Author's Note: No updates really, just me and my questionable sense of humor lurking in what should be normally serious scenes (and chapter titles). Let's start shall we?
XXXXX
Chapter 7: Sansa and Flatbread, A Love Story
XXXXX
Jon reached for the cake from his crouched position. Sansa and Arya in a rare moment of cooperation were keeping watch so a nosy cook, butcher, or baker would not interfere in the great kitchen heist. Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel could barely contain their giggles as they absconded with a pie. Robb rapidly swiped a platter of bacon while Theon stuffed some hard-boiled eggs in his pockets. Bran's cheeks were puffed like that of a squirrel as his fists were full of the bread from which he had taken large bites.
The group hadn't always been a group. Jon and Arya had wanted a cake, so they decided in a flight of fancy to acquire one instead of waiting for supper. Upon sneaking into the kitchen, they discovered Sansa and Bran creeping around for some bread and butter. Jeyne and Beth having lost a bet with Arya were to swipe a piping hot pie for later as recompense. Robb and Theon after some hard training in the yard greatly desired some meat and arrived shortly after Jon and Arya had encountered Sansa, Bran, Jeyne, and Beth. The inklings of a plan evolved. Or devolved depending on ones perspective.
The freshly cooked food was stolen as it waited to get sent into Winterfell's great hall or somewhere else in the massive castle. As quick as they had arrived, the thieves departed like mist in the wind to grow fat and happy.
It was not a terribly uncommon occurrence that the Stark children would seek food when it was not time for a proper meal. It was equally not uncommon that they would get caught. As it happened later in the day, Sansa sought more bread and butter.
The kitchen staff was more alert now that they had been burgled earlier. Sansa however decided that a new approach was in order. Rather than sneak in like before, she just walked into the kitchens with a spring in her step.
"Milady, can we help you with something?" a cook asked looking up from his soup.
"I am looking for a small loaf of bread and butter," she answered honestly.
"I'm sorry milady, but we had some thieves make off with some earlier. I don't know if we have any to spare."
"Who would know then?"
The cook looked nervous for a moment, but he recovered and answered with, "Natas, he's in the back. Working on his pet project stuffing some shaved lamb into his flatbread I wager."
"Thank you," Sansa said sincerely.
Natas had been the longest serving member of House Stark's kitchen staff for 45 years. The man had even more experience under his belt having once been a cook in a Wintertown tavern. He was effectively the king of the kitchen when Gage, the head cook wasn't looking and his reputation was less than savory. The man was easy enough to spot, though Sansa thought the man creepy. In all honesty it could have just been his face. The man's face was seemingly cursed by the gods with its hideousness.
His brow was square and heavy atop a misshapen head into which large green uneven eyes and a flat crooked nose were affixed. His breathing was heavy as he looked at his flat bread project with an almost sexual desire wiping away some drool at the corner of his mouth. It unnerved Sansa, but her pity toward the man compelled her to ignore the almost instinctive discomfort she felt.
Natas looked up from his bread to see the eldest daughter of his Lord's house.
"Milady, is there something I can do for you?" he asked with strangely labored breath and a nasally yet deep voice.
"I am looking for a small loaf of bread and butter."
"Thieves came around and stole what I made earlier today. I have some in the oven baking but it will take an hour or more until it comes out," Natas drawled. He took a moment to collect himself as he gazed into the stone ceiling, "If it would please you milady, I have this that I've been laboring on for a few weeks."
"What is it?" Sansa asked not wanting to reveal that she already knew.
"Five layers of shaved lamb inside a pocket of this flatbread. Baked into it are some complementary herbs and spices. Garlic, parsley, and the like." Natas disassembled the bread in front of him. Sure enough, Sansa could see pieces of chopped garlic and diced parsley leaves. The lamb as described was in five very thin layers, but she thought it smelled and looked more like pork.
"What has been the cause of this little project taking weeks?" Sansa queried sufficiently curious.
"Getting the flavor right milady. The meat has not been cooperating I'm afraid," he responded pouting, "Again, I don't have any regular offerings yet, but would you partake of my flatbread milady?"
Sansa thought on it for a moment. She wasn't thrilled by the prospect of the bread tasting strange, but the pity she held for the baker overrode the increasingly odd feeling in the pit of her belly.
"I will partake."
"I thank you milady." Natas pushed the dissected flatbread aside and pulled up an unmolested piece. He cut off a piece and handed it to Sansa.
Sansa took a small bite. Heavy on the garlic, and the meat tasted much more like pork than lamb, but it was an enjoyable piece of flatbread.
"Is it to your liking?" Natas asked.
"My first impression is good."
"I am glad milady."
Sansa took another bite and encountered something odd. Was that hair? Yes, it was, and there was a lot of it. Sansa steeled her face and put her back to Natas so he couldn't see her reaction. She peeled back the top layer of bread and her eyes bulged. It appeared to be a patch of skin. Short hair the length of what she could expect to see on a man's arms was present.
Sansa instantly regretted ignoring her gut feeling. Something was oh so very wrong. With tremendous effort, Sansa swallowed the rest of her bite and she pivoted to face the baker.
"Thank you for the bread," Sansa squeaked before she quickly departed in something of a panic.
The closest exit required her to go through the butchery. It was this decision that led to what Sansa would later describe as a significant emotional event.
Sansa entered the butchery. The bodies of pigs, cows, and chickens hung from hooks bleeding into wooden pails. She navigated her way through them and was around half way through before her instincts screamed at her. One corner of the room caught her eye. There was dust coating the shelves, so it was evidently not used often. The feeling of danger compelled her to hide, so she dashed over to behind the shelves. In her haste however, she neglected to notice the faint dark red streaks on the floor or the dust streaks made by a small shelf that saw frequent movement. Sansa only barely escaped the notice of Natas as he stomped into the room. She felt hunted.
"Milady, where have you gone?" Natas whispered.
The baker's voice did not promise kind things ahead. Sansa attempted to slow her breathing and remain silent. She felt something wet on her leg. The girl looked down to the sight of dark sticky blood soaking into her light grey dress. Slowly her eyes followed the blood to its source. A man around the age of her father with eyes wide, mouth agape, and a missing arm lay slumped against the wall. Flesh was peeled off the torso in even strips and was hung drying on a small rack seemingly salted.
Sansa's hand covered her mouth as she tried to stifle the sharp intake of breath. Her body quivered in fear knowing that this was something she should not have seen.
"Did you dislike my baking milady?" Natas asked the room as though he knew she was still in it, "I hope that you won't judge me harshly for the meat. It wasn't cooperating with me."
The statement took an entirely different meaning now that Sansa knew the man to be a cannibal. Her mind drifted back to that fear that she felt when she was at Last Hearth. A mousy squeak escaped her lips. Natas swiveled his large head in her direction like an owl. His eyes gleamed with a primal hunger.
"Found you."
Whatever mask Natas had worn when Sansa was in the kitchen with him no longer existed. The monster in human form stomped heavily over to his stash.
Sansa had often heard from her father that in time of extreme peril, he was able to call upon an inner strength that allowed him to be the equal of ten men. Sansa desperately hoped to call upon such strength now. She bolted from her kneeling position on the floor over to the small shelf. She shoved it along the dust streaks to block off the cannibal. A further push managed to wedge it in position before he got there.
Natas looked almost disappointed in the fact that his prey sought to defy him.
"This meat isn't cooperating either. Shame. It would be so good in a pie."
Her Lord father had often told tales of the wolf's blood that ran in Stark veins. It was said to be hot headed, a primal fury, and animalistic instinct all at once. His brother Brandon and sister Lyanna were said to have had it in ample amounts. In the face of this creature and his comment, Sansa discovered she too held it.
"You will find villain that a direwolf is not a lamb for the slaughter," she snarled.
Natas went red and his eyes bulged, pupils dilated in fury or embarrassment she didn't know nor care. He thrust his arm through the gap in the shelf violently hoping to grab her. Sansa backed up strangely calm. Spittle exploded out of his mouth as he growled. Her face was one of disgust as she felt the saliva fly onto her dress and face.
The head baker withdrew his arm. The man tested the shelf hoping to move it, but Sansa had managed to make a mess of it and it failed to budge. The young Stark felt the fear creep back into her. She began to look for egress. There was no doubt in her mind that she would not win a physical confrontation. Natas was pounding away at the shelf attempting to bust apart the thing through force. The wood was splintering and nails were starting to pop out.
Sansa spotted a large knife nearby. It was embedded tip first in a large barrel filled with flour if the ground beneath it was of any indication. She worked quickly to remove it, but it was unyielding. Natas had almost destroyed the shelf to the point where he could reach Sansa.
Several things happened all at once. Pulling with all her might, the knife popped out of the barrel and may as well have been sent into the void with all the force it left Sansa's hands. Natas breached the shelf with an explosion of wood shards. The barrel tipped over and the flour spilling onto the floor created a thick white fog through which nothing could be seen.
Sansa seized the opportunity and launched herself into the flour cloud towards Natas. The man was flailing wildly hoping to catch his prey blind in a desperate bid to keep his actions secret. Keeping a hand on the shelf to her right, she crouched low to the ground and found the broken shelf dashing through the gap. The flour stung at Sansa's eyes proving the tears were not out of fear.
Behind her, Natas roared in frustration, "I will find you! I will break you! And then I will devour you little lamb!"
Sansa ran faster than she had ever run in her life. The girl bobbed and weaved her way through the hanging animals making her way to the doorway outside. With the absence of immediate danger, the wolf's blood had cooled down, and she returned to being the scared girl she was before Natas had located her.
Bursting through the door, Sansa was immediately greeted with the biting cold of a summer snow and the taste of freedom. There were servants everywhere and the training yard could be found on the other side of a gate. It was liberating.
Sansa moved through the gate with snow and ice crunching beneath her feet. She was shaking and held her arms close to her chest sitting on a stone bench as Jon and Robb practiced with their bows. Her feelings were a jumbled mess of terror and numbness.
It took a minute for her brothers to notice her presence.
"Sansa!" Robb greeted warmly, "Come to see us, have you?"
"Robb, her dress," Jon muttered darkly.
"Huh?" Robb said before noticing the dark blood stain and the copious amounts of flour in which she was covered.
Sansa didn't even acknowledge them. She was shivering heavily and her eyes remained fixated on the ground. The dress was not meant for this weather, but it wasn't the temperature that caused this reaction.
"Sansa," Jon said, but she remained dead to them.
"Sansa, what happened," Robb ground out through gritted teeth, but she still did not answer.
Jon called out to Ser Rodrik. The knight was there in an instant.
"Lady Sansa," he began before pivoting to the boys, "What has happened here?"
Robb spoke up, "I don't know, she just sat down and we can't get a word out of her."
"Cannibal."
The word was scarcely more than a whisper on the wind, but Jon caught it when Ser Rodrik and Robb did not, "What was that sister?"
Both of them turned to her when she whispered again, "Cannibal. In the kitchens. There's a body."
Ser Rodrik drew his longsword, "Lord Robb, inform your father or the steward. Jon, take Lady Sansa to Maester Luwin. I have an appointment with the kitchen staff."
The knight jogged off through the gate. Robb put a hand on Sansa's shoulder before he too made off. Jon gently coaxed Sansa to stand up and slowly guided her to the Maester whispering to her that it would all be well. Sansa desperately wanted to believe him. Her thoughts drifted. If her family could not guarantee this, then she would need to make certain herself that all would be well.
XXXXX
A cannibal in his house? A monster in human form that had attacked his eldest daughter? He did not like this emerging pattern.
Eddard Stark was apoplectic with rage, but it did not breach his exterior.
"Who else knew of this?" Ned demanded of his steward Vayon Poole.
"Five other members of the kitchen staff. One of them was his son; the others were threatened into silence. For whatever it is worth my lord, I believe them. The four had children being held hostage. The son partook in his father's depravity."
The quiet wolf growled. There would be blood.
"Put them in cells for now. Tomorrow we shall divine the truth of this situation."
"Yes my lord."
The next day came quickly. As suspected, the other four were innocent and their children returned to them. At least some of the victims received a happy ending. Natas and his son though…
"Bring the monster and its spawn to the courtyard. I want a block ready."
"It will be done Lord Stark," Vayon said.
Ned watched as the man left his solar. Taking a deep breath, the Lord of Winterfell pushed his chair back and slowly rose to his feet.
The man walked over to the wall upon which Ice rested. He ran a hand along its cross guard bringing him comfort from the feeling of the cold metal. Another deep breath came. Ned adjusted his cloak before grasping Ice and slipping the blade onto his back. Had anyone observed his march to the courtyard, they would have believed he was the Stranger come to collect the souls of the damned.
The courtyard was silent. The news had apparently spread far and fast, for it seemed everyone and their dog was present to witness northern justice. All of his children save Rickon were present, and they met the eyes of their father as he made his way to the block. Ned briefly grimaced.
He saw out of the corner of his eye Sansa speaking with Arya asking about if the younger Stark had brought something. Arya passed an object about a foot long wrapped in linens to her sister.
Ned wondered for a moment if he should send his daughters inside lest they suffer after witnessing the swing of the sword. Catelyn sure seemed to think so. His wife had emerged from the castle and was engaged in furious whispers. He was close enough to hear Sansa protest that she needed to see this if only for her own sake. He struggled to disagree. Arya did not have that excuse. Cat beckoned over a guard, Bruce it seemed, and had him escort Arya back into the castle. Ned quietly snorted in amusement for he had little doubt she would just observe from a window.
Eddard cast his gaze to the creatures kneeling in the snow and mud. Natas had been working the kitchens of Winterfell for almost as long as he'd been alive. This betrayal was a massive blow, but a man could only be put to death once. The man's sniveling son whimpered like a spoiled prince experiencing his first cut. Ned's vision went red. He could feel the wolf's blood flowing within him.
The Lord of Winterfell walked to the two men his footfalls heavy and ominous. The younger one squealed in terror. Ser Rodrik smacked him with the flat of his blade to silence him. A puddle of urine pooled at his feet staining both his white clothes and the snow yellow. Natas was unnaturally silent.
"The crimes you are accused of here today are numerous and heavy," Eddard said calmly all the while he loomed menacingly over the pair.
"I did nothing milord!" the son pleaded.
"Silence wretch," Ser Rodrik growled with another smack of the flat of his sword.
"Mercy please!"
"Did Lord Stark give you leave to blather boy?" another strike delivered, "You will speak when he commands it and not a moment before!"
That shut the son up.
A moment of silence preceded Eddard's next statement, "You are accused of the following crimes: cannibalism, murder, kidnapping, extortion, and assault on a lady of House Stark, my daughter."
A beat.
"What say you in your defense?"
A sewing needle could have dropped so silent was the courtyard.
Natas breathed deeply, "What good would it do? You have already deemed us guilty in your eyes milord."
"Send me to the Wall milord! Not the block please!" the son begged.
The difference between the man and the son was rather… stark. That they did not protest their innocence was not missed by those observing.
"The Wall is many things. A haven for cannibals it is not," Eddard concluded, "I will not shame them so by sending you of all people there."
The son went stark white in shock. His mouth moved but no words escaped his lips. His eyes went wide and dilated like that of a beast. His movements were lethargic and sedate as he was shoved forward onto the chopping block.
"In the name of King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I Lord Eddard Stark sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?"
There was a lengthy pause, but no words sounded.
Eddard drew Ice from its scabbard, brought the blade above his head and swung with a ferocious precision. The son's head flew forward. Blood flowed as a river from the pool at the base of a waterfall from the neck and head. The viscera were quickly removed. There was another head yet to roll.
"You did well Bran," Jon spoke softly to his younger brother.
"Do you have any last words?" Eddard asked again.
Natas's smirk was cruel, "Little lamb needed a sheepdog it seems."
The Lord of Winterfell raised his blade again. It was unnecessary.
Sansa rushed forth and was all fury as she drew the dagger that Arya had managed to sneak her and plunged it to the hilt into the cannibal's temple with all the finesse of a pair of jellyfish fornicating in a bucket of warm snot.
Natas didn't die immediately. His screams were pure agony as Sansa ripped the blade from his skull violently and began sawing at his neck. His screams turned to silence and he died all too quickly for Sansa's liking.
The silence remained. Not a soul deemed it appropriate to even speak.
"I am a direwolf. I will not be defenseless. Not again."
"You got the motherfucker sister!" Arya yelled all too cheerfully from the castle window she was watching from. The quiet spell was shattered like glass.
Catelyn's hands flew to her mouth in shock as a brief scream finally escaped her. Ned felt like shit. Had he failed his daughter so terribly? That he needed to ask himself at all provided all the answers he would ever need. The worst thing about it all was that as her father and protector he also felt unsatisfied by being unable to kill Natas.
Ned sheathed Ice, "No, you will not."
Sansa's eyes were cold. Her innocence had been stripped from her, and there was no getting it back.
The cannibal's corpse grew cold as it was ignored lying prone on the block. All the whisperings and mutterings of those in the courtyard were focused on the eldest daughter of House Stark.
"When did Sansa become so scary?" Bran asked of a gaping Robb.
"My lord," Cat stammered, "Gods, what has happened? What can we do?" she asked more to herself than her husband.
Ned's thoughts really only came to one conclusion, the only conclusion that his eldest daughter would accept, "I believe, that it is time I make some arrangements with the Mormonts," he answered.
Sansa turned her back to her parents. If she could set fire to Natas's body with her eyes, half of the North would be ablaze. There was a terrible excitement to be observed in her expression.
"Bear Island huh?" she mouthed to herself, "I hear it's nice this time of year. Good weather, good hunting, and Ironmen to butcher."
Ever the observant one, only Jon caught her words. The smile of his sweet sister Sansa haunted him.
"Like lambs."
XXXXX
Ned walked to the godswood with a slow pace. After the executions in the courtyard, he now more than ever felt the need to clean Ice and pray in the presence of the old gods.
The godswood of Winterfell was a thing of beauty. Its three acres of dense forest never failed to bring comfort to the Lord of Winterfell. A scent of damp earth and decay lingered in the air beneath the thick canopy, particularly near the heart tree where its red leaves were an explosion of fire amongst the green of all the other trees. One could easily lose himself in its tranquility, the only noises heard being the chirping of birds and the creak of branches in the wind. Eat your gods' damned heart out Great Sept of Baelor. Nothing could ever compare to this place.
Ned found himself in front of the heart tree in what seemed little more than a heartbeat. All the stress of the last two days flowed from his body as he sat down on a rock and pulled out Ice, oil, and a polishing cloth. It took only five minutes for Ned to be satisfied Ice was better than when he'd drawn it.
He set everything to the side, knelt into the soft mossy earth, and bowed his head with closed eyes. His prayers were directed at his sweet eldest daughter. Nobody could claim that she didn't have a wolf's fangs now at least. Still, this would dramatically lower the number of her marriage prospects, at least in the south. If anything, she would be even more sought after by a great many northern houses. Cat would be smothering Sansa with a mother's love as much as she would be furious about the actions she took. The whole thing was a mess, but it only solidified his decision made in the courtyard.
And so Ned prayed for the safety and wellbeing of Sansa. He prayed that he could be a better father to her. He prayed that she would never again need to fear for her life. He prayed that her life would be one filled with wonder and happiness. He prayed that she would marry a strong and kind man who would do whatever was in his power to provide for her and protect her. He prayed for all those and many more, for what kind of father would he be if he did not work to make all of his prayers as much of a surety as possible?
The soft crunching of leaves beneath a pair of delicate feet brought Ned out of his prayers. He opened his eyes and turned his head to see Sansa lethargically approaching the heart tree.
She slumped to her knees next to him as though the entire world sought to crush her with its weight. Ned took the opportunity to hug her. She was shaking, and a dampness on his arm signified that tears streamed down her face, but no whimper or sob emerged from her lips.
They stayed like that for several minutes before Sansa spoke, "I was so afraid."
He was going to respond, but she cut him off unknowingly.
"I got so angry. This is the second time, and I just lost it."
Ned let her continue to vent.
"I did not feel safe without something… anything, oh I do not know," she took a long breath, "And then he called me a lamb again. It was like someone else took over my body. I went mad and killed him. I feel nothing."
Ned deemed the following pause sufficient enough that he could say what was needed, "I've failed you Sansa. I'm sorry dear. I should have done more. You should never have had to go through that."
"You could not have known father. He kept his secrets well."
"Regardless of how much I knew or not, you are my daughter. I should have done more. After what happened at Last Hearth…" Ned trailed off. It was perhaps, not the best time to bring up that particular affair.
A moment passed.
"I dream of her."
Ned stiffened.
"She comes through the window. She rapes me. She makes me watch as she kills you. Then she kills me."
Now it was Ned whose tears came flowing, but like Sansa, he made no sound.
"I should have pushed the bitch out the window."
Her vulgarity surprises him, but he does not reprimand her for it.
"You were afraid," he says, "You are not at fault for what happened."
"I should have been brave."
"Sansa, look at me."
"I should have been like you."
"Look at me."
She does so. Her eyes are red and puffy, dried tears leaving salty streaks down her cheeks. She looks so vulnerable, and yet Ned knows that beneath it all, there is a hidden strength that revealed itself to the north today.
"You were brave. You escaped her. You escaped him. When we are afraid, that is the only time we can be brave."
That brings the faintest hint of a smile to her face. It is the most beautiful thing Ned has ever seen.
"I'm going to make this right Sansa. You will not be defenseless. On the morrow, I will be writing to the Lady Maege Mormont and we will arrange for you to have lessons."
"Arya will be furious," Sansa chortles.
"She will be going too. If I don't send her, she might actually kill me," Ned chuckles.
"Mother will be even more furious."
"I believe today will have convinced her of the necessity of such things. And if not, well… I can be persuasive."
Silence takes over again.
"I saw a great deal of Lyanna in you today."
Sansa's eyes widened. He rarely spoke of his dead family, their aunt in particular. Sometimes, myths and legends seemed even more real than the previous generation of Starks did.
"She loved songs and stories. She loved riding so much my brothers thought she was born half horse. She loved fighting, always sneaking out to grab a sword and destroy a dummy in the yard."
"Really?"
"Yes. You remind me of her greatly. Your interests may not all be the same, but that which you share…"
He paused to rephrase his statement.
"Yet for all that you share, there is one big thing you have that she never did."
"What is that?"
"Restraint."
Sansa looked at her father skeptically. Her earlier actions were still fresh on the mind.
"Truly?"
"Indeed. Had she been in your shoes today, well, we would be wondering if she wasn't a Bolton, one of the Red Queens of old."
As gruesome as that particular suggestion was, it still brought a full belly laugh out of the girl. Ned laughed long and hard with her.
He wiped the tears from his face and hers before meeting her eyes again, full of warmth. A thought occurred to him to further salvage the day.
"If there is anything you take away from today sweetling, I want you to know this."
Sansa waited with baited breath as her father paused with mirthful eyes.
"You will forever be able to lord over your brothers that you've killed a man before them."
That had the desired effect. Her laughter was a sweet nectar that Ned could not get enough of.
"Robb will be furious!" Sansa giggled.
"Only when he realizes."
She got her breathing under control after the laughter had died down enough. A long look was cast into the eyes of the heart tree. The red sap flowed as honey down the white bark in far more substantial quantities than it had been when Ned had first arrived.
"The gods have heard us," Sansa said.
"So it would seem."
"Pray with me?" she asked somewhat hesitantly.
"Always."
Sansa smiled. The Starks turned to face the heart tree and bowed their heads. The birds and wind could no longer be heard; the godswood quiet as the crypts.
XXXXX
Ned remembered with tremendous clarity the green dream he had at the base of the heart tree over a year ago. What else could those visions have possibly been he had asked himself? It had been so strong and so clear, that he had written to Howland Reed down at Greywater Watch. The little crannogman was always the mystical sort, but he also regularly sent yellow belly mushrooms that grew in the swamps of the neck to Winterfell as part of the foodstuffs tax. That fact would normally not be relevant. Then Cat happened.
Cat had banned the mushrooms from the kitchens after Ned had told her of the vision. Howland sent swamp ass now, a strange but delightfully tasty green leaf vegetable shaped like a donkey.
Howland had confirmed for him that he had indeed experienced a green dream and not a mushroom dream. He had suggested that if nothing else, he should write down what he could remember. Sadly, Howland was unable to provide much insight. Green dreams were fickle things he said. They could lead to tremendous clarity, or utter misdirection. Still, it pleased Ned to know that he wasn't going mad.
That fact provided him little comfort, because if nothing else this current green dream seemed to be even stranger than the last.
The sight that greeted him now was that of a walled city at the base of a mountain surrounded by forest far as the eye could see. Four titanic faces were carved into the cliff face with a fifth seemingly in its initial stages of construction. It looked to be a warm and welcoming place were it not for the torrential thunderstorm and the giant plume of smoke highlighted by a blue pillar of light ascending into the clouds.
The people of the city flowed out of its gates with what he could only describe as a restrained panic and resigned familiarity. Ned snorted with a grim amusement. The mental image he conjured of any other city trying to evacuate with anywhere near this level of success resulted in only abject anarchy.
The scene changed as he found himself flying thousands upon thousands of miles within seconds until he was floating above Westeros with a birds eye view, like that of a map. He remained there for a moment transfixed by the beauty until he was pulled to the earth suddenly, finding himself standing within the Wolfswood. If he were to guess, he stood at about the halfway point between Deepwood Motte and Winterfell; the very heart of the Wolfswood. For whatever reason, he felt as though not even the hardiest woodsmen of the forest had ever ventured here.
Ned felt rather queasy, but he did his best to push himself past it. All around him were trees. Massive sentinels, soldier pines, and oaks could be found in all directions alongside the odd ironwood. That said it appeared that there was a clearing nearby.
Ned slowly, for his belly felt like a bushel of badgers in a burlap bag, walked to the clearing. Dry leaves crunched as fallen twigs and branches snapped beneath his feet. The trees eventually parted to reveal clear skies and long grass swaying peacefully in the wind. The real treat was that of a tall, lone mountain in the distance.
The mountain was cracked right down the middle, as though the gods had taken an axe to it and left it broken. Both peaks were capped by snow, and in the light of the sun, they shined brilliantly. The south peak was the taller of the two and even curved somewhat over the sheer vertical drop that made the gap. The north peak was shorter by about a fifth the mountain's total height. The chasm itself made it about halfway down the mountain before it ended in something of a plateau. The plateau once out of the shadowy chasm itself gave way to the mountain's slopes once again.
A mountain in a forest followed by another mountain in another forest, Ned thought. He did not yet know why these things were important, but the gods were showing them to him, so he would do his best to understand what they were trying to say.
The world passed by in a flash as he found himself being moved to the Wall.
It was the dead of night. Like before, this night felt as though someone looked upon the world and found its people wanting. The atmosphere was of that same oppressive nature and Ned felt little but dread. The light of the full moon brought no comfort.
He looked to either side of him expecting to see nobody, but he was instead greeted with the sight of the Wall packed to the brim with soldiers. Black Brothers of the Night's Watch could be seen occasionally, but most seemed to be those of Northern and Baratheon banners alongside a great many banners he had never seen before. The most common of them bore a red toad with a leaf like spiral on its belly sat inside a blue circle layered atop an orange and white spiral. Words emblazoned upon it read, "Ours is the Will of Fire".
A pair of figures came into focus. Both were tall, but the man with the white hair reaching to his knees was the taller of the two. He had an air of wisdom and experience about him that Ned doubted even some of the most traveled people in the world had. The other man was yellow blonde of hair with a youthful energy and endless charisma oozing from every fiber of his being.
A third man made an appearance. His hair was black as the night and the feeling of death surrounded him like a cloak as he palmed a sword nervously with his left hand. When he spoke, it was in a language that Ned could not recognize, but there was one phrase that stuck out to him.
"Kitakage sama."
Ned watched the black-haired man depart, but his attention was once again drawn to the blonde man as he spoke in a tongue he could actually recognize.
"Ok Madara, you want the world? Come and claim it!" he thundered.
In the haunted forest beyond the Wall, Ned watched with horror as the ten tailed beast opened its eye.
XXXXX
When Sansa asked her father if he would pray with her, she was not expecting that the gods would say anything of significance. She supposed that was technically still true.
Her father had talked at length of greendreams. Was that what this was?
The young Stark stood in the lower levels of the first keep of Winterfell. The only reason she could tell where she stood was because Beth and Jeyne had once suggested that here, so close to the crypts you could hear ghosts in the walls. The two had dared her to spend an hour there. With her pride on the line, Sansa had stayed there for an entire night out of sheer spite. They never again tried to dare Sansa to do anything.
Here with ten feet of soil and stone between her head and the surface, the square foundation of the old tower could be seen. Above ground, the tower was long ago rebuilt to be round. Torches were lit all around the cellar providing ample light.
Sansa didn't know what to make of her current circumstances. She felt compelled to go somewhere, but she wasn't sure where. Hoping maybe that things would become clearer to her if she moved around, she sought the stairwell that led upwards. The compulsion immediately rejected that notion, so instead she made her way further into the tower's subterranean belly.
She went down two flights of stairs. A warm feeling enveloped her body. That was not surprising to the girl. Down here was one of the hot springs upon which Winterfell was originally built. She saw nothing that really caught her eye, so in lieu of any other hints, Sansa made her way down the corridor that led to the hot spring itself. The passageway had once been part of the cave where the spring was discovered all those thousands of years ago. Now it was lined by stone bricks and wooden crossbeams leaving nothing of the cave visible to the eye.
Sansa passed a door that led to the lower levels of the crypts. The compulsion she felt made it clear that what she sought was not in the hallowed halls of the dead.
Without warning, there was a very sharp pull and Sansa yelped in surprise as she found herself on her butt. She looked around like a cornered cat. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to her admittedly rather inexperienced eyes.
But if it was obvious, it would not be a very good hiding spot would it, Sansa thought.
She still did not know what the compulsion was having her search for, but Sansa was feeling increasingly stubborn. If for nothing else than her pride, she wanted to find that which was hidden.
Her hands patted the stone walls and their wooden crossbeams. Mold and mildew stuck to her fingers and palms as they moved across the damp walls, but she could not bring herself to care. She felt every inch of the wall before the pull informed her that she was moving away from where she should be searching. Moving to the wall on the other side, she continued.
It felt like hours later, and Sansa was getting tired, but she was not going to give up. The compulsion within her was practically screaming with anticipation.
Her fingers glided across a gap in the stone bricks that was ever so slightly larger than the abject uniformity of all the others. Baby blue eyes sparkled with delight as she felt around the brick in question. There were no more abnormalities, so it must be the brick itself that is the key.
In the tales and stories, the brave adventurer always pushes on the stone to reveal a secret tunnel leading to treasure beyond measure. That did not happen here. She pushed that damn stone five different ways, and the thing refused to budge a hair. Naturally, her next course of action was to instead pull on the brick.
Sansa smiled. There was some give in the brick when she pulled on it. With a most unladylike roar, she ripped the thing clean out of its spot on the wall.
And then the gods cucked her as she woke up.
XXXXX
Author's Note: As with before, update coming next week.
Natas's name is based on a really stupid movie I watched once the name of which escapes me right now. In any event, it's just Satan backwards, nothing fancy. His flatbread is based on Indian lamb stuffed flatbread, keema naan. Delicious stuff if done well.
Lastly, the (admittedly early) reveal of what the kage of our new hidden village will be. Kitakage translates as North shadow, emphasis on the capitalization of North. When I looked at translations, there were like 5 different versions of the word north. In this case, kita best I can tell is when North is used as a name (North America) for example. Since the North is literally called the North, it felt the most fitting. Hope that provides some insight into that particular choice of word.
Last chapter of the arc coming next week. Take care folks!