Lord of Seagard was as good looking as Tytos Blackwood was ugly. In fact, if someone asked her to describe him, Sansa would simply tell them to picture a marble statue. It wouldn't be too far off the mark. The man's jaw may very well have been cut from stone; it was that straight and rigid. From what little contact she'd had with the man, she thought her father would like him.
Would have liked him.
Tytos took the third seat, eyes locked on Barbara the entire time. The red-haired woman didn't return the man's glare, which only seemed to infuriate him all the more. Mallister looked very uncomfortable – precisely why Tywin had placed him between the two archenemies, Sansa guessed. Gods but he was brilliant.
And he was staring right at her.
She met the Lord of Lannister's gaze and knew in an instant he'd discerned her identity. He narrowed his eyes, then looked back to Tytos, but his expression gave nothing away.
"Lord Blackwood," Tywin said, voice emotionless and cold.
"Lord Tywin. Thank you for inviting me."
The others mumbled their thanks as well, and Tywin took that as an indication for the opening of debate.
"You all received my terms?"
Three nods.
"Are they to your satisfaction?"
"They are most generous, my lord," Barbara stated, hands resting atop her knees. "House Bracken is more than happy to accept, so long as Lord Blackwood keeps up his end of the bargain."
What terms? Sansa didn't know of any terms or agreement. Damn. She hated being left out of the loop.
Ah, Sansa? You do realise you're still a prisoner, right? It's a miracle you know as much as you do.
Yes, well, go away; I'm trying to listen.
The voice in her head – the one that sounded suspiciously like Arya – did as instructed, and Sansa tried to decipher what Barbara had just agreed to.
Tytos snorted. "My men will stay north of the fork, Lady Bracken. They are, after all, actually fighting the enemy rather than hiding like cowards."
Oh boy, here we go.
Lord Mallister shook his head, reaching up to rub his temple.
"Cowards? How dare you! Bracken forces have kept our lands free of Mooton and the red bitch's fanatics. How well have yours done? I hear you've all but been driven back to the Blue Fork!"
So, Tywin had offered something to both houses in exchange for passage east. But what?
A servant, head bowed, stepped up to Lord Tywin's side and offered him a drink. Tywin took a cup and sipped at the rim as Barbara and Tytos continued to throw barbs. The soldiers at Sansa's side released her shoulder, hands going to their swords instead. Simpletons. No doubt they understood little more than 'raised voices means bad'. Sansa rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, trying to ease the aches from the day of travel.
"Oh, shut the fuck up!" Mallister snapped, looking at each of them in turn. Then he turned to Tywin.
"You offered the Tully lands to these two idiots. What do I get?"
Tywin tilted his head, the only outward sign of… anything really… the man had given since they arrived.
"Is your freedom not worth the price of Lannister assistance, Lord Mallister?"
"I am more than capable of guaranteeing my freedom myself, Lannister. The way I see it, fighting this rebellion on my own is foolish. And if they…" he jerked two thumbs towards Barbara and Tytos, "… are getting something for letting you through their lands without a fight and joining your armies – and unless I'm mistaken, doing most for the fighting for you – I want something too. Either that or I pull my forces back beyond the Hag's Mire and defend my own territory. That I can do without your help."
"For now," Tywin stated. Mallister shrugged.
"If they can't agree, eventually you'll have to kick one in the balls and march across the Riverlands with or without them. Seagard is far to the north – oh, Stannis will get to us eventually, but I also have the Ironborn to deal with, and Balon has already attacked the walls according to my brother's last raven. So, what do I get for helping you?"
Tywin pursed his lips as if considering, which Sansa didn't buy for a moment.
"Oldstones," he said at length, and Jason sucked in a breath. "Join the Lannister host against the Queen's enemies, and I will ensure you are finally granted permission to build the canal you so desperately want."
A canal? Like in a port? Why would Mallister need something like that? Seagard already had a port on Ironman's Bay. Confused, she dug into her mind for a map of the upper Riverlands and the territory of House Mallister. Northern border at the neck, eastern edge at Frey territory, southern border at Hag's Mire, western boundary at the ocean, with Seagard halfway up the west coast.
"Seriously? After years of stonewalling from Jon Arryn, you'd finally let me do it?" Jason exclaimed. Jon Arryn had been against a canal? Why?
"The crown will provide no resources to help you, and I would expect tax-exemptions for Lannister goods, but yes, the Queen will lift the restrictions put in place by her father. You will have your canal if you can build it."
Lannister goods? What use would a canal in the northern Riverlands be for Lannister… Oh. Oh. Seven Hells… that was a game-changer.
Mallister wanted to build a canal across his territory from Seagard to Hag's Mire. Or, more accurately, through the swamp to the river that fed it on the other side, The Blue Fork, and the ruins of the long-destroyed city of Oldstones that straddled its headwaters. A canal from Seagard to the Blue Fork would finally create a trade route from the west coast to the east coast without overland travel, allowing ships from the Westerlands and the west coast of the North to cross the continent directly, without having to sail around the Sea of Dorne. A project that massive – if Mallister could pull it off – would cost thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of gold dragons, and the labour requirements… Sansa couldn't even imagine it. But if he succeeded, it would create literal boatloads of wealth for House Mallister, enough to probably pay off the construction cost within a decade or so. And the North would benefit too, finally having a viable sea route to the west coast. Of course, there was the Ironborn to deal with, and raids on goods trying to enter the canal would no doubt be extensive, but still. And why would Jon Arryn be so against it? Kings Landing.
The value of Kings Landing as a trade port would be decimated, and Gulltown – home of House Grafton, one of House Arryn's biggest competitors – would rake in huge profits.
"Deal. You have yourself a deal, Lord Tywin," Jason said, leaning back in his seat, now full of far more energy than he had been before. Tywin turned to Lord Blackwood.
"Wine, m'lady?"
Sansa jumped, turning to the side as her heart leapt into her throat, but it was just the servant with his tray of drinks. She smiled at him and showed her hands, still bound behind her back. The soldiers standing on either side of her had no qualms, though, grabbing two goblets from the tray and clinking them together before taking long swigs. The servant moved away, behind Sansa… and the sharp, cold edge of a blade pressed against her wrists. Her eyes flew wide, and she opened her mouth to scream, until the knife slit through her bonds. She froze.
The cold steel vanished, replaced by a hand squeezing her wrists together, shoving the ends of the rope into her hands. She glanced to the side without moving her head, staring into the servant's downcast face, and really looked at him.
Theon.
Theon Greyjoy.
That cocky smile was still there, though he was leaner and more rugged than the last time Sansa had seen him. But it was definitely him. He winked at her, and Sansa finally registered what he wanted her to do. She grabbed the two ends of the rope from him, holding them so it still looked as though her hands were tied.
Theon was here. Here to rescue her. Robb must have sent him.
In an instant, she forgave the brash Ironborn for every rude and arrogant thing he'd ever done to her and apologised for all her own sour remarks. Robb hadn't abandoned her.
She might just make it out of here without being sold off in exchange for a piece of land after all.
Theon slipped away with his now empty plate, and Sansa forced her eyes and ears back to the conversation so as not to give him away. But inside, her heart and her mind were racing.
"You simply expect me to hand over Riverrun?" Tywin asked, raising an eyebrow at Tytos.
"It is north of the Red Fork," Tytos stated. "That was the agreement you proposed."
"Riverrun lies in the middle of the Red Fork, and you would do well to remember it. Its family is dead; therefore, Riverrun's fate will be decided by the Queen. Take what I have given you, Blackwood. Do not press your fortune."
"The Tullys are not all dead," Blackwood stated, snapping his fingers. The guards quickly hid their wine glasses and shoved Sansa forward. One of them pulled her hood back, and she glared at him for good effect.
"Tully blood flows through House Stark, and Sansa Stark is a guest at Raventree Hall. Riverrun is rightfully Brandon Stark's, but he is missing, long since presumed dead. That makes Eddard Stark's eldest daughter heir to Riverrun since his son is Lord of the North."
Sansa might have caught Barbara shifting awkwardly in her seat if a newcomer hadn't slipped through the main door. Her heart skipped a beat, breath leaving her body in a rush. A swarthy man, the swarthy man. The man who killed her mother. He was here.
He clasped the hand of one of the Lannister guards.
"Walder, good to see you."
"Eh, same, Don. Same,"
"It does not give Riverrun to you, Tytos," Barbara hissed, oblivious to the new entrant. "And besides, Stark has another son – the infant one. Regardless, Lord Lannister, I cannot agree to this if Blackwood gets Riverrun. I don't care if he marries his son to the girl or whatever plan he concocts."
"You dare accuse me of such underhanded tactics, impudent woman?" Tytos fumed.
"Impudent?" Barbara snapped back, "I'm amazed you even know the meaning of the word!"
Shouts erupted outside, and the quarrelling lords fell silent, every set of eyes turning towards the door. Louder, louder, then hoofbeats and the cries of men. The lords launched to their feet. The entrance of the inn flew open, and a Lannister soldier ran inside, face painted in blood.
Sansa's entire body broke into uncontrollable shivers.
It was happening again.
"Ambush!" He cried. Then a black shafted arrow lodged in his throat, and he collapsed face-first into the wood.
Stannis was here.
The last time, Sansa had frozen stiff and been dragged away by Tytos Blackwood to become a prisoner. She'd watcher her mother die in front of her. Lost her brother in the carnage.
Not again.
The inn erupted into chaos, swords drawing as the tell-tale sounds of battle and death drew nearer and louder. Sansa released her broken bindings, drew up her hood, and ducked away from the soldiers as they were buffeted by people attempting to flee on all sides. A hand clasped her own, and she was being pulled to the side, away from the door.
Theon.
They reached the far wall as something large struck the side of the inn, and Sansa desperately searched the mass of bodies for some sign of Barbara, but her red-haired friend was nowhere to be found.
"This way! Come on!"
Theon shoved open a door behind the bar, gesturing for her to hurry. They ducked through the door as men in yellow and red burst through the inn doors, and the two stumbled down a staircase, apparently leading into a cellar. Theon grabbed a torch, thrust it into Sansa's hand, then bent down to grab a bow, quiver, and a short sword he'd apparently stashed in advance. How had he known to do that? In fact, how had he known this meeting was taking place at all?
CRUNCH!
Something bashed against the kitchen door. Cold sweat broke out across Sansa's body.
"Come on!" Theon hissed, ushering her deeper into the cellar. "Trust me, you do not want the Red-Witch to catch us."
The red witch was here?! How had she found them?!
They crossed the cellar – full of barrels of wine and foodstuffs – until Theon reached the far corner. He shoved a barrel aside, revealing a trap door buried in the floor. Oh, that was clever! The Lannister guards either hadn't swept the cellar (which she doubted), or they'd missed this secret exit. The ground above trembled, dirt falling from the ceiling and clinging to her hair. Theon threw open the door, and Sansa climbed down into an even darker passage below, torch bathing the walls in a golden-red light.
Theon closed the hatch behind him, then smashed the ladder. Finally, he breathed a sigh of relief, and Sansa took that as a sign that it was finally okay to hug the daylights out of him.
"I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life," Sansa exclaimed, burying her face in his chest.
"Good to see you too, Sansa. Good to see you too. But come on, we aren't out of this yet."
They ran down the passage, for how long Sansa didn't know, until light appeared ahead of them. Another door.
Sansa shoved it open, and thankfully, storm clouds overhead obscured the sun; otherwise, the light would surely have blinded her.
And hidden the fifty or so riders waiting for them, amongst a dense grove of trees.
All of them wearing Stark coats of arms.
"Lady Sansa!"
Standing at the head of the pack was a man Sansa had seen before: Smalljon Umber. He lowered his great hammer, thick red hair tied into a bob atop his head, and he beamed.
"Lord Umber, your timing is impeccable," Sansa breathed, accepting his offered hand to help her out of the tunnel, which apparently ended in a ditch.
"You've Greyjoy to thank for that," the Smalljon said as Theon emerged behind her. "He spotted the Red Witch's ambush riding north a few days ago. If we hadn't thought to follow them, we'd never have found you. Led us on quite the merry chase, too, I might add."
Sansa grinned at Theon, who shrugged.
"Robb tasked me with finding and protecting you, so that's what we gonna do."
"Reunions will have to wait, boys!" A girl no older than Sansa herself called, riding upon a dappled mare. Tiny too. Yet she carried a long, three-pronged spear in her hand, thick brown hair tied in a knot. A crannogman. Or, crannogwoman, really. Was that a gendered term? "We've got to get out of here!"
No sooner had the woman spoken than a force of riders clad in yellow and black raiment, a red-heart banner waving in the air, emerged from the distant tree line. Arrows launched into the air, and Sansa's heart stopped for a crucial second as her death sped towards her.
"SHIELDS!" The Smalljon cried.
And an enormous grey wolf leapt from the brush and snagged two arrows in its maw. Sansa shrieked, tripping over, but the Smalljon grabbed her from behind and threw her onto his horse. Theon drew his bow and fired three arrows, then bolted for his own horse. The wolf… the wolf was nearly as tall as the horses, but it made no threatening gesture towards Sansa or the Stark men. Instead, it bared its teeth at the oncoming riders, moving to keep Sansa behind her at all times.
WHAT IN THE HELLS?!
"Let's go, boys!" The Smalljon shouted, and as a unit, the Stark men spun around and galloped into the forest. Another hail of arrows shot towards them, but the shafts all struck trees or the canopy, none finding their marks. The Starks and the wolf – no, an actual living, breathing DIREWOLF! – vanished into the night.
Overhead, the stormy skies continued to darken.
Beyond the Wall
"Take this… if you come up against one of those things, you'll need it."
Robb took the sword from Benjen's offered hand. Longclaw. Valyrian Steel. Robb supposed he had his own Valyrian steel sword now. Ice. The massive broadsword of House Stark. Robb hadn't the heart to remove it from Winterfell's treasury since his father had died. He certainly hadn't brought it north with him. Now, he was seriously regretting that decision.
Robb swallowed, then buckled the blade to his belt. Beside him, the two brothers of the Watch, a young man named Pyp and another, Dywen – a grizzled old man with wooden teeth and a leg to match – handed out daggers made of glass to those who'd accompany Robb's group. Dragonglass, which the maesters called Obsidian. Apparently, it could kill the creatures as well. Robb fucking hoped so.
"I still say I should be going with you," Benjen growled. Robb raised an eyebrow at his uncle.
"You're lucky you can walk. You certainly can't fight. Stay here. Rest. There'll be plenty of fighting when we get back."
"If we come back," Dacey muttered from Robb's left.
Robb had tried to leave his friends behind. They'd had none of it. So Harrion and Dacey stood to Robb's left, horses saddled and laden with provisions. A few paces ahead, the Greatjon inspected the great axe he'd had commissioned from Donal Noye the previous night. He'd more than proved his skill as a smith, despite his missing arm, for the axe was incredible. One side was high-quality steel, the other coated in melted dragonglass. Robb certainly wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of that thing. Beside him, Maege Mormont groused about not having her own axe. Instead, she'd apparently settled for replacing the spikes on one of her maces with shards of the dragonglass, though she still had two other ordinary weapons hanging from her saddle and a shield at her back. She had, reluctantly, agreed not to display the Mormont sigil after Jeor had made an impassioned plea. In his own words, bearing the black bear standard was very likely to get them shot before they could even reach Mance. Even Umber wasn't flying his banner, the chained giant on his breastplate covered by his fur cloak.
The only standard flying today would be the grey direwolf, running against an ice-white field. The blazon of House Stark was respected even beyond the Wall and recognisable enough that the Wildlings probably wouldn't attack. Free Folk, Robb. They call themselves the Free Folk. He could just imagine Margaery's face should he walk into a negotiation as tense as this one and call them Wildlings when he knew they disliked the term.
Gods, but he wished Jon and Margaery were here with him. She'd know how to convince the Wildlings to come south, and Jon was the king. That would surely mean something, even to a bunch of people who probably didn't even know what that word meant.
But they weren't here. It was all up to Robb, and he would do his darndest to make them and his father proud. He was under no illusions that this was how he'd be remembered. Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. The Stark who let the Wildlings through the Wall.
What mattered now was whether that became a curse or an epithet.
Rickard Karstark and his daughter Alys emerged from the crowd of Stark men and sour-faced black brothers. Word had spread quickly of Robb's intention to meet the so-called 'King Beyond the Wall'. They may not know what he intended to say (even he didn't know for sure yet), but they could guess and spread false rumours.
"Your scout team is ready?" Robb asked the Lord of Karhold. He nodded, face set in a grim line. He and the Greatjon were at odds over whether meeting with Mance was the right choice, but both men respected the other. Maege had broken the stalemate by pledging her support for Robb's plan, and Karstark backed down. Didn't mean he liked it, though. Robb had given him his own task to keep him occupied while they went on their little trip.
"Aye, it is. Eddard and Torrhen are ready."
"Good. And they know I want as many of these Wildlings alive as possible?" Robb asked the man pointedly. Karstark rolled his eyes.
"They know. No promises, though."
"And I don't expect them," Robb assured. "But if we can take this Sigorn alive, it could be a massive benefit down the line."
"Don't worry, lad. My boys'll do their jobs," Karstark said, and Robb shook the man's hand. That done, he turned to the ground, where Grey Wind was lying in the dirt, nose on his forepaws. A leather satchel lay beside him, and it was this Robb picked up and handed to Alys.
"You're sure you can do this?" he asked her. Alys clenched her jaw and nodded. Inside were the letters Robb needed sent south as fast as possible. Letters he didn't dare trust to raven's wings. Alys was to ride hard with an armed escort to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, where a ship would be provisioned and waiting to sail her straight to White Harbour. Robb had sent a letter to Manderlys, as he'd sent ravens to all the keeps in the North appraising them of the situation. He doubted most would believe him, but Robb trysted Wyman and Willas to at least do as he commanded, though they would undoubtedly try and pluck Alys' mission from her when she arrived.
Robb has sat the long-faced girl down the previous night in the privacy of his tent in camp and told Karstark's daughter explicitly what he needed her to do while trying to keep his words as ambiguous as possible.
Not an easy feat in the slightest.
"Travel light, and only on merchant ships. They should get you past Stannis' blockade of the Narrow Sea. You'll need to update yourself on the current state of the war once you reach the South; all I can say now is that your best bet is to head for Storm's End or as close to it as you can. That's where the Tyrell army should be."
"I'm to bring this to Queen Myrcella? You're in league with her?" Alys had asked in confusion.
"No. You need to get my words into Jon's hands, no matter the price. He has to know what's happening here, and he's the only one I trust to get in contact with Daenerys Targaryen."
"The Dragon Queen!"
"I fucking hope so. Because I think we're going to bloody need those dragons to have even the slimmest chance of beating whatever is waiting for us beyond the Wall."
"I won't let you down, Robb. I swear it on the Old Gods and the New."
"Good luck," Robb said, pulling the girl into a hug. They weren't particularly close – not like he was with Dacey and Harrion – but he still considered her a friend.
"Lord Stark! We should be going. The sun is coming up!" Ser Alliser yelled, mounted atop a stallion at the head of the pack. With Benjen injured, Alliser was second in command at the Wall, so he and Rangers Jarmen Buckwell and Thoren Smallwood – the only two senior rangers to survive the Watch's previous encounter with the Others – would be serving as guides. A dozen Stark and Umber soldiers – hand-picked by the Greatjon himself – would also be accompanying them. Robb hadn't the heart to tell them just what they were about to get into. They were terrified enough already by the looks of it.
Robb mounted his horse, and Grey Wind rose from the dirt, shaking dirt and grime from his coat. The direwolf appeared to be the only one not at all bothered by their intended course.
"Open the gates!" The Lord Commander called, and the tunnel entrance slowly revealed itself, the series of gates within rising in tandem.
Robb, Dacey and Harrion moved to the front of the train, and Robb cast one final look back to Benjen, Karstark and the Lord Commander. None of them looked happy. He raised a hand in farewell, then gestured Ser Alliser forward, and the train began to move through the tunnel beneath the icy monstrosity that was the Wall…
And out the other side.
He expected to feel different. As if stepping outside the Seven Kingdoms for the first time would come with some profound feeling of loss or otherness. It didn't. There was just the Wall and an expanse of cleared land covered by snow. Maybe it felt a little colder? But that was probably just his imagination.
They rode for the far tree line in silence, passing a Weirwood tree with a weeping face. Two ravens perched in its branches, and Robb could have sworn one of them had three eyes for a moment. But that was ridiculous, so he put it out of his head and continued riding as the dark, snow-covered forest closed in around them.
No one noticed the eagle soaring overhead, watching their every move.
By the time they stopped to make camp, the sky had clouded over, heralding the arrival of a distant storm. The rangers weren't sure just how far away the Wildlings were, but no one wanted to come across the camp at night, so they pitched their tents while the Greatjon, Buckwell and some of the soldiers went about gathering wood for a fire. Robb made a seat for himself at the base of a towering sentinel with Dacey and Harrion. Grey Wind was prowling around them, something having apparently unsettled him. An eagle perched in the branches overhead.
"Fuck, it's cold," Harrion hissed, rubbing his gloved hands together. It had undoubtedly gotten colder the further north they'd trekked, but it wasn't bothering Robb that much yet. His furs were warm enough, and the cool air helped him concentrate.
"What are you thinking about?" Dacey asked him, brow furrowed as she fiddled with the hilt of her longsword.
Robb sighed.
"How do I convince a people we've been at war with for centuries to follow our laws? If I let the Wildlings south, and they start pillaging and raping across the entire Kingdom, what do I do? Put all the people I just saved to death? I'm trying to save their lives, but what if that means my own people will die instead in the conflict that comes after? I have all these questions and worries, and I have no idea how to answer them."
Dacey blinked, "Yeah… That is a tough one, isn't it?"
"Really? 'Cause I don't think so," Harrion said, still rubbing his hands as Maege knelt down and tried to start a fire. The sun began to dip below the tree-tops, long shadows growing with each passing moment.
"What do you mean?" Robb asked, and Dacey shot him a similar expression of confusion.
Harrion's face burnt red.
"Well, you did it before. Stands to reason you can do it again."
"Karstark, seriously, start talking sense," Dacey stated.
Harrion shrugged.
"House Stark forged the North. Without the Kings of Winter uniting our ancestors under one banner for hundreds of years before the dragons showed up, the North would be just as bad as the houses down south. Always fighting over this river and that speck of land and who cheated who and whose parents did what. Oh, sure, Northern families still compare dicks as much as anyone, but we don't go to bloody war over it. The North is the only kingdom that threw back the Andals. Why? Because we were united, and still are. We're Northmen, and our home and our people have been here for thousands of years. No matter what happens, the North will live on. With or without us.
"Yeah, if this works, we're about to get some new neighbours, ones we've fought and bitched about for a fucking long ass time, but House Stark will do what it's always done," Harrion declared. "Survive and build anew."
"Winter is Coming," Robb muttered, a thin smile breaking out across his face. Dacey was staring at Harrion as if he'd grown a second head.
"I… I think that's the most profound thing I've ever heard you say, Harry."
Harrion shrugged again.
"Bound to happen sometime."
Robb snorted.
"Where in the bloody blazes have those fools gotten off to?" The Greatjon asked, appearing from the brush and tossing a stack of wood down beside the fire pit, though Maege was struggling to get any sparks. Thorne grabbed the flint from her and started trying himself, despite the woman's vicious glare. The eagle cawed, then took flight north. Grey Wind growled at it.
The sun disappeared.
The cold finally seemed to hit him, gnawing even beneath his thick furs. A bitter feeling that seemed to seep through your skin and into your very bones. He could really go for Winterfell's hot springs right about now.
"They should have been back by now," one of the rangers – Smallwood – agreed. He raised hands to his mouth and called out into the rapidly darkening wood.
"Hey Buckwell, where'd you go!?"
Robb frowned, rising to his feet and stretching his legs. Maybe if he ran a lap of the camp, he'd warm up a little?
"Thanks, Harrion. Really. I… I needed to hear that."
Harrion didn't answer. He was staring out behind the sentinel tree, squinting into the darkness.
"Buckwell?" Smallwood called again. Grey Wind growled again, looking in the same direction Harrion was.
"What is that?" Dacey muttered, and Robb shielded his own eyes to follow their gazes. It was hard to see more than a short distance away, given the density of the trees.
"Fuck, why won't this work?!" Thorne muttered.
There it was. Some sort of glimmering reflection. An icicle, maybe. Robb pulled his cloak around him, voice misting in the cold.
"Buckwell?"
Behind him, the Greatjon started counting.
"Five, six, seven, ten, twelve, thirteen… fifteen…" he trailed off.
They'd left Castle Black with twenty-one people. Dacey, Harrion and himself, Maege and the Greatjon, Thorne and the two rangers, and fourteen men.
The reflection moved.
Harrion and Dacey climbed to their feet. It moved again, splitting into two distinct lights; blue shimmers in the dark.
Robb stopped shivering.
"Jon, weapons, now," Robb whispered, but the Greatjon was already moving, retrieving his axe from where he'd planted it in the snow. Smallwood, Maege and Thorne rose to their feet as well. The guards – six less than there should be – shuffled inwards. Grey Wind dropped to his hackles; teeth bared. The horses had fallen utterly silent.
More lights flickered to life in the dark, then more and more.
"What… what's happening?" one of the soldiers muttered. Robb drew Longclaw from its sheath.
"Oh fuck. Fuck not again…" Smallwood muttered, pulling out his bow.
"What? What's out there?" Thorne hissed.
"It's Them."
A hoarse shriek ripped through the forest, Robb's heartbeat rose into his ears… and the lights surged forward. A dozen decomposing bodies clad in animal furs or black cloaks of the watch launched out of the darkness, eyes a haunting and unfathomable icy blue.
The Others weren't just stories. They were real. They were real, and they were here.
The horror, the terror, the panic, all of it faded into nothing, and Robb swept Longclaw in a wide arc before him. Three of the creatures… wights… shattered apart the second the weapon touched them. Dacey and Harrion stood at his side, swords dancing through the shadows, hacking arms and heads with ease. The creatures continued to shriek, teeth grating in skulls with no voices with which to speak. Their bones were rotting and old, easy to cut apart, and they did not fight like men – with steel or weapon. They were the weapons. But for every limb Harrion shattered with his greatsword, Dacey bashed with her shield, or Grey Wind ripped apart with his teeth, the monsters never slowed. Headless, armless, they continued trying to rush forward and rip their opponents to shreds. Only when the bodies were completely limbless or shattered to pieces did they collapse. Even cutting them in half was not enough to stop them, as both halves would then continue independently.
Except Longclaw.
The very second the blade of Valyrian Steel touched a wight, their bodies would fall apart, corpses discarded like clothing. It was as if the sword were slicing through the very magic holding the monsters upright.
Screams – human screams – cried out through the darkness, and Robb watched from the corner of his eye as two Stark soldiers were toppled by a half-dozen of the creatures. Their dying throws cut off in moments, then… then their corpses rose up, chunks ripped out of their clothes and skin, eyes the same unnatural blue, and they joined the ranks of the monsters as they surged. The Greatjon charged forward, and with a grand sweep of his axe, six wights were shattered to pieces. Not cut, shattered. The dragonglass.
"USE THE GLASS!" Robb roared, kicking a wight in its decaying rib cage then thrusting forward with Longclaw. It burst asunder, and another creature impaled itself on the blade, suffering the same fate.
"What do we do?!" Harrion screamed.
Grey Wind latched his teeth into a wight's arm as it swung towards Robb's head, and Longclaw sliced the monster in half.
"HGHAHHHHHHH!" Maege roared, swinging a mace in each hand – one with glass spikes, the other plain steel. The glass spike had the same effect – the wights fell apart upon contact – but the steel one was catching on the creature's bones and flailing limbs, slowing her down. A wight leapt from the darkness – a man in Stark garb with a sword in hand.
"MOTHER!"
Maege swung to meet the wight, steel mace slamming into its chest, but the creature didn't halt. The sword came falling towards Maege's neck, and she dodged just in time, striking with the dragonglass mace and destroying the man. A spear burst through her neck, Dacey shrieked, Maege Mormont's jaw fell open, and Robb could do nothing but watch as her eyes blazed to blue.
"Stark! Get out of here!" The Greatjon cried, bashing wights aside by the half-dozen. Robb barely parried a bony arm as it tried to grab his throat. Harrion stabbed it with a dagger of glass. He'd lost his greatsword. Red blood marred Grey Wind's coat as he tore a wight's head off.
"No!" Dacey broke from the line, charging towards her mother as the She-Bear ripped Smallwood in half with her bare hands.
"Dacey!"
Robb destroyed three more creatures and tried to move after Dacey, but more kept coming, bodies long dead wrapped in fur. Men and women, once, who'd lived their own lives.
This was so much worse than a nightmare.
Dacey barrelled into her mother, kicking the steel mace from her hand. She rammed her sword into her mother's chest, screaming the entire time, but Maege… what was left of her… ignored it entirely, clasping hands around her daughter's neck. Then her body shattered, and Dacey fell to the snow, glass dagger in hand.
Robb shattered another creature and swung to counter the next…
None came.
More creatures raced from the trees towards the Greatjon, who was bleeding from an angry wound in his side, and he could see no sign of Thorne, but the forest before Robb and Harrion was clear.
Save one.
Skin like the ice that froze the pond in the Godswood, armour pale as milk-glass, eyes that burned brighter than all the stars, long hair whiter than the snow, blowing in a breeze Robb could not feel. The sword in its hand, a shard of pure crystalline ice radiating a kind of cold that pierced all the way to the heart and froze your bones brittle.
The Other simply stood, waiting.
"For the North!" Harrion cried, rushing forward, daggers in both hands.
"Harry, no!"
The Other moved with a speed that defied reason, Harrion's daggers scraped against shimmering armour, and the crystal sword ripped through Harry's gut.
"STARK! RUN!" The Greatjon cried once more, but the wights were pushing him away from Robb. On purpose.
Robb was the target.
They knew what he was trying to do.
Which meant, no matter what happened, it had been the right decision.
Grey Wind bayed at Robb's heel, and the Lord of Winterfell raised his sword. Valyrian Steel vs a blade of ice and magic. Benjen had killed one of these things with this very weapon.
Robb could do it too.
Father, Old Gods, if ever I could draw on your strength, now would be the time.
The Other advanced with sure steps, leaving no imprint in the snow. Each movement was followed by a sharp and grating crack of ice that set Robb's skin prickling. He refused to let his teeth chatter as they wanted.
The battle was all that mattered.
Robb was Lord of Winterfell, Lord of the North. Descendent of Brandon the Builder himself. He would not be the first Stark in five thousand years to fall to the ancient enemy of his family.
The Other swung its blade; Robb brought his own to meet it.
The blade clashed against one another, and a horrific CRACK ripped through the clearing,like a strike of lightning close enough to blind. The horde of wights faltered for a split second. And Robb saw something… a shimmer of gold, rippling within the Valyrian Steel.
The eagle shot out of the dark and clawed at the Other's at the same time Grey Wind slammed into its side. The monster stumbled, and Robb shoved Longclaw right through its face.
The light in its eyes vanished instantly, and a moment later, the Other fractured apart. Body bursting into shards of snow and ice. The wights swarming around them all collapsed at once, bones returning to the snow.
The eagle, feathers a golden yellow, landed on Grey Wind's back, but the direwolf didn't seem to care. His eyes were still staring out into the dark.
The Greatjon stumbled to Robb's side, axe dragging on the ground. Robb sucked in a desperate breath and scanned the slaughter field. The Greatjon… and Dacey. That… That was it. Even the horses were gone.
"Robb… what… what did you…." Dacey started, but she could not stop her voice from shaking, so she closed her mouth, leaving the sentence unfinished. Robb looked at Longclaw. The blade remained untarnished, and the steel was warm to the touch.
"Fuck," the Greatjon muttered, clutching his side. "That was something I'll never forget."
Go, Robb! Go now!
Bran's voice, ringing clear in his mind as if his brother were standing beside him the entire time.
The eagle burst to life, pulling away with a flurry of calls and wings as Grey Wind snarled.
More lights in the dark. The cold started pressing in on him again.
"Run," Robb whispered, terror finally catching up to him. He looked to the Greatjon and saw nothing but complete and utter fear on the man's face.
"RUN!"
Robb, Dacey and the Greatjon bolted into the forest with weapons in hand. Grey Wind raced beside them while the eagle soared out front, guiding the way. The ground began to shake beneath their feet, the grind and scraping of the horde growing louder in pursuit.
They burst clear from the tree line, a line of wights right behind them, and a foul feeling welled up in his stomach. More thundering, something was moving in the darkness, closing in… A hand – a warm hand – shot out of the night and grabbed his cloak.
"Come on!"
A girl's voice, and not Dacey's. Dimly, Robb could just make out a horse riding alongside him, and without thinking, trusting his instincts and the warmth, he threw himself into the saddle and found his face buried in a mane of wild golden hair. Grey Wind continued to race alongside them, the eagle soaring ahead, and Robb just caught sight of the Greatjon being hurled off the ground by… by a fucking giant. A literal giant, thrice as high as Robb was tall, even on horseback, arms and legs the size of tree trunks. He just plucked the Greatjon from the snow, and the formidable and unstoppable warrior was so stunned he didn't even try to fight back. Another rider galloped at Robb's right, a man with a great red beard clearly visible even in the near pitch dark, hollering and cackling as if he were having the time of his life. He pulled Dacey into the saddle behind him, and Robb's friend grabbed the man around the waist, screams mingling with the man's laughter.
Robb attuned himself to the gait of the horse and looked behind him. The wights were fading behind, the bite of the cold beginning to disappear.
"Wun Wun!" The girl seated ahead of Robb cried out, and the giant turned its enormous head towards her. "Follow Aquilla back to camp!"
The eagle broke off at the girl's command, soaring up into the sky, apparently to guide the giant, then the two riders were galloping back beneath the eaves of the Haunted Forest.
They didn't stop until dawn.
Notes - On Magic
Martin is never going to finish his books, so I'm applying a straightforward and ironclad rule when I work with the magic systems of the original. And it works with ALL magic, no exceptions.
Magic cancels out magic.
This explains a lot of things in a relatively easy and understandable way. The Others can't cross the wall because – much like polarised magnets – they cannot interact with one another. Valyrian Steel and dragonglass kill the wights and the Others because it essentially cancels out the magic holding them together. In my view, that is why they still wear armour and stuff in the books (obviously, in the show, they don't do that). That being said, if an Other knew how, it could destroy a Valyrian Steel sword. However, it would be challenging because the Other would have to not be killed by the weapon first.
Applying this logic, Valyrian Steel could also neuter one of Melisandre's shadowbindings. Something to keep in the back of your mind.
I should also point out that I have made the slight change of upgrading Val to skinchanger status because I needed a high ranked skinchanger amongst the Free Folk, and Val – who isn't combat-heavy like, say Ygritte, but is a talented rider and hunter – was perfect.
Also, there will be more giants, because I don't think they get enough love.