Song of A Northern Sorcerer

by ffdrake

Darth Nox crash lands onto the frozen land of the North after barely escaping an ambush from the Zakuul Empire. Alone and without resources and with no hope of rescue, Nox decides to make the best of his situation and attaches himself to nearest available option until he can rebuild his powerbase and influence. And with his arrival, the fate of Westeros will be forever changed.

27. New Alliances Part 1

Well everyone, I'm back! Hope that you all had a good holiday and hope that everyone is staying healthy out there. SOrry for the slight delay, but eh, holidays, job, family and general cold and flu season slowed me down slightly. Not much to say…so we'll just get to the normal comments and get this show on the road!

Shoutout to my beta reader and brainstorm partner Tellemicus Sundace. The help has been invaluable so far. In fact, a huge chunk of this chapter was their brain child, so huge props to Tellemicus Sundance for an excellent idea! Lastly, I do not own Disney, nor am I Lucas or Martin; so I have no ownership of A Song of Fire and Ice, Game of Thrones or Star Wars. This is purely for fun with no profit being made. And with that out of the way, let's get to the chapter! Stay safe out there everyone!

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Chapter 27

When he had first seen the Wall, Jon Stark had thought that it had been a sight of wonder. One, if not the greatest construct ever built by the hands of man. He been struck by awe at the sight. But that was when he was seeing the Wall from the south. Now that he was seeing it from the north, even though it was the same construct, it was just…different. It wasn't a barrier of protection anymore. It was a monstrosity designed to keep all invaders at bay. The sheer scope of the Wall instilled fear, not comfort of its protection. It was…quite the oddity that the same structure could invoke two completely different feelings pending on which side of it you were on.

"Broodin again, Jon Stark? If ye keep broodin like that, yer face will get stuck. And you have far too pretty a face for it to be stuck like that for the rest of yer life."

Resisting the urge to grind his teeth and doing all he could to keep the quickening of his heart under control, Jon turned his head to look at Ygritte. The Free Folk woman was, to use his master's words, tenacious. She never left him alone! He went to sleep alone and woke up with her next to him. He went out hunting and she showed up stealing his kill and mocking him for not being quicker. She was infuriating! And…intoxicating. For every fault he could find with her, he could find two perfections. He hated that she snuck into his furs every night, even going so far as to bribe Ghost with smoked meat to let her by. Yet at the same time, he now yearned to wake up every morning with the smell of the forest that was on her. She joked and prodded him for being too 'southern' or too 'slow', yet at the same time those same prodding's urged him to be better than he was. She'd worked her way into his mind and heart in much the same way as Arianne had. And for that, he felt lower than horse shit.

He cared greatly for Arianne and could see a future with her, a future that he yearned for with all his heart. Yet now, now Ygritte had rushed headlonged into his life and wouldn't leave. And worse yet, he didn't have the strength, nor want, to make her leave. He tried comparing her to Arianne to push her aside, but that was a total failure. They were both pushy, straightforward, and not afraid to speak their mind about their wants or desires. And they both pushed him to try and be far better than he was. When comparing who they were failed to separate the two, he tried comparing their looks. Where Arianne had hair as dark and beautiful as the night sky, Ygritte had a mane of fire that smelled of the forest. Where Arianne was buxom and full figured and sophisticated, Ygritte was a lithe warrior woman. Where Arianne had skin kissed by the sun, Ygritte was pale like freshly fallen snow. The two couldn't be any more different from one another in terms of looks. Yet, both were beyond beautiful to him. It was like trying to compare a sunrise in the north compared to a sunrise in the south.

In the end, he tried one last desperate attempt to push Ygritte away by telling her of Arianne. About how his heart was with her and that he wanted to make a future with his Dornish Princess. Ygritte had been struck silent for a moment, but then she just shrugged it off. She asked him if Arianne was beautiful and strong. Which of course he answered with a 'yes', and she responded with 'I can work with that'. She then went on and told him of the little-known aspect of the Free Folk culture regarding the stealing of spouses. The Free Folk would not steal one who was already stolen, but it also wasn't unheard of for a man and woman to steal another if they both agreed to it and if they were strong enough to have more than one man or woman. She then launched into a tale, in far too much detail in his opinion, of a Free Folk chieftain woman who was apparently strong enough to steal three husband's and made frequent use of all three of them in the furs. The story rocked Jon so hard that his mind went blank and the only thing he could think to ask was how such a thing was possible. To which Ygritte just smiled and told him, 'three cocks for three holes'. Just the mere thought of which made him want to jump into the nearest icy stream just so he could reset himself and think straight once more.

"If my brooding bothers you so much, Ygritte, maybe you should find a man who doesn't do so as much."

Ygritte merely smiled at him and shook her head. "Ye won't be rid of me so easily, Jon Stark. Not when you went and stole me like ye did. But I do have ta wonder if yer truly up for what ye got ahead of ya. Ya stole me. Ya wanna steal this Arianne. And just last night ye kept mumbling 'Dany'. How many women ya planning on stealin, Jon Stark? And do ya really think you can keep up with three women and keep us all satisfied? Other chieftains have tried in the past ya know. But none have managed to satisfy more than two women at a time."

Jon nearly tripped. Last night was the first night he'd managed to reconnect with Daenerys through their bond since they'd discussed, or rather argued, over the events of the Rebellion and what caused it. To his surprise though, she'd not only been the one to apologize, but she had also admitted that he was right. About everything. And then she begged him, literally begged him on her knees, to teach her what he could of the Force and to help her become powerful. When he pressed her on why she wanted the power, she answered that she wanted to forge her own path. A new path forward for House Targaryen. So, he began teaching her what he could. Which now was little more than an introduction on meditation and speaking of the Sith and Jedi codes to her. But it was a start. And for reasons that escaped him, he'd felt a tremendous weight leave him as soon as they made their connection once more.

"Dany is," he started, unsure of just how to put into words his relationship with Dany was. And come to think of it, he honestly didn't know the answer to that either. "She, well…I – let's just say that…oh hells. The chances of either of us ever being in the same place again is…highly unlikely."

Ygritte gave him a look of disbelief before shrugging. "Well…if she's strong enough to be in your dreams…then mayhap you'll be a greater collector of stolen women than any other chieftain. But don ye think I'm just gonna let ya start stealin any woman that passes yer fancy, Jon Stark. They gotta prove themselves to ya and me before I even think of letting ya steal em. And if ye don't…I'll be takin your balls, Jon Stark." The grin the wilding woman shot him before quickening her pace to rejoin some of the other Free Folk told him that it was no idle threat either. She really would take his balls if he stepped out of line. Despite himself, he couldn't stop when his eyes wandered down her back to rest on her shapely bac – 'Gods damnit Jon! Control yourself!'

Peering behind him, Jon took a moment to gaze out over the five thousand Free Folk that would soon be swearing themselves to House Stark and thereby being allowed passage through the Wall. It was honestly strange to think that he'd spent his entire life mostly being told stories about the 'evil' and 'terror' of the wildlings. About how they were just shy of being demons inhabiting human bodies and how they would snatch you in your sleep and kill you or eat you or worse. But when he looked over the line of people behind him, he didn't see demons or evil people. He just saw people. Families who wanted to live. And if he were being entirely truthful outside of the skirmish against the cannibals, who were despised even by a good majority of the Free Folk, he had seen and heard of more evil acts being committed by the so-called 'civilized' people who lived south of the Wall. 'Of course, not all of them are exactly…well…human.' He thought, turning his eyes to one side of the column where their newest additions were walking.

The morning after the incident at Craster's Keep they'd been approached by an…unexpected visitor. The giants, led by Mag the Mighty and numbering sixty in total with just as many mammoth mounts had approached their camp while they were still breaking it down. The Free Folk amongst hadn't necessarily been alarmed at their sudden presence, surprised yes, but not alarmed. The same however could not be said of those from south of the Wall. Which was completely understandable in Jon's opinion. After all, it wasn't every day that you would wake up and find a horde of giants standing just outside your camp. Thankfully, before things could escalate to violence, Jon's father stepped forth and approached the giants. What happened next was sure to go down as one of the strangest exchanges in the history of the North, perhaps even all of Westeros. Mag grunted out a few words to his father which sounded suspiciously like 'Stark' and 'Kings of Winter'. The leader of the giants then turned and waved south before growling out something along the lines of the blood of winter still running strong even in the warmth. He then, to the surprise of everyone present, went to a knee before Lord Stark and placed a hand over his chest before bellowing, "Stark. King of Winter. We, follow. Only strong. Follow. Wolves to warmth." It was about as strong as an oath as one could expect from the giants, who primarily spoke the Old Tongue and only a few words of the common and, according to Val, it was an oath that not even Mance Rayder or the Thenns had ever managed to get from the giants.

And with that swearing, their group grew not necessarily in numbers, but certainly in size as the giants and their mammoth mounts joined in the procession heading towards the Wall under the banner of House Stark.

Forcing himself on the path ahead, Jon nearly ran head long into his brother Robb, who'd come to a stop in the middle of the path. Jon was about to ask his brother why he'd stopped, but then he noticed their father had his fist held up, signaling a stop to the column. Moving around his brother, Jon immediately saw why his father had called for a halt. Just ahead of them, near a line of trees were a dozen men on horses wearing all black. Rangers from the Night's Watch. None of whom seemed pleased at all to see them. Save for the lone black brother that was just ahead of the others. 'Uncle Benjen,' Jon thought with a smile as he watched his uncle urge his horse forward while their father began walking to meet him. Behind them, Jon could hear more than a few disgruntled mutterings coming from the Free Folk about the sudden presence of the Night's Watch, or the Crows as they like to call them.

"Benjen," their father called out as their uncle dismounted his horse.

"Ned," Uncle Benjen returned before looking past their father at the assembled mass of people behind them. "Even knowing what you planned on doing north of the Wall, Ned…I honestly didn't believe that you would get them to agree…let alone so many of them at once."

"Fighting a battle together has a way of forging bonds fast," their father said, drawing a quick questioning look from Benjen that urged their father to continue. "There were a number of chieftains that did not agree with Mance Rayder's decision to treat with us. And they tried to launch an attack on Hardhome while we were there. Their plan might've worked had the gods not favored us. But in the end, the dissenters are either dead, or have been brought back into the fold under different chieftains."

Benjen's eyes went wide as he immediately examined their father, Robb and Jon with a quick critical eye, no doubt looking for any injuries. "Who were the dissenters?"

"Crowkiller, Weeper, Herma and Lord of Bones. All are dead." Lady Val said, drawing their uncle's attention as she stepped up alongside their father.

Benjen's brow furrowed before recognition dawned in his eyes. "You must be Val, good-sister to Mance Rayder are you not?"

"Aye, I am." Val nodded.

"Soon to be Lady Val of the North, once she chooses a House name for herself and her people." Their father added before nodding towards the black brothers who were still on their horses a distance behind Benjen. "Are we going to have any problems?"

Looking behind him, Jon noticed the slight look of worry that passed quickly over their uncle's face. "You know your decision was not well received amongst the Night's Watch. These ones with me are not…pleased with the decision. But so long as they swear to the North, we have no right to stop them from crossing. Nor will anyone try and stop them. You have my word on that."

"I guess we'll see just how good the word of a crow is," Val said, glaring at the black brothers still astride their horses behind Benjen.

Uncle Benjen took her scorn in stride, apparently used to the reputation of the Night's Watch amongst the Free Folk. "So, we shall my lady. I take it that you're bringing them to the weirwood groove to swear their oaths then brother? I'll lead you to them."

Jon's father nodded and made to follow their uncle as Benjen, and the other brothers of the Night's Watch, all turned their mounts around and started heading towards the Wall. Behind them, the line of Free Folk began moving once more, but Jon could sense a large amount of…apprehension coming from behind him. 'It's easy enough to say you'll do something,' Jon thought, remembering back to the many lessons he, Robb and Theon had endured under bother their father and Master Nox. 'But actually, following through on your words is far more difficult. All these people said they would swear to the North and House Stark in return for safety and a chance at a new life…I guess we'll soon see just how many of them actually meant it, and how many were just saying the words.'

As they continued south, Jon noticed that Robb was staring at the Wall. Or at least he seemed like he was. It was more like his brother was…mesmerized by the Wall. "Robb," he said lowly, giving his brother a nudge to get his attention. "Are you alright?"

"Aye," Robb said, still not taking his eyes off the Wall as they walked. "I…I just got this…feeling like I need to be somewhere…now. Not here. Well, I still need to be here but…I don't know."

"Just say what you mean, Robb," Theon joked, striding up alongside them. "You just want to get south of the Wall again and back to Winterfell so you can get back in the arms of that woman of yours."

That got Robb to look away from the Wall. "That's not it… Well, it is, but – Oh shut it, you two! It's not like you two are any better! Jon wants to get back to his princess…and I'm sure you're missing the warmth of a woman as well, Theon."

Theon didn't bother denying it, though Jon kept his mouth shut. "You're right on that one, Robb… I've been missing the company of a good woman. Maybe I should see what this Mole's Town has to offer south of the Wall. Maybe they got some gems hidden beneath the shadow of the Wall. And what about you, Jon? I would ask if you're missing your princess…but considering the company you've been keeping lately in your furs –"

"Nothing has been happening between Ygritte and I!" Jon hissed, glancing around to make sure his words didn't carry too far, or that Ygritte wasn't nearby to hear.

Theon's grin turned lecherous. "Oh? And why not, Jon? She's more than willing. Perhaps you just don't know where to put it? Or perhaps what to do with a fine woman like that? If so, I'll be more than willing to please her in any manner you find yourself lacking in."

Jon glared back at Theon and Robb as his brother started chuckling. "I know where to 'put it', Theon! It's just…I don't – well, I do want to, but… Gods…I – My heart is with Princess Arianne." Though that last part was true, it wasn't the whole truth. His heart did belong to the Princess of Dorne, but lately she'd had to start sharing the space with Ygritte.

"What does the heart have to do with a good fucking, Jon?" Theon asked, clearly not understanding the connection. "She wants it. You want it. Go for it. And what your princess doesn't know won't hurt her. Though…she is Dornish. Hells, she might just jump in the bed with the both of you… Lucky fucking bastard."

Before he could stop himself, the image of the three of them; Arianne, Ygritte and himself formed in his mind. He'd be lying if he said this was the first time that he'd had such a thought. But just as he did each other time it came up, he immediately banished it. He would not let himself fantasize about such a thing. Most people were lucky to be even able to find one to spend their life with, without having to pay a lot of coin. So, he would not allow himself the fantasy of thinking he had a true chance to have two beautiful and powerful women to himself.

Hearing the murmurings increase behind him, as well as the feeling of apprehension, Jon looked around and noticed that Uncle Benjen had led them into a grove within the Haunted Forest that contained not one or two…but nine weirwood trees arranged in an almost circular formation. 'By the gods,' Jon breathed as he stepped within the circle. He always felt something whenever he was before the weirwood in Winterfell, be it the Force or the old gods he didn't know. But standing amid these weirwoods…that same feeling returned. Only amplified several times over.

Staying near the outer ring of the weirwoods, Jon watched with Robb and Theon as their father walked to the center of the grove with Winter trotting alongside him. Stopping, Lord Stark turned and faced the Free Folk that were still following them, his gaze falling on Val in particular.

"And now we come to it," Lord Stark said, his voice loud and clear as it carried easily through the grove.

Jon noticed Val's hand shaking slightly as she stepped out of the line of weirwoods and approached Lord Stark and the now sitting Winter in the center of the weirwoods. "Salvation through death." Her voice was so low and soft that Jon almost didn't catch her words before she visibly took hold of herself and slowly, almost excruciatingly slowly, went down to a single knee before his father. When she spoke again, her voice was of steel. "I, Val of the Free Folk…do hereby swear my life, spear and shield to Lord Eddard Stark. His values are my values. His laws are my laws. Before the gods of the North and the First Men…I make my oath."

It wasn't necessarily a traditional oath of fealty, but it was close enough to work. "I, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, do hereby accept your oath, Val of the Free Folk. And I vow that you shall always have a place at my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. Your worries are my worries. Your people are my people. And I shall ask of you and yours no service of which I am unwilling to do myself. Before the gods of the North and the First Men, I do hereby make this oath. Rise now, Lady Val of the North."

Lady Val lifted her head and rose to her feet before turning and standing side by side next to Jon's father. Jon had to admit that the two of them with Winter standing side by side in the midst of a weirwood grove… It made for quite a sight.

"I know many of you are having second thoughts, or perhaps third and fourths," Lady Val said, her voice carrying easily across the grove. "But as hard as this is…and trust me it was not easy. We must move forward if we are to survive the winter that is coming for us all. If any of you do not wish for this, leave now, and you will not be thought ill of. But for those of you who are ready to move our people forward under the banner of House Stark, then step forward and I will hear your oaths beside the lord of the wolves."

The Free Folk closest to the ring of the weirwoods all started looking back and forth at one another, waiting to see who would be the first one to take the plunge. "Oh…fuck it," Ygritte grumbled, marching forward, but not before shooting a look towards Jon that promised him bodily harm. "This is all yer fault, Jon Stark…So ya better be takin responsibility."

Caught off guard, Jon couldn't say anything back to her as Ygritte made her way to the center of the grove. Without hesitation, she dropped to one knee before Val and his father and spoke the same oath as Val. After receiving the response back from the two leaders, Ygritte quickly shot to her feet and turned heel, her eyes glaring daggers at Jon as she marched over to him. "This was yer fault." Ygritte muttered as she stood beside him, while a group of ten or so Free Folk made their way forward.

"What did I do?" he asked, glancing at the fierce woman beside him.

The grin she shot him was feral and unbelievably attractive… How the hells could she make a look seem so attractive and dangerous at the same time?! "Ye still know nothin, Jon Stark."

'Gods help me…I'm never going to figure her out…or Arianne for that matter.' He sighed as he watched the group of Free Folk go down to a knee and swear their oaths. 'But now I really have to figure out what I'm going to do. Ygritte deciding not to come south was my last easy way out of this…whatever this is between us. I can't just ask her to go somewhere else once we're south of the Wall…and I doubt she would even go in the first place. Hells, she'd probably do the exact opposite of what I asked of her just to mess with me.'

By the time the sun had come close to setting perhaps only a third of those who'd followed them south had approached to swear their oaths. The time had obviously started to take its toll on all of them. Robb was constantly looking towards the Wall. Theon had left to relieve himself more times than Jon could count. And if Ygritte sighed one more time or took out her arrows to check their heads or fletching…he didn't know what he'd do. Even Val was starting to look more than a little…well…bored with the whole procession. Only their father and Lord Nox were keeping their calm, at least on the outside. But Jon knew his father's tells enough to know that even his father was getting tired of all of this. And honestly…Lord Nox could probably be sleeping seeing as how he was leaning up against a tree and hadn't even twitched in some time.

"Boys, Nox," his father called out suddenly after the latest batch of Free Folk got up from their knees.

"Yes father," Robb responded, jerking in place at being called out so suddenly.

Their father waited for the three of them and Nox to get close before saying why he called them over. "This is going to take some time still. Take Benjen with you and bring this first group through the tunnels and south of the Wall. Take them past Castle Black and have them settle near Moles Town."

"Aye father," Robb and Jon both said, while Lord Nox and Theon merely nodded.

It didn't take too terribly long to gather all of those who had sworn their oaths, and by the time the sun was starting to reach the mountains in the west, Jon and Robb were leading the first thousand or so former Free Folk through the tunnel that led under the Wall and out into Castle Black with their Uncle Benjen leading the procession. A fact that Jon was most grateful for as they came out of the tunnel in the courtyard of Castle Black and found themselves all but surrounded by seemingly every black brother in the keep. And leading the black brothers, standing in the middle of the yard with his hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword, was perhaps the dourest faced man Jon had ever seen in his life.

"Ser Thorne," Benjen said, stepping forward and putting himself between the dour faced man and the rest of them. "Do we have a problem here?"

Thorne sneered as he stared first at Uncle Benjen and the rest of them. "Betraying the vows of the Night's Watch by letting these wildlings through the Wall, First Ranger. I would say that we have a problem with that. Always figured you wolves were wildling fuckers…Now we know for sure. You're no better than them."

Reaching out, Jon caught Ygritte's hand as she reached for either her dagger or her bow. Now was not the time to get into a fight. Squaring his shoulders, Robb stepped forward past their uncle and right up in front of Ser Thorne. Jon could feel the cold calm washing off his brother. It was an aura their father always projected whenever he was dealing with an unruly individual. "Those standing with us now, Ser Thorne, are those who are sworn to the North and House Stark. They are no longer what you consider a 'wildling'. Or a member of the Free Folk. They are of the North. And as such, any action taken against them while under the protection of House Stark will be considered an act against House Stark itself. A fact which is well known by the Lord Commander Mormont, who I see is conveniently absent. Which means that this little, whatever this is, is occurring without his knowledge, is it not? I wonder what the Lord Commander would think, knowing that the brothers of the Night's Watch have fallen to the point of assaulting men and women sworn to the North."

He could feel the Force weaving into his brother's voice as the words flowed through his mouth. And the effect was almost immediate as most of the black brothers who'd assembled begun either slumping their shoulders in defeat, or outright trying to sneak away in the dying light. Only Ser Thorne appeared unaffected as the dour faced man held his ground, his sneer set firmly in place as he fought a battle of wills against the heir of Winterfell and future Warden of the North.

"Mark my words Stark," Thorne growled lowly. "This will doom us all. Beasts like these cannot be house broken."

This time Jon almost had to physically take Ygritte in his arms to hold her back. And he was sure that if the other former Free Folk had been close enough to hear, she wouldn't have been the only one. "That is not your decision to make, Ser Thorne," Robb continued, his aura and voice never once faltering. "Now, stand aside and return to your duties. And we will forgo mentioning this little display to the Lord Commander."

Thorne looked like he wanted to press the issue further, but the man showed some amount of reason as he turned tail and marched quickly out of the yard, leaving a few hurrying to catch up with him. "Well done, Robb," Lord Nox said, stepping forward and patting Robb on the shoulder. "You used the Force to accent your presence and your words. Very well done indeed."

"Thank you, Lord Nox," Robb nodded, though Jon could detect something in his brother that was…off. Despite what'd just occurred, his eyes kept flickering towards the west. As if something was drawing, or rather demanding his attention. "Keep the people moving!" Robb called out, regaining himself. "We need to get them all through the Wall and south of Castle Black as quickly as possible. Uncle Benjen… You know these lands better than any here. I would appreciate if you would lead the Free Folk to an area where they can set camp."

"Aye, I can do that," their uncle nodded before motioning behind them for the former Free Folk to follow him.

Standing aside, Jon motioned for Ygritte to go with her people as he went towards his brother, who was still staring off towards the west. "Robb," he said, coming close to his brother. "What's going on?"

Biting his lip, Robb shook his head. "I – I don't know Jon. I just…I just have this urge. It keeps telling me that I should…no. That I need to go somewhere. When we were north of the Wall it was muddied and unclear. But now that we're south of the Wall. I can almost feel something physically pulling me in that direction."

"It's your Trial, Robb Stark."

Turning, Robb and Jon found Lord Nox walking up to the two of them, his sightless face staring off in the direction Robb had indicated. "My – My trial?" Robb asked.

"Yes," Lord Nox repeated flatly. "Sometimes a Master decides when a trial is to be had, as I did with Jon. Other times though, the Force intervenes and decides that it is time for an acolyte or apprentice to undergo their trials. This pull you feel, Robb, is the Force telling you that it is time for you to face your trials to become a full-fledged apprentice."

Jon felt both excitement and fear rush through him. Excitement because his brother was advancing. And fear…because Jon remembered well what he faced during his trial in Valyria. His fight against the firewyrm and shadow might've been an illusion…but he still remembered the pain and the fear of the moment. And that wasn't even considering he had to traverse the ruins of Valyria alone. "You've got this, Robb," Jon said, knuckling his brother lightly on the shoulder. "Hells, I could do it. This should be a walk through the godswood for you."

Jon could sense Robb's uncertainty, but his brother kept his face calm as he turned to Lord Nox. "What will I face?"

"I don't know," Lord Nox answered honestly. "It differs for each individual based on what the Force feels you need. You will face dangers. But most of all, you will face yourself. Be strong. You have been well trained, by both your father and I. You are ready for this, so do not allow yourself room for doubt. Go. And return to us no longer an acolyte, but a full-fledged Apprentice."

Despite the encouragement, Robb still hesitated. "Wh–What should I bring? And what about father? He's still north of the Wall and-"

"I will deal with your father, Robb," Lord Nox pressed, his voice slightly more insistent. "And you will bring only yourself and Grey Wind, as the wolf is as much a part of you as your own arms and legs. You can take a horse to aid in your travels. But beyond that, you must face whatever is waiting for you alone."

Biting his lip, Robb turned and faced off towards the west once more. His anxiety and fear were still present. But they were being suppressed by the resolve surging through him. "Alright…time to face my fears."

---

Walking through the darkened tunnel leading beneath the Wall, Ned Stark was feeling every one of his advanced years weighing down on him with each step he took. It'd been a long, long time since he'd performed such a march on foot, let alone through a terrain like the one that was north of the Wall. And while this day had not necessarily included much walking, it was still draining. Many might think that it was not difficult to sit there and receive the oaths of loyalty, but they were fools. It was a taxing experience to do it even with those who you knew were already loyal to you. Doing it for the Free Folk, let alone five thousand of the Free Folks…well…Ned was very much looking forward to resting in an actual bed tonight. 'Though I fear it will not be for long,' he thought sourly. Despite their best efforts, he and Val had only managed to receive oaths from perhaps half of the Free Folk that'd followed them south before the sun had set and wariness had made continuing on next to impossible. After Robb and Jon had led the first batch through the Wall, Ned had been sending groups periodically throughout the day with the Tyrells, Martells, and Lannisters so that they would not be harassed during the crossing. And now with the sun firmly set below the horizon he'd called for an end to the day, taking Val with him across the Wall while the rest of the Free Folk made camp just north of it, waiting for them both to return the following day to receive the rest of their oaths.

'At least the giants were easy to deal with,' he thought as he began to see the end of the tunnel ahead. While a giant could make it through the tunnel, they would pretty much be doing so on their hands and knees. And there was next to no chance of the mammoths making it through the tunnel. So, Ned had come up with a compromise with Mag the Mighty. Mag and the giants would follow Maege Mormont west along the northern side of the Wall until they reached the gorge so that they could pass over the Bridge of Skulls. It wasn't ideal, but it was the only way Ned could think to get the giants across the Wall with their mammoths. After they crossed, Maege stated that she intended to continue onwards to her home, which then left Ned with his next problem with the giants, which was how to guide them south to Winterfell, and after to the Barrow lands where he intended on allowing the giants to roam. But mercifully, Mag the Mighty had waved off his concerns. Apparently, despite not being able to read or understand maps, the giants were experts at finding their way. And Mag had assured Ned that they would find the center of the North and reach Winterfell. And Ned highly doubted anyone would try and impede their path. Only a fool without a brain in his head would even think about attacking a caravan with over sixty giants and their mounts.

Coming out into the open of Castle Black, Ned took a moment to turn his head skywards and stare at the full moon hanging in the night sky. 'And to think…out there amongst the stars there are those that freely travel between their own world and their moon or other planets. And here we are…stuck on the surface of our world for who knows how many generations still.' "Are you wolves always so…contemplative?"

Beside him, Val was going back and forth between looking at him and at the moon hanging over their heads. "What do you mean?"

"You and your sons," Val responded. "You three all get this same look in yer eye and stare off into the distance as if yer trying to solve some great riddle. But ye don't even know what the riddle is yer trying to solve."

"They are my sons," Ned answered simply. "And there is much that is on our minds…as you will soon learn once you have your own people, and the people of your soon-to-be-home to manage."

Val frowned at the thought. "And why can't you kneelers just think for yourselves?"

"We can and we do," Ned answered as he started looking around Castle Black, looking for his sons but not finding them. 'They must be with the camp south of Castle Black.' "The duty of a Lord or Lady is to oversee your people, to keep the peace. To ensure they are not overusing the land or over hunting to the point where they drive all game off your lands. And unlike north of the Wall, where your answer would be to simply move to a new location, that option will no longer be available for you and your people."

Turning away from the pensive Val, Ned nearly ran headfirst into Nox, who had managed to place himself almost directly in his path without Ned even realizing. "Nox," he said, greeting the sorcerer and doing everything he could not to show his surprise at the man's sudden appearance, which was a step up from Val who started and started drawing her spear before realizing who he was.

"Ned, Val," Nox greeted them both, "I wanted to let you know before you started losing your mind. Robb has departed for his Trial and won't be back for some time."

Ned's brain took a moment to catch up with what Nox was saying, and when it did all he could focus on was 'Robb' and 'departed'. "What the hell do you mean?" Ned asked, stepping forward until there was but a hands width separating the two. "What do you mean that Robb has departed!? Where has he gone? Where have you sent him?!"

Ned felt a gentle yet invisible force wrap around him like a blanket, preventing him from moving. The sensation was brief, yet unmistakable. A gentle reminder of just who he was dealing with. "The Force has decided that it was past time for Robb to face his Trials, just as Jon did in Valyria." That did not make Ned feel any better. He remembered well the story of Jon's 'Trial' in Valyria…and it was not something that, while he understood was necessary, he was eager to put any of his children through.

Taking a hold of himself, Ned resisted the urge to begin pacing like a caged animal. "Where did he go?"

"The Force was drawing him towards the west. Where to exactly I do not know, though I have an idea."

Turning, Ned started off in the direction of the stables, but was stopped as Nox placed himself in his path. "Out of my way, Nox," Ned growled. "You are my friend, and the good you have done for the North and House Stark goes without saying…but that is my son you sent out on his own."

Nox didn't move. He just stood there like the Wall itself, barring his path forward. "Do you trust in the training that you've given your son over the years, Ned?"

Taken aback, Ned narrowed his eyes at Nox. "Of course."

"Do you doubt my ability to train him?"

"No, of course I—"

"Do you trust in your son?"

"Yes. But –"

"Then trust your son," Nox said with a note of finality. "As much as you may not wish it to be so, one day Robb, Jon, and all your children will have to stand on their own. And while neither you nor I can teach them everything, there comes a point where one must place your trust in the fact that you have prepared them as much as you possibly could for the challenges ahead of them. This is something that Robb must face alone. Your presence with him would be only a hindrance at best. And while this is Robb's trial…it is also a trial for you and I. A trial to see if we truly trust in the capabilities of the ones we've trained."

Stepping up beside him, Nox laid a hand on his shoulder. "Trust in your son, Ned. He will make it through this. And he will be a better and stronger man because of it."

He hated it. Gods help him, he hated it. But Nox was right. As was unfortunately a normal situation. "I may not know much about this strange magic you wolves and the sorcerer wield," Val said, adding her voice to the conversation. "But I have seen your pup with a blade in his hand. And he has survived in the untamed lands of my people. He's strong. Whatever he has gone to face, he will certainly succeed."

Sighing in defeat, Ned turned his head slightly towards Nox. "Does it ever get any easier?"

Nox's face remained completely devoid of emotion. "I'll let you know if I ever get an answer to that, my friend."

---

Holding his cloak tighter around himself with his left hand while keeping hold of his horse's reigns in his right, Robb Stark grit his teeth as he fought against the biting cold wind of the North as he rode west along the southern side of the Wall with Grey Wind keeping pace at his side. Granted, the cold wasn't nearly as bad as it was north of the Wall, and the Wall itself acted as a buffer against the worst of the wind. It was still cold. Far colder than he could ever remember Winterfell being. For not the first time after spending two days at a near breakneck pace on his horse, he began regretting his decision to leave Castle Black and head west, especially without company besides Grey Wind. But as soon as that regret came it immediately fled. He was doing the right thing. This was something that he needed to do. And it was something that he needed to do on his own.

Hearing Grey Wind whine beside him, Robb turned his attention off the snow-covered path before and towards the dire wolf that was now coming up to his horse's stirrups. "I know, boy," Robb said, trying to reassure both his friend, and himself, that he knew what he was doing. "I know we've already passed by two of the ruined Night's Watch castles…but those places weren't what we're looking for. But I promise you, boy…It won't be much longer now. The…pull from the Force I felt back in Castle Black. It's back. And stronger now than before. We're close, boy. I know it. And once we're done with whatever it is I need to do, I promise you an entire buck to gorge yourself on."

Grey Wind's large head turned up towards him as his tongue rolled out of his mouth and he felt a wave of acceptance seemingly roll off of his beast friend. Smirking, Robb turned his attention back to the road ahead of him, and nearly fell off his horse as he saw the ruins of yet another Night's Watch castle come into view. Only this was no ordinary castle along the Wall. This castle was one of legend, and not of the good kind. 'The Nightfort,' Robb thought, taking a breath to steel himself as he pulled his horse to a stop so that he could stare out over the ruins. 'This place…Old Nan would tell us all stories of this place. None of them pleasant. It was here that the Rat Cook served an Andal King his son in a pie. It was here that Brave Danny Flint was raped and murdered by the men of the Night's Watch. This place even unsettled Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen to the point where she all but commanded the place be abandoned when she 'suggested' that the Night's Watch should consolidate into fewer castles along the Wall. And it is here…where my trial shall take place.'

If he'd had the choice, Robb would bypass the Nightfort even if it took him out of his way by a day or so. But he knew that was not an option. Master Nox told him that the Force would guide him to where his trial would take place. And he could sense the Force leading him to this place. 'Steel yourself, Robb,' he told himself, hardening his heart and readying his courage as he tapped his horse's flanks with his heels to get the steed moving forward. 'A Sith, a Jedi…a Lord Stark does not show fear in the face of the unknown. For my father. For my house. To show Lord Nox that I am worthy of continuing my training, I will face what lies ahead without hesitation.'

Passing through the ruined gates of the fort and staring around in wonder at the small forest that was growing between the few structures still standing, Robb felt a shiver pass through him as a wave of cold struck him. A cold he recognized. A cold that came not from the air, but rather from the dark side of the Force. But it was…different than what he'd felt before. It was…tempered with a feeling of strength, of warmth…of light. 'What… What truly happened in this place to be so saturated in both the light and dark sides of the Force?' He thought as he brought his horse over to one of the few structures that was still standing, though that fact was probably more attributed to the trees growing through the structure than the actual structure itself. Dismounting from his horse, he tied the reins off onto one of the trees and gave his horse a drink of water and an apple before leaving the horse and moving towards the largest of the buildings that had a weirwood tree of all things growing out from its roof.

"Keep close, Grey Wind," Robb called out to his companion as he drew his sword while approaching the entrance to the building, which was just a single door that was hanging on by only a single hinge.

Not even bothering to see if he could move it by hand, Robb raised his hand and reached out with the Force. A single jerk of his hand and a pull with the Force, and what was left of the door was ripped off the doorframe and thrown across the overgrown courtyard. Keeping his sword in front of himself, he cautiously entered the ruined chamber, keeping his eyes and senses through the Force on high alert as he tried to find something, anything, that could tell him where the strange sensation in the Force he was feeling was emanating from. But there was nothing in the room beyond. Just the base of a weirwood tree with a carved face and tears of blood running down from its eyes.

"Nothing," he cursed, turning back around to Grey Wind. "Come on, boy. We have a lot of ground to cover he—!"

The sound of cracking was the only warning he had that something was wrong. In the next instant he felt the floor give way beneath his feet. His body felt weightless as he plummeted, his hands losing his sword as he tried desperately to slow his descent. But he was helpless to stop his fall, until he stopped naturally as his back struck the ground hard enough to drive all the air out of his body and leaving him a coughing mess.

Rolling over, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. "Hells," he groaned as he tilted his head back to look up at the hole he'd fallen through. "Gods…How far down did I fall? And – And where the hell am I?"

Squinting against the light coming in through the hole he'd made, he could just barely make out the head of Grey Wind peering over the edge. "Stay up there, boy!" he called out, getting to his feet, and dusting himself off. "I'm not going to be able to climb this…I'll need to find another way out. Grey Wind! Stay close to the fort, boy! And for the love of the gods… Don't eat the horse while I'm down here!"

Grey Wind barked as he could feel something like amused acceptance come from his friend before he disappeared from where he'd fallen. 'Alright,' he said to himself as he looked around trying to find if there was anything that might have fallen off his person during his fall. The only thing missing though was his sword, which had thankfully fallen far enough away from his person so that he didn't accidently fall on the blade. 'Small mercies, I suppose.' He thought, picking up his sword and squinting off into the darkness before him. He was in a tunnel of sorts. Which made sense. Castle Black had dozens of underground passageways that connected the various buildings to one another. It would make sense that the other forts the Night's Watch called their own would have something similar to protect the Brothers of the Watch from the weather. There were three paths before him, each one just as dark and foreboding than the others. But there was one that just…felt slightly different than the others. 'I suppose that's my way forward then. Let's just hope whatever passageway leading to the surface hasn't collapsed since this place has been abandoned.'

The light from the hole slowly faded as he went into the darkness of the tunnel, his sword held out and at the ready for anything. He wasn't sure just where he was going, but he just knew that he was going the right way. But as he went further and further along the path of the tunnel, he noticed something. He'd taken several turns along the way, and he'd seen no other breaks in the tunnel to allow light in. But for some reason, he could see just fine as if he were still in the area where he'd fallen. And the strange sensation that'd brought him to the Nightfort in the first place was steadily growing in intensity with each step forward. And just as he was about to turn back around and try to find another path, he came upon a door that completely blocked off the tunnel.

'This…This isn't right,' he thought, glancing behind him before examining the door further. 'This door…It looks like it's fresh from the carpenter.' Reaching out his hand, he placed his palm against the surface of the wood. 'And…And it's warm. How can that be?'

Pressing against the door, he was surprised when it opened without much effort. And even more surprised when he heard raised voices coming from whatever room laid beyond. Walking through the opening, he blinked in surprise as he suddenly found himself near the rear of a great hall he didn't recognize. But the hall was filled to near standing room only with grown men, almost all of whom were wearing a combination of furs, armor, and weapons. 'What…What is going on?'

"I say we tell that sister fucker and his whores to shove their offer right up their asses!" one of the men shouted, rising to his feet and making Robb near fall back in surprise as he got a good look at him. If not for the completely snow-white hair, Robb would've sworn this man was the GreatJon Umber's twin brother if he had one. "Yer grace…the Dragon Lords gave us an offer! Made a pact with us! A Daughter of Winter to rule alongside one of their Archons. And in return the North is recognized as a separate sovereign state in perpetuity with no fear of conquest by the Dragon Lords. And these…sister-fucking-dragons, they have forgotten the promises made by their ancestors, just like any other southern cunt!"

"They haven't forgotten the promise made, Lord Umber," another man said, rising to his feet and making Robb reflexively reach for his sword as he noticed the sigil of the flayed man on his chest. "Lest you forget, his grace did send a message to the dragons reminding them of the promises made by the Archons. Their response was that Valyria is gone. Thus, so too are any promises that were made between the North and the Dragon Lords."

"Then we should fight!"

"Fuck the dragons!"

"Fuck the Andals!"

A heavy fist falling against the high table brought an end to all the voices as a man in thick furs rose from behind the table. Robb's eyes widened as he recognized not the man himself, but rather the sword that was resting against the side of his chair. 'Ice. And…And he's wearing the sigil of House Stark. The others are talking about the Dragon Lords…and they referred to him as 'his grace'. Could…Could this be…?'

The large man of House Stark took his time in speaking as his eyes slowly moved over the assembled crowd before him. It was a tactic that Robb knew well was one that his father often used to make sure that he had the attention of everyone in the room before speaking. "Lord Bolton speaks truth. We did send a raven to Aegon reminding him of the promise made by his ancestors. And his response was exactly as Lord Bolton said. He will not honor the agreement that was arranged because Valyria fell before the pact could be completed on our end. And he will not entertain the idea renewing the pact here in Westeros by having a Daughter of Winter marry his eldest son when he produces one."

"Then to the hells with them!" the large Umber man shouted, banging his fist on the table and making the wood groan and crack. "I say we take the fight to them! The Andals have been trying for thousands of years to take the North from us! Each time we bloody them and send them running home to their mothers' skirts! Sure, these Targaryen's have their dragons, but we have our own tricks to take those beasts away from them!"

There were more than a few that shouted their agreement with the statement, which confused Robb greatly as he'd never heard of a way of taking away a dragon before. And if the North had such an ability, why wasn't it used? The Stark at the head of the table raised his hand, bringing and immediate end to all talk in the hall. "Our 'tricks', Lord Umber, do not work on dragons that have been bound naturally. Just as they do not work on the direwolves of old that bound themselves to House Stark in the past. And as for the past wars against the Andals…this time is different. Moat Cailin and our keeps are designed to keep out invaders and force them to wither and die in the cold. They were not designed to repel dragons. And as the Targaryen's demonstrated at Harrenhal, even the greatest of keeps, if not built to counter attacks from the air, are basically defenseless against the might of a dragon."

"Then what is your decision, your grace?" a smaller man that was seated near the high table and wearing the sigil of a lizard-lion asked. "Aegon, his sister-wives, and their army have set camp well to the south. A smart move as they are forcing us out into the open field if we wish to fight them. And if we hold up, then as you said, they will use their dragons to burn our keeps and force us out into the open."

The Stark at the table folded his hands before his face and leaned his forehead into his hands. Robb could almost feel the weight of the man's decision even from clear across the room. "We have no choice. Aegon was wise in his conquering. He let us believe we would be safe behind the accords that'd been struck with the Dragon Lords of Valyria while he conquered the southern kingdoms. Now he comes North with an army numbering greater than anything the North has ever faced and three dragons with naturally bound riders. They have made their position clear. Kneel. Or our keeps, our families, our people. Our very way of life will end in the flames of dragons and by the blades of the Andals. As your king, it is my sacred duty to protect my people, even at the cost of my own life and pride. And that is what I will do now. I will swallow my pride…and I will kneel to the dragon boy to save the North."

The room was dead silent for all of a few moments before it exploded in pandemonium as almost all the lords rose to their feet and begged, or shouted or threatened the Stark, who Robb now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was Torrhen Stark, not to kneel to the dragons. The last King of Winter let his men rage for a few moments before once again slamming his fist down, this time breaking the table under the force of the strike as he shot up to his feet. Robb nearly took a step back, and several of the Lords did, as they saw Torrhen's cool-grey eyes turn dark yellow for a moment before immediately turning back. 'The eyes of the wolf.'

"I have not come by this decision lightly, my lords," Torrhen said, his voice heavy yet firm. "Yet it is my decision. We can fight, perhaps even take down one of the dragons. But what will be the cost? Our keeps burned. Our people put to the sword, or flames or worse. Our very way of life destroyed before our eyes. If it means sacrificing my pride…even if it means I will be remembered in ill manner for the rest of time…then I will do whatever I can to prevent such destruction. And I do not mean to simply bend over for the dragon boy. I will wring more than a few concessions out of him that will see that the North, and our way of life, will never be threatened by the Andals or their wretched Faith of the Seven. That is my decision, men. And you will honor it. Now to bed, all of you. We ride at first light to meet with the dragon boy and his sisters."

The men grumbled, yet their loyalty to their king won over their disappointment as none raised any further arguments as they left the hall. In no time at all, the hall was deserted save for Robb, Torrhen Stark, and one other young man who was sitting beside Torrhen and did not look pleased at all. Deciding to get a closer look, and confident that he could not be seen for some reason, Robb stepped forward to hear what was about to pass between Stark and the other man.

"You don't agree, brother." Torrhen said once the three of them were alone.

The other man huffed. "Of course I don't agree, brother. You're throwing away your crown, the crown of Winter. For eight thousand years, the Starks have split blood, done deeds that would make even the Boltons shutter in disgust all to unite the First Men under the banner of the Wolf. And now, now you're giving it away to some arrogant sister-fucking dragon shit. You fear their dragons…Understandable, as all men fear them. But that is the backbone of their power. Give me a dozen of our best and a few days head start. We'll cross the Trident, sneak into the dragons' camp and end their greatest asset. And without their dragons, the 'conquered Kings' will not stay loyal for long. Their camp will descend into chaos, and they'll kill each other without us ever having to raise our blades."

Torrhen sighed and shook his head. "Your plan is indeed one that I considered already, brother. But last night, when I went to the godswood seeking the guidance of the old gods, I was granted a vision of two possible futures. The first: we fought. We sent men south to try and assassinate the dragons, led by yourself, before the battle, but you failed. Your charred corpses were held up as examples as the dragon's army moved to meet us in battle. The battle was…brutal. We fought to the last man and even managed to kill one of the dragons and its rider. However, doing so cost the people of the North. Even though the battle was over, the remaining two dragons took their beasts North and unleashed their rage onto every keep between the Neck and the Wall, including Winterfell. Man. Woman. Child. It mattered not to the dragons. They simply burned everyone, turning each keep into smoldering piles of ash."

Pausing, Torrhen let the weight of his vision settle in before he pressed on. "The second: I knelt to the dragons. In return, House Stark retained our position as rulers of the North, only under the title of 'Warden of the North' instead of 'King'. We were able to get an accord with the dragons that stated that the Faith of the Seven would never have a hold of the North."

"So, you intend to just roll over like a bitch for the dragons then."

Torrhen didn't answer, preferring instead to turn around and pick a winter rose out of the vase that was sitting behind him that Robb just now noticed. "The gods also showed more than just the immediate aftermath of this path, Brandon." Torrhen stated, holding the rose in his hand. "The Targaryens will never sit easy upon the throne they will build. Their reigns will be plagued with distrust. Unrest. Fire and blood. Through it all, House Stark and the North will remain whole and largely untouched by the unrest. When the time comes…the gods have shown me that this here shall be the end of House Targaryen. They will be brought low by a rose from the North. And while it will be bloody and painfilled, House Stark and the North will have their vengeance upon the dragons for disregarding the accords created by the Dragon Lords of Valyria before their demise. We merely need to have patience brother. This will not happen in our lifetimes, nor in our children's. But one day, the Targaryens will meet their end here in Westeros."

Torrhen's brother, Brandon, didn't seem pleased by the thought. "As long as that bloody red and black dragon flies in the North, I will not be here, brother."

"No. No, you will not," Torrhen nodded, surprising Robb. "You, and those who have a similar mindset to your own, will leave as soon as you are able to do so."

Brandon leaned back and narrowed his eyes at the King in the North. "And where will we be going?"

"To Essos," Torrhen answered, holding the rose out for his brother to take. "There, you will build your strength and form an army that will wait for the day to return. You, and your descendants, will learn everything you can about the dragons and how best to bring them low. And when the day comes when House Stark calls you home, the army you raise will come home and put a wolf on the throne built by the dragons."

Brandon seemed to think on the idea for a moment before nodding. "Very well, brother. Then I will take those of like mind and depart for Essos and build our strength while you play nice with the dragons. The North Remembers, brother."

"Aye, the North Remembers," Torrhen replied, before both men and the hall disappeared, leaving Robb once again alone in a cold dark underground pathway barely wide enough to fit three men through side by side.

"Wh – What in the hells was that?" Robb wondered, turning around in place, trying to find any sign of the room he'd just been in, yet finding nothing. "Wait, Jon told me he saw…illusions during his trial. Was that – Was that what that was? An illusion? But it felt so real. Like I was there in the flesh and not a memory. And – And was that what really happened? The story said that Torrhen knelt to Aegon…but no one has really explained why. Did he – Did he really foresee the downfall of the Targaryens? And what about this Brandon Snow…where did he go? And why did they not come back during the Rebellion? And why the hells was I shown this?"

Shaking his head, Robb searched through the Force to find the pulse that'd led him here. Finding it quickly, he set on down the tunnel once more in search of whatever it was. He'd figure out just why he'd witnessed that illusion later. Right now, he had a trial to complete.

Making his way down the hall, he came to a stop once again as he was face with yet another closed door. Only this time the door was in incredibly rough shape. And there was no heat coming off its surface. Though, when he got closer, he swore he could hear something on the other side. 'No helping it, I guess,' he shrugged, placing his hand on its surface, and pushing his way through – and immediately finding himself knocked over as someone ran into him.

Picking himself up off the dirt, Robb could barely register the sounds of screaming and the clashing of steel as he tried to get his bearings. 'Where in the hells am I?!' he wondered, trying to look around but finding only small buildings surrounding him and the scent of salt in the air. 'I'm near the sea…I think. And there's fighting…but what is going on?'

Feeling a pair of hands grabbing him and pulling him to his feet, Robb found himself facing an older man who was bloodied and had a wild look in his eyes. "Run, boy!" the man yelled at him, shoving him in the direction where the other villagers were running to. "They be comin to kill us all! Get out of here before they ca – ah!"

Warm blood splattered across Robb's face as a sword tip pierced through the old man's chest, killing him instantly. As the man fell, Robb found himself face to chest with a large man equal on size to the GreatJon. Only this man was wearing the sigil of House Stark. His own house. "Here's another one!" the man yelled, grabbing Robb roughly by his arm and throwing him in the opposite direction of where the villagers were fleeing. "Bring him ta Lord Stark. He's deciding what to do with these Andal fuckers."

Feeling another set of hands grab him, he quickly found his hands bound behind his back and a length of rope shoved into his mouth and tied around his head before being thrown up on a man's shoulder and being hauled away like a sack of grain. As he was being moved, Robb was able to look around, and felt no small amount of horror and disgust fill him as he took in the scene around him. Buildings were being burned as men and women were being killed without hesitation or mercy. Homes were being ransacked before being put to the torch. And worse yet, it was all happening at the hands of men of the North.

Hearing a woman scream, Robb craned his head back, and felt his disgust grow. A man of the North had forced a woman onto the ground and was in the process of tearing off her dress while she tried desperately to fight him off. And all around him, other men of the North were either watching or laughing at the sight. He wanted to fight the man, to stop what was about to happen. He tried to throw the man off with the Force, but to his horror he found nothing when he reached out to the Force. And with his hand tied behind his back and slung up like he was, Robb was powerless to do anything but watch as the man exposed the woman before beginning to work on loosening his belt.

His vision was suddenly blocked as another almost impossibly large man wearing leather armor marched past him. All the men who saw the giant immediately moved aside as the man marched through them and towards the scene. Without saying a word, the large man brought his foot back and kicked the would-be rapist in the head hard enough to throw him off the woman, who quickly made to cover herself. Looking at the man, Robb felt his blood run cold as he saw the sigil of House Stark on the man's leather armor, and a set of wolf-yellow eyes that was staring down at the rapist in contempt. "Don't…touch their women." The man growled as if he were a wolf. "We don't mix with these Andals. Think of what kind of offspring that would bring. Half breeds. Weaklings. I will not have the blood of the First Men watered down with Andal filth."

The rapist angrily got to his feet, a snarl on his face. "These…Andals raided our lands, King Theon! They killed our brothers and sons! Raped our women and daughters. And now you would protect them! I demand the right to do with these whores as I see fit!"

Robb felt his blood grow cold as he made the connection. 'This…That is King Theon…the Hungry Wolf. And this…this must be one of his raids across the Narrow Sea! And – And I'm apparently on the wrong side!' "Lord Greystark speaks truthfully, King Theon," another man said, this one wearing the sunburst sigil of House Karstark. "These Andals did far worse when they reached our shores. Why should we not indulge ourselves while we are here?"

King Theon Stark stared first at the Lord Greystark before turning towards the Lord Karstark. Almost quicker than Robb could follow, King Theon drew his sword and mercilessly removed Lord Greystark's head. "Anyone else dare to question my orders?!" King Theon yelled, turning in a slow circle with his bloodied blade pointing towards his men. No one stepped forward.

"Yer – Yer grace! Gods, thank you!" the woman who was about to be raped shouted, grabbing hold of King Theon's boots, and groveling at his feet. "Thank you – Thank you, yer grace."

The King of Winter sheathed his sword before reaching down and gently cupping the woman's face and raising her to her knees. His hand almost gently caressed her cheek before moving down to her neck. Then with no words and nothing more than a quick jerking of his hand, King Theon Stark broke the woman's neck with a single hand and let her corpse fall to the ground. Robb couldn't help but shake at the brutal display, especially as Theon Stark approached the Lord Karstark.

"You challenge me, cousin?" King Theon asked with a hard look in his eye. "You challenge me, you'd better have a sword in your hand. As long as my heart beats, I rule. My orders are absolute. And you'll keep your tongue behind your teeth. Or I'll rip it out through your throat."

Lord Karstark immediately backed down and bowed. "As you say…your grace. The village is ours. Only a few villagers managed to get away. The men are all dead, along with most of the women. Those who aren't are captured are waiting your judgement along with the children. What do you wish to be done with them?"

Robb felt his heart thunder in his chest as he awaited the decision from King Theon. "When the Andals came to our lands, they killed our people without hesitation. Men. Women. And children. We will repay blood with blood. Kill them all and take their heads. They'll be our message to those fucking Andals should they ever think of invading the North again."

Robb wanted to scream that he was a man of the North, but the rope in his mouth prevented him from saying a word. Even as he was forced to his knees and his neck placed against a wooden log, Robb could do nothing but watch in horror as men of the North began butchering women and children like they were nothing more than cattle. Hearing a sword behind him drawn, Robb craned his neck enough to watch as Theon Stark himself stood above him, sword raised and ready to take his head. Then everything was gone, and Robb was once again back in the tunnel beneath the Nightfort, his arms and mouth unbound and his connection to the Force restored once more.

Rubbing at his wrist, he could swear that he could still feel the biting of the rope as he got back to his feet. "First, a vision of the King Who Knelt. Now, the Hungry Wolf. Gods of the North…what are you trying to show me?"

Pushing himself onwards, Robb was more than slightly wary as he reached yet another obstruction in the tunnel after only a few more twists and turns. This time, however, it wasn't a wooden door. Instead, it looked to be more of a tent flap that was draped across the tunnel. And as he got closer to it, he noticed that the flap seemed to be made of animal hide instead of cloth. The moment Robb pushed the hide aside, he immediately had to shield his face and eyes as he was assaulted with cold and snow blowing into his face. Peering around his hand in front of his face, Robb felt his jaw drop at what he was seeing. He was at the Wall. Only…the Wall was perhaps less than half as tall as he knew it to be. And there were hundreds…No, thousands of people working on the Wall. And not just people. He also spotted dozens of giants and – and some other creature that looked to be the result of a mating between a man and a tree of all things. 'Are those…Are those the Children of the Forest?'

Taking a step closer, Robb gazed in wonder as he watched man, child, and giant work together to build the greatest structure ever created in the history of Westeros. And his jaw dropped even further as he watched a piece of the Wall that was on the ground roughly the size of five carriages sitting side by side was lifted off the ground by a seemingly invisible force before floating towards the building site and settling in place on a section of the Wall. "Stark. You need to rest. You're no good to us dead. We can work on this monstrosity of yours while you rest."

Turning quickly, it took everything he had to not gape openly at the man who was standing less than a few paces from him. Seeing the King Who Knelt and the Hungry Wolf in these visions of his was extraordinary. But seeing Bran the Builder, the founder of House Stark…was something else entirely. The founder of his House looked…almost exactly like his father. Yet he was…old. Far older than Robb would've thought for a man who accomplished so much. His hair and beard were both white. Yet he held himself like a man younger than Robb's father. And yet, even though he held himself well, Robb could see the exhaustion written clear across the man's face.

"Not yet, Azor," Bran the Builder said, shaking his head as he reached out with his hand and twitched his fingers, causing yet another several-carriage sized brick to rise into the air as if it were lighter than air. "There's still a lot of work that needs to be done here."

'Those…That's a Force technique! But – But how? There was never any mention that Bran the Builder could use magic, or rather the Force. Well, I mean…History does say that the Wall was built with magic…but I guess it never said 'whose' magic it was that built it.'

The second man, Azor, shook his head and turned towards the Wall. "This monstrosity of yours won't be finished for years, decades even my friend. I'm sure that the workers can go a few days or even longer without your unique help and guidance. Though I must say, there are more than a few who are seriously considering that you've lost your mind given the scope of this Wall."

Lowering his hand as the brick settled into place, Bran shook his head almost sadly. "It's my fault in the first place that we are in this predicament, my friend."

"Horse shit," Azor spat. "If not for you and your timely arrival, we would all be done for. Your skills, your mind and your magic turned the tide of this war in our favor. All of us, both on this land mass and from my own homeland, owe you a debt we will never be able to repay."

"But it was my fault," Bran replied, looking down at his open hand. "I had a chance to end them all. But when it mattered most…I faltered. I was weak. Unable to do what needed to be done. And because I faltered, the enemy escaped into their domain and erected a barrier that not even I can penetrate."

The man, Azor, shook his head before forcibly turning Bran away from the construction. "You won't make amends for any perceived fault of yours by killing yourself, Bran. You need rest. You've been going for twenty days with practically no sleep. Now get your ass back to your tent, or I'll hit you over the head and drag you there."

Lowering his shoulders in defeat, Bran turned away from the Wall and began following Azor towards the largest tent, which just so happened to be the same tent Robb had emerged from just moments before. Following the two men back through the flap, Robb was expecting to find himself back in the tunnel beneath the Nightfort, but instead he found himself inside a spacious tent that had two large beds piled with furs and a table that was littered with pieces of parchment and a crude model of the Wall. Staying near the entrance, Robb watched as Azor all but forced Bran towards one of the beds in the tent.

"I'm not to the point where I need you to guide me to my own bed, Azor," Bran scoffed good naturedly as he dropped down heavily onto the bed. "My wife is more than capable of that…and far better than you."

"And you're nowhere near pretty enough to tempt me into following you into bed, Bran," Azor chuckled, shaking his head. "Besides, I doubt our wives would appreciate it much if we did. Speaking of which, have you given much thought to my offer? Your wife is now with child. And once I get a child upon my own wife, a union between our children would bring forth a new generation of magic users that would know no equal. My fire magic, and your Force powers. They would be unstoppable."

"Perhaps," Bran nodded. "But my wife is of this land, Azor. I will not be able to convince her to leave, no more than you will be able to convince your own wife to stay in this land."

"Very true," Azor nodded, grabbing a waterskin and pouring them both something dark into a pair of wood carved cups. "My Nissa does not fare well in this cold. Honestly, none of my men do. We yearn for the warm sands of our homeland, even if it will take months to return there. I don't know how you stand it, to be honest. But it is good to know that you will be settling down somewhere at least. I know these people offered you your choice of land. I take you have decided then where you are to build your home?"

"Aye, I have," Bran nodded as he took the cup and leaned back on his bed. "There is a natural hot spring in the middle of this land, between the Neck and the Wall. I plan on using that to help keep my future home warm enough so that the people can thrive despite the cold."

"Well, if anyone can build a fortress that will last, it is you, my friend," Azor said, raising his cup to Bran and taking a drink. "How long do you think this Wall of yours will hold against them?"

Bran turned thoughtful as he stared down into the contents of his cup. "In truth, I do not know. What they've done with the Force is…unlike anything I've ever seen before. With enough 'energy', a few could be practically immortal to age, especially now that they've encased themselves in their power. The Wall will hold for a long time, both physically and through the Force. But nothing is immune to the mistress of time. Eventually, whatever protections we place on the Wall will fade. If I was them, I would sit back and consolidate my power and wait for time to ravage what defenses have been put in place. Wait for history to forget about me. That way when I came forth once more, I would be able to catch my enemies by surprise that I even exist. At least that is what I would do if I were them."

Azor nodded as if he'd been expecting the answer. "My thoughts are the same as yours, my friend. So, we need to do what we can to build up our people, and make sure they don't forget the true enemy of man."

"Easier said than done, Azor," Bran sighed. "You haven't seen what I have. Nor read the histories that I have read. Over time, no matter the race, if an enemy does not present themselves, they are forgotten about in favor of new enemies. The best we can do is leave behind what evidence we can, make sure legends will stick around, and leave our descendants the keys to defeating them when they come again. I can only hope that when they come again, whoever faces off against them won't falter like I did."

Azor nodded and raised his cup. "Then it sounds like we both have our work cut out for us in the future. Let us just hope that our descendants will be able to complete that which we failed to do."

The world around Robb pulsed, and in an instant, he found himself gone from the tent and once again in the tunnels beneath the Nightfort. Only this time, the tunnels did not look like the ones he'd been in previously. This time, the walls of the tunnels were covered in what looked like branches. 'No, not branches,' Robb thought, stepping towards the wall and running a hand along its wooden surface. 'Roots. Weirwood roots. I'm no longer just in tunnels beneath the Nightfort…I'm walking within the root system of the weirwood tree!'

Pressing onwards, Robb felt a wave of the Force wash over him. Warmth, hope…but at the same time cold and despair raged within him as the Force pulsed once. Twice. Then a third time before ceasing. And when the sensations ceased, Robb found himself standing before three beings that he knew. Three that he had just seen. The King Who Knelt, Torrhen Stark. The Hungry Wolf, Theon Stark. And the one who founded his House and created some of the greatest structures that still existed today, The Builder, Bran Stark. Each of them was now staring at him. And he felt like an insect standing before them, both in stature and importance.

"So…this is our descendant," the Hungry Wolf said, or rather spat, making Robb take a step back in surprise. "He's nothing but a pathetic boy that was squeezed out of an Andal cunt…How pathetic it is that our House has fallen to have one such as him as the future of House Stark."

The words struck Robb like a spear through the chest. Not just in their meaning, but physically. It felt like he'd been pierced as his knees quivered and he had to fight to even remain standing. "He is pathetic," the King Who Knelt scoffed. "I knelt for the good of our people. But this pathetic boy will kneel simply because he is a weak pup unable and unwilling to lead his people. Unbelievably pathetic. Our line would be simply better without him having ever been born."

"Without a doubt," the Builder nodded. "The Wall was built to protect the North and her people. And this boy has full heartedly brought those who are our enemies across it and greeted them with open arms. To think my line has fallen to this point. A foolish boy who's unable and unwilling to see what is before him and do what—"

"Shut up!" Robb shouted, or screamed, as he shot back to his feet, his breathing labored as he stood, shaking in rage and anger before three of the most prominent of his House. "I have not betrayed the North! I am not weak! You!" he screamed, pointing a finger first at Bran. "By your own admission, you failed to destroy the White Walkers and their army! So, you built the Wall. Not to save the North, but all people. The Wildlings, the Free Folk, they are living breathing people who are no more savage than some of our own nobles! They deserved the chance to live! And if you curse me for trying to save as many people as possible, no matter their birth or creed, from an enemy you failed to end…then you can go and fuck yourself!"

"And you!" he continued screaming, moving to the Hungry Wolf. "You did what you did to try and protect the North. But you are remembered as nothing more than a bloodthirsty butcherer! Yes, my mother was an Andal. But I am a Stark! A son of the North! My gods are the Old Gods and the mystery that is the Force. The cold of winter and the blood of the First Men runs through my veins! I am no more an Andal than you!"

"And as for you, King Torrhen," By this point, Robb was near panting in rage. "I would be lying if I said I was not afraid of leading the people of the North in the future. Only a fool would say they were not even the littlest bit afraid of taking on the responsibilities for hundreds of thousands of people. But unlike you…I will not kneel to the dragons who forgot their oaths! But I would and will kneel to my brother, my pack-brother, Jon Stark! A son of the North. And I would do so without hesitation because I know that he would never ask it of me!"

Taking several deep breaths to try and reign in his anger, Robb glared at the three apparitions, who were just staring back at him silently after his tirade. "Each of you," Robb continued in a calmer voice as the worst of his anger finally subsided. "Each of you did something unheard of to protect the North. Bran the Builder, you helped to fight back against the White Walkers and once they were pushed back to the Lands of Always Winter, you built the Wall across the North. And you did so not just to protect the people of the North, but all those who still draw breath. Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf…Most view you as a barbarian tyrant who slaughtered innocents and left a trail of blood wherever you walked. And while the stories are true, your motives were to protect the North from those who were seeking to conquer us by making it known that any action taken against the North would be repaid tenfold.

"And you, Torrhen Stark. The King Who Knelt. You bent the knee to the dragons to save the lives of your people. Each of you left legacies that continue even now. And while I have learned of each of you…I am not beholden to you or the ways you led the North. Times have changed. And the North must change with them. We cannot stay isolated and on our own any longer. The North has seen more advancement in my short lifetime than in centuries…Hells, perhaps longer. I am a Stark, the next Warden of the North. I will lead the North and her people in the way I deem fit. Not the way you three would have. I am my own person…I will learn from each of you…but I am not you. Nor do I intend too ever be any of you. I am Robb Stark. Son of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark. Not you. And if you three don't like that, then you can rot in the hells for all I care."

The three ancient Kings of Winter stared at him in silence. Their faces completely devoid of any emotion. Slowly, almost excruciatingly slowly, a small grin formed on Bran the Builder's face as the apparition raised his hands and began clapping. "Words easily spoken, Robb Stark, son of Eddard Stark and blood of my blood. But I can see that you indeed truly mean them. You are all I could've asked for in my descendant. And you are indeed the future of House Stark." The founder of House Stark then snapped his fingers, making both the King Who Knelt and the Hungry Wolf disappear in a cloud of mist, leaving just Robb and the ancient Stark standing face to face.

Robb spun in place, trying to figure out just what was going on. 'He…Bran hasn't disappeared…but he made the others disappear. I – Didn't Jon tell me about something exactly like this in Valyria? How – How he and Master Nox spoke to the dead Archons who were…well…ghosts? Force ghosts. Is that – Is that what is going on now? Is – Am I actually talking to Bran the Builder and not just an illusion?' "Are – Are you really here?" Robb found himself asking before he could stop himself. "I – I mean, it's obvious you are – but well, I mean…Are you a Force ghost? Is that how you're still here after eight thousand years?"

Bran's grin blossomed into a full-fledged smile as he nodded. "That I am, lad. I'm slightly surprised that you know that term. But then again, perhaps I shouldn't be considering how well trained in the Force you are. It gladdens this old heart, if I even had one that is, to see that my teachings have lasted even after eight thousand years."

"Your teachings?" Robb found himself asking, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the slightly glowing figure belonging to the founder of his House.

Bran's grin faltered. "I see…So, that is how it is," he said, sorrow creeping into his voice. "It is so hard to see beyond the Wall and my final resting place. The technique I used to keep the enemy at bay was unfortunately a double-edged sword. And seeing as how I died here at the Wall, I haven't been able to leave it, so I haven't been able to see much of what has been going on since my death. But still, the fact that my family is still going strong even after all these years, and that they've managed to produce one so powerful in the Force more than makes up for the fact that my teachings were lost. I'm sure that my friend is heartened to know that he finally got his wish in combining our bloodlines. Even if it did take eight thousand years to do so. But that is neither here nor there. I would love nothing more than to stay before you and impart all my knowledge and have you catch me up on what has happened over the ages, but I fear your Trial has drained me of what little power I had left. See?"

Bran held up his hand, and a lump formed in Robb's throat as he noticed his Founder's hand was starting to fade. "Are – Are you dying?"

Bran shook his head as his hand fell back to his side. "Kind of hard to die when you're already dead, lad. No, it's more along the lines of I've finally run out of strength to hold me to this plane. And soon I will become one with the Force, like I should have the moment I perished. But despite knowing what I should do and knowing the consequences of not doing it, I forced myself to stay behind. To resist becoming one with the Force to pass it on to one who was worthy of completing it."

"Pass what on?" Robb asked.

"My last creation." Bran answered with a smile. "Or rather, my last re-creation. I can't take credit for its original design, but I do like to think that I made improvements on it, especially given the lack of technology on this world. I built it but could never get it to work. For years I tried and failed until I eventually gave up and went home. Then, as I felt the Force calling to me, I came to the Wall and meditated. And it was here that I learned of the last piece of the puzzle that was needed. It needed a runic cluster…an obvious answer but one that eluded me. Unfortunately, just as I put the finishing touches on the cluster, my body gave out and death came for me. And – And I'm rambling. Forgive an old man, lad…It's been Force only knows how long since I've last been able to have a conversation with someone other than myself. It would figure that I would get the opportunity just as I am running out of time. Come, lad, I need to stop rambling and say and show what needs to be seen and said before I become one with the Force."

Robb was so overwhelmed with, well, everything that he could do little more than follow as the apparition of Bran the Builder turned and walked, or floated or…well moved, deeper into the tangle of roots that made up the base of the weirwood. "Where are we going?" he asked as he weaved his way through the roots, while Bran simply walked through them.

Bran suddenly stopped; bringing Robb up short as the two of them stood before a stone box nestled into the roots of the weirwood tree. 'Not a box,' Robb realized, 'Bran the Builder's final resting place.' "I – You're not in the crypts below Winterfell?" Robb found himself asking. The crypts below Winterfell were a maze of corridors that housed every Stark Lord and even some of their family members since the creation of Winterfell. And while the tomb of Bran the Builder had never been found, it was always assumed that the founder of House Stark was resting somewhere beneath the great fortress he'd created.

"That had been my wish," Bran nodded sadly. "To be resting beside my beloved for all time. But unfortunately, we rarely get what we want in the end. I ended up dying here and was buried with the key needed for my last creation as well as something else that I think you will need. Open it."

Robb nearly spit. "But – This is your final resting place! It offends the gods to disturb one's resting place!"

Bran merely waved off his concern. "Trust me, lad. The gods, if they exist, don't give two shits about corpses. And besides all that I am here and about to join the Force. What is in there is nothing more than dust and what you'll need to help you in the future. But if it makes you feel better, lad, then I give you full permission to open it and dig through my remains to your heart's content. Now hurry, lad. I can already feel the pull getting stronger and stronger…We don't have much time left and there is still much that needs to be said."

Still more than slightly uneasy with what he was about to do, Robb reached out through the Force and roughly pulled the stone tomb out from the roots of the weirwood and brought it out into the open. Not giving himself a chance to think about it, Robb immediately used the Force once more to pry the top off the stone tomb before throwing it aside. Inside the tomb lay the remains of Bran the Builder. His bones had mostly turned to dust over the ages, but parts of him remained despite the passing of ages. And within the tomb, laid out perfectly as if they still held his body, was a suit of armor that was oddly reminiscent of the armor that Lord Nox wore only…older. And laying near where one of his hands should've been, was a stone or metal tablet with intricate designs carved into its surface. But there was one thing above all else that drew his eye. And that was a small gem the size of his thumb that was embedded into the center of the chest piece of the armor. The gem was…glowing a soft blue light. And it almost seemed to be calling out to him.

"I wish that I had more to give you, lad," Bran said, breaking Robb out of his stupor. "But the best I can do is offer you this: my armor. It might be ancient by quite a few standards but judging by your look and the few glimpses I am able to get from beyond the Wall, it should still be ages ahead of anything this world can offer you. And there is one last thing I must tell you; and that is to be wary of the enemy that comes from the Far North and the Lands of Always Winter. While the foot soldiers are about as dumb as a bag of rocks, those who stand at the top are far more devious, powerful, and crafty than you can imagine. But hold true to that which binds you the strongest, the reason you fight. For only that will give you the power you need to end the threat that I failed to."

"And one last thing," Bran continued, his visage fading to the point where Robb could barely make him out in the darkened tomb. "The tablet; make sure you bring it back as well. It is the key to my last creation. Something I spent my entire lifetime trying to recreate. However, my creation is not at Winterfell. And I don't know what you call the place now. But find what should've been my tomb in the crypts of Winterfell, blood of my blood, and you will learn my story and the location of my last creation. Go with the Force, blood of my blood. And may you find the strength to end that –"

Bran's words faded into nothingness as his apparition disappeared, both from sight and from Robb's senses through the Force. Now alone, Robb squinted down into the darkness at the armor, skeleton, and tablet that was laying in the tomb. "Well…he did say that I could take them. But, by the gods…Does this feel weird. I need something to carry it all in…and I can't just leave his bones here. Bran deserves to rest in the crypts of Winterfell with all his line. Not here, forgotten beneath the Wall."

Reaching over his shoulder, Robb unclasped his cloak and laid it out on the ground next to the tomb. Taking a steadying breath, Robb reached into the tomb and began the slow process of carefully removing the armor, skeleton and tablet from the tomb, doing his best not to damage anything as he did so.

---

Robert may have 'turned over a new leaf', as Jon liked to say when it came to being the King his foster father wanted him to be. But it was no great secret that Robert still loathed the Small Council meetings. But in the interest of continuing on his path to improvement, and on the off chance there might be word of the Targaryens or some skirmish or other, Robert forced himself to at least attend every meeting of the Small Council. Even if he didn't stay for the entirety of the copper counting. Which was why he was currently tapping his foot impatiently as he, and the rest of the Small Council, waited for the arrival of the new appointed Grand Maester Jorge. The man was decent enough, knowledgeable, and prudent with his advice. But most importantly, the fool wasn't another Pycelle, though he did move almost as slowly as the former Grand Maester. Though unlike Pycelle, who moved slow because of his age, this new Grand Maester moved slowly because of his girth. Which, shamefully enough, rivaled Robert's own previous girth. Which he was slowly working on getting rid of. But by the gods…was it easy to put on.

The doors to the Small Council Chambers opened, accompanied by the sounds of rattling chains as the fat Maester waddled his way into the room. "A thousand apologies, your grace, my lords," the Grand Maester apologized, bowing or at least bending over his gut slightly as he shuffled his feet towards his place at the table. "I was just about to head down when I received a peculiar raven from the Wall. A raven carrying the sigil of House Stark."

Robert immediately sat up straighter in his seat. It was no great secret that he was incredibly interested in any news from the North. Specifically, from House Stark and his brother in all but blood. But ever since he'd learned that Ned and Nox had gone north of the Wall with several heirs and lords of the land, he had become hungrier than usual for any news coming from the North. "Well, don't just stand there like a pile of horse shit, man. What does Ned have to say?" Robert demanded impatiently as the Grand Maester unfurled the small raven's scroll.

The Grand Maester took a moment to read over its contents before speaking. "Lord Stark reports that he was successful in his endeavor to have peace talks with the King Beyond the Wall, Mance Rayder. An accord was struck between the North and the wildlings…and as such Lord Stark has brought five thousand wildlings south of the Wall after they swore oaths of fealty to the North. And he intends to name one of their chieftains…a woman named Val, as the new Lady of the Dreadfort."

Robert was more than slightly shocked by the news. As was the rest of the Small Council. The North and the wildlings hated each other. Hells, the wildlings were the main reason there was even still a Night's Watch in the first place! And now Ned was making peace with those people? And not only making peace, but bringing them into the fold as well? From his spot down the table, his youngest brother Renly scoffed. "Lord Stark is trying to civilize those animals? Maybe he needs some time in the south as the cold has clearly addled his brain."

"Watch your tone, Renly," Robert growled, glaring at his brother, and shutting him up immediately. "That is our Warden of the North you are talking about. And if there is any man in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms capable of taming the wildlings, it's Ned Stark."

Swallowing, Renly shrank in on himself and kept his mouth shut.

"This could have unfortunate side effects, your grace," Stannis said flatly. "The Watch has long served as an alternative to punishment for crimes committed. But with the North making peace with the wildlings, what purpose does the Watch still serve? If they serve no purpose, then what is the point in even keeping the Order around?"

"We'll cross the bridge if the issue is raised," Robert grumbled, not wanting to spend too much time on that headache of an issue. "What else does Ned have to say?"

Clearing his throat, Jorge continued with the letter. "There is…unfortunately more, your grace. The talks between the North and the wildlings…It was ambushed by an apparent rogue group of wildlings that aimed to kill Mance Rayder as well as Lord Stark and his sons."

Robert froze. "Ned and his boys?"

"All fine, your grace," Jorge added quickly. "Lord Stark reports that they received only minimal casualties…and none of them of real note. The rogue wildlings however were almost completely wiped out thanks to the quick alliance between the North and the King Beyond the Wall and his men. "

Robert felt a wave of relief, and envy rush through him. "So, Ned goes north of the Wall, makes friends with the so-called 'King Beyond the Wall'. Fucks another group of wildlings up the ass and waltzes back to the North with over five thousand new heads to add to the North. And what have any of you done recently?"

The question was made in jest, but as he thought about it, it actually had merit. Who here in this room had done anything even remotely close to what Ned had just accomplished recently? And that unfortunately included himself as well. 'Fucking hells…If Ned and Nox leave me any further behind, I'll never get close enough to even see them again.'

"We–Well, I, at least, have been cultivating relations with the people and our vassals and trying to smooth over grudges left behind in the wake of the dethroning of the dragons," Renly said lamely, trying to boost his own importance but failing miserably at it. "But I do want to get back to the wildlings. More specifically, why did Lord Stark decide to give them such a valuable plot of land as the one belonging to the former House Bolton?"

Stannis was the one who answered, his eyes narrowed as he glared at their younger brother. "If you would look at a map for a moment or take an interest in military tactics you would understand the answer to that question immediately, brother. The lands belonging to the former House Bolton are indeed valuable and maybe should have gone to another worthy vassal. But by placing the wildlings there, Lord Stark is keeping them close to Winterfell so that he can keep an eye on them. And not only that, but those lands lay between House Stark, House Manderly, House Karstark, and House Umber. Three Houses whose loyalty to House Stark is without question. Should the wildlings raise any issue, they will be immediately surrounded by House Stark and three of its most powerful vassals. And it keeps them far enough away from the Wall so that they will not be tempted to try and overthrow the Nights Watch. It was a good and logical place to put the wildlings."

Robert looked at his brother in mild astonishment. Even he hadn't reached that conclusion yet. But it made sense. And it sounded like a cautionary move that Ned would make. "Did Ned have anything else to say?"

"There…Lord Stark does have more to say," the Grand Maester said, his skin turning slightly pale for some reason. "Lord Stark…gives the reason as to why he made this truce with the wildlings and took a number under his House's protection. He…He says that the reason he took this action was…was because…"

"Spit it out, man," Robert grumbled, getting more than slightly frustrated as the man's hesitation and stuttering started reminding him of that fool Pycelle.

Swallowing, the Grand Maester read what was in the letter. "Lord Stark states that…the reason why he made this truce with the wildlings was because he has reason to believe that…that the White Walkers and their army of the dead have awoken north of the Wall."

The chamber went silent as the weight of the words settled on them. Silence that was broken quickly by the outright laughter of Renly, the snickering of Baelish and a sigh of defeat from Jon. "The White Walkers? Really?" Renly laughed. "What is next? Grumpkin's appearing and granting wishes? Or perhaps snarks trying to sneak into nurseries to steal all the children?"

"Renly. Keep your tongue behind your teeth or I'll break them all," Robert said, shooting a glare towards Renly that immediately silenced him. "Ned would not write such words in jest, nor would he make such a statement unless he knew it to be true."

"There has been discussion as of late in the Citadel between those who have forged their Valyrian steel links about the White Walkers and whether they are true or mere legends," the Grand Maester said slowly, clearly measuring each word he said. "Unfortunately, there is very little that has survived over the millennia since the White Walkers were first mentioned. But more to Lord Stark's point…Apparently, he is not alone in his thoughts. In the letter Prince Oberyn, Ser Garlen Tyrell, and Lord Nox state that they all faced and defeated a White Walker together. But before they could take it captive…it froze and shattered. Making bringing back even its corpse impossible."

Slapping his hand on the table, Robert felt a rush of excitement run through him. He may have not done much of anything since overthrowing the dragons…but even the chance to face such creatures of legend and kill them was more than enough to get him moving. "Jon, call the banners. We're heading for the Wall."

"No, we're not."

Robert froze as he stared across the table at Jon, who was sitting calmly with his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his chest. Granted, it wasn't unusual for Jon to deny his requests. But most of those times he didn't really mean it as Robert was able to do what he wanted too anyway. But there were a few times, like now, when Robert knew that his foster father was deadly serious in his denial.

"And why not?" Robert asked, crushing the boy within him that still cowered slightly at the thought of going against Jon. "The North – no, the realm—is in danger from these creatures a—"

"Creatures that are little more than legends right now, Robert," Jon cut back, his eyes cracking open slightly. "While the words of Lord Stark, Prince Oberyn, Lord Nox, and Ser Garlan does indeed carry weight. Words alone are not cause enough to call up the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms and march them across Westeros to the Wall. And besides, Ned did not send this letter requesting aid. He sent it to us to inform us of the issue because, even he understands that calling the banners to the Wall right now is not feasible."

Gritting his teeth, Robert pressed his knuckles against the table. The greatest threat since the damn dragons…and he was being denied his chance to face them. "We must—"

"And what happens if we do summon the banners and march to the Wall, Robert?" Jon continued over Robert's protest. "Say that the Lords of the land decided to send even half of their forces to the Wall. The Watch has decayed to the point where only three of the castles along the Wall are even habitable. Where would we post our army? How would we feed so many? And what happens when we get there and there is no enemy to face? How long do we wait? A fortnight? A moon's turn? How long do you think the men and Lords will allow themselves to freeze at the Wall, wallowing in hunger and the elements with no enemy to face before they decide to turn and leave? And after that happens, how do you expect to get them back to the Wall if these White Walkers truly do show themselves? No, Robert. We will not be calling the banners now. Nor anytime soon."

Robert wasn't willing to give up. This was a fight he wanted. No. This was the fight he needed. "I am their King! If I call the banners, they will answer!"

"Not necessarily, your grace," Stannis, law-abiding stick in the mud Stannis, countered. "The Lords followed you during the overthrowing of the dragons because your cause was just, and you had managed to turn the tide against the Mad King. They followed you again against the Greyjoys because they were raiding the shorelines from the North down to Dorne. Calling them now, to fight against an enemy that has existed only in legend for as long as there has been written word, and without evidence of their existence? The lords will either respectfully deny the call or send only a token force. We must wait, your grace, until the enemy shows his face."

Seeing he was outnumbered left him little choice but to sit back down. He hated it, but Jon and Stannis had a point. He knew that his hold on the Seven Kingdoms was not entirely secure. Hells, it was well known that there were many in the land who still referred to him as 'The Usurper'. And if he were to bring the armies of the realm to the Wall to face an enemy only heard about in legends, and then have that enemy not appear? He knew that his hold on the realm would slip even further. While he honestly would like nothing more than to hand the responsibility of ruling off to someone else, he knew that Joffrey was nowhere near ready to rule. 'And gods only know if that boy ever will be ready to rule.'

"Fine," he grumbled. "But the moment Ned sends word and proof of these creatures attacking the Wall, I will be calling the banners and bringing every able-bodied man with me to the Wall. Reputation be damned. Until then, Baelish, work your magic and find some fucking coin to send to the Wall. The Watch has been neglected by the dragons for fucking centuries. I intend to change that."

His Master of Coin frowned as he looked over the book in front of him, no doubt full of numbers and shit Robert didn't honestly care about. "That will be difficult, your grace. The crown's budget is already stretched thin enough that a stiff breeze could break it."

Twitching his finger over his shoulder, his golden shit of a squire hurried and gave him a cup of his favorite wine. "Do what you have to. But find the coin and send it to the Wall. I want at least two more of those castles habitable by the end of the year. Renly, you're Master of Law. Time to get off your fucking ass and do something. Find us men to man those castles or, brother or not, I will find someone who can."

Renly paled but nodded while Baelish merely hummed and began scratching notes in his book. "Now," he pressed on, taking a drink and glancing around the table. "What else is going on in my kingdom?"

Varys was the first to speak. "My birds have been singing a number of songs as of late, your grace. All revolving around the same topic. The arcane. It appears that it is not limited to just Lord Nox and those he has taken an interest in. There are several stories from Essos about the re-emergence of magic. And there are even a few here in Westeros who are claiming to have the capability for magic as well."

Scoffing, Renly waved the thought off. "Those men and women are mostly just charlatans. Little better than court fools who rely on sleight of hand tricks to fool their audience. Or vague words as they try to pass themselves off as some sort of greenseer."

Varys nodded. "Yes, there are a fair number of those. However, the re-emergence of magic cannot be ignored. On the less savory side of the issue, there are a few of the more devote Lords, Ladies and religious folk who have taken afront to those who claim to use magic. There have even been stories of torturing and even witch burnings of those who have announced their ability to use magic."

Slamming his cup down, Robert felt a fire burning within him as he shot Renly a very pointed look. "I want execution by burning to be outlawed. Now." The method reminded him far too much of the fucking dragons and the Mad fucker who got off on it. "And send out reminders that anyone who takes the law into their own hands without a proper trial will face the king's justice. And just being able to use magic or being from a specific land is not enough to find a person guilty. Jorge, write up the decree by the end of the day and I'll sign it. I want the decree sent out immediately."

"It will be as you say, your grace," Varys nodded before folding his hands in front of him. "There has been another song sung that I have heard a number of times. A man whose power is not just tricks. I have no less than five accreditable accounts of his powers in action. It seems this man can see past events. And events that have not yet come to pass. The first song I heard was when he went to a small keep and exposed the Lady of the keep of adultery. The Lord didn't believe him of course, but the man was able to lead the Lord to a secret meeting between the Lady and her lover. The man was then able to tell the Lord of several past instances of their meeting up, and even showed proof that her children were by her lover, not the Lord of the keep. The next time he appeared, it was at a village that was experiencing a severe drought. The man was able to show them exactly where to dig a well to bring water to the village. Another time he arrived at a village just in time to warn them to evacuate and hide in the hills. That night a group of bandits descended on the village. The homes were burned, but thanks to the warning, no lives were lost. And the man was able to help the local Lord hunt the bandits back to their hideaway and bring them all to justice."

Robert's interest was piqued by this point. "And who is this man?"

"He has given up his name," Varys replied. "But before he started wandering, he was a Septon from somewhere in the crownlands. Though I haven't been able to track down his origins exactly. He has also started to garner quite the following. Those that follow him refer to him as the 'High Sparrow', the messenger of the Seven."

---

Standing vigil on one of the few remaining walkways of Castle Black, Ned Stark kept his eyes firmly trained on the west as he waited for any sign of his eldest son returning. It'd already been four days and nights since he'd departed, and yet still there was no sign of him. The only reason he hadn't gone after his son was a combination of keeping the peace between the Free Folk and the Night's Watch, and the words Nox had laid upon him when he'd first heard that Robb had taken off on his own. This was Robb's trial. Something he had to do on his own. A passage to manhood of a sorts. By now, he really understood what Alim had meant. As much as this trial was for Robb, it was also for him. It was his trial to see if he could trust in his son's ability enough to let him do this on his own.

Feeling a familiar presence approaching him, along with the light crunching of snow, Ned turned his head just enough to watch as Jon walked up beside him before staring out towards the west. "Father. Has there been any sign?"

"No." Ned replied, again fighting the urge to grab the nearest horse and ride west to find his son.

"He's fine, father…I can feel it," Jon muttered softly, his eyes closing for a brief moment before opening once more. "But with the Wall so close…I can't tell how far away he is. It's so…odd."

"It's enough to know his heart still beats." It was a lie. But he wasn't about to say that. "And where is your spearwife? She normally does not let you stray far from her side."

Jon's face turned slightly red, and not from the cold. "She – umm. Well, she's around. She said that she gets bored when I go and talk with Maester Aemon. So, when I told her that I was going to speak with him, she said that she would find something more interesting to do."

"And did you speak with the Maester?" Ned knew exactly who Maester Aemon was. He knew that his son enjoyed talking with the aged man. It was something that Ned wanted to encourage. It was good for Jon to realize that part of his family, part of who he was, wasn't all monsters.

"No. Well, yes." Jon quickly retracted. "I went to his quarters, but he was asleep. And I didn't want to wake him. So, so, I thought you might like some company considering most of the others have left."

Appreciating the gesture, Ned turned away from his son and back out west as his mind wandered. After all the Free Folk had sworn their oaths, the other lords and ladies of the North began departing back for their lands. It started with Lady Maege Mormont heading west along the northern side of the Wall with the giants and newly knighted Ser Daemon Sand. Their destination the Bridge of Skulls to lead the giants across and then onwards to Bear Island. His other lords began departing one after another soon after until the only family to stay behind was Lord Forrester and his sons. And that was only because Asher Forrester, who had proved himself a true man of the North, were going to head to Winterfell anyway so that the lad could be married by Ned himself to Gwyn Whitehill.

"And what will you do when we return to Winterfell, and you are once again in the presence of Princess Arianne?"

Ned wasn't blind. He knew his sons perhaps better than they knew themselves. He knew that Jon was incredibly attracted to the Dornish Princess, just as Robb was smitten with the Lady Maegyr. In a way, it was refreshing for his sons to have such a…normal problem all things considered. While he knew that it wasn't uncommon for Dornish to take paramours, or for the Free Folk to apparently have group partnering. He hoped that he'd taught Jon well enough to not expect such a thing to happen. If it did…he wouldn't stand in its way. But he just hoped Jon wasn't expecting it to happen.

"I – I haven't thought – well, I have been thinking of Arianne but…gods…I don't know what to do, father," Jon sighed, clearly defeated. "I–I think I love Arianne. When I think of her, my heart races and I feel like I can do anything if it would please her. And it's not just because she's beautiful. She's wicked smart. Smarter than most would probably think. And Ygritte…It's only been a short time…but I'm starting to feel the same about her. I just – father…I just don't know what to do and – wait…what's that? Over there?"

Squinting off into the distance, Ned quickly saw what Jon was pointing towards. A small dark shape on the western horizon that was slowly moving towards them. And beside the dark shape was a second…grey shape that was bounding in and out of the snow.

Ned did not remember his descent from where he was standing, nor did he remember the path they took through Castle Black. All he knew was one moment he and Jon were standing next to one another upon one of the walkways, and the next they were both standing outside the limits of Castle Black, rushing towards the hunched over figure of Robb on his horse. "Robb!" Ned called out urgently, making his son raise his head.

Robb lifted his head and managed a single word, "Father." Before falling forward and rolling off his horse.

Ned barely managed to catch him. With Jon's help, the two managed to get Robb to his feet with one arm slung over each of their shoulders. Beside them, Grey Wind, Ghost, and Winter began their own little reunion. "Are you injured, son?" Ned asked, fighting to keep any panic from showing.

"No," Robb replied, shaking his head. "Just…tired…I – I haven't slept since I left and – and I was doing everything I could to keep my horse and Grey Wind going despite not – not resting."

"That was a foolish thing to do, Robb," Ned chastised his son, though he was unable to put any heat into his voice as he held onto him. "Even the strongest amongst us have limits and need to rest."

While he and Jon helped Robb towards Castle Black, their presence was starting to be noticed as several Black Brothers and men of House Stark started coming out from within the fortress with Benjen and Nox leading them. "Gods, lad!" Benjen exclaimed, giving Robb a once over. "Get him to the Maester, Ned. He's got warm beds and probably knows what to do with him better than any of us. We'll take care of his horse."

"Wait! Th – the bundles…on my horse—!"

"They'll be taken care of, Robb," Ned said, cutting him off. "We need to get you to the Maest—"

"No!" Robb said with more urgency. "One – One of the bundles…It contains the bones of Bran the Builder. The founder of House Stark."

Despite the situation, Ned found himself going still. As did many of the Black Brothers and all of the men of House Stark. "What did you say?"

Standing up straighter, Robb looked around with a tired, yet proud look on his face. "They contain the bones of Bran the Builder. He – A tomb was built for him in Winterfell…yet he perished at the Nightfort and they buried him there at the base of the weirwood. I – He deserved to be with his House, so I – I brought his bones back with me. And the–the other bundle…Lord Nox. Y–You will want to look at it. I–I think Bran the Builder might…might have been like you."

There was a hidden meaning in his son's words. But now Ned was too exhausted with worry and relief that Robb had returned to ponder the meaning behind them. "We can discuss this in the morning. After you have rested, Robb."

"Aye," Robb agreed, his body slumping more between himself and Jon. "A nice…A nice rest sounds good ri–right about…" He was asleep before he could finish his thought. His body going completely limp and forcing Ned and Jon to outright carry him the rest of the way to the Maester so that he could lay down and rest.

'You did it, Robb,' Ned thought as they brought him into the Maester's quarters and maneuvered Robb's sleeping form onto the bed. 'You passed your trials, my son. Rest now… And when you wake, I feel like we will be having a long, long discussion about what you experienced.'