A Song of Frost & Flame

by Chimaera1201

When Robert's Rebellion broke out, the ancient friend and ally of the Starks, House Tormont offered their oldest daughter to the Lords of the Corridor for their alliance. Powerful and respected, the Taugere family kept the way north safe and at peace for thousands of years. But a less known prophecy may declare if the world will freeze over again, or burn in the fires.

34. Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34 – THE REFORGING

Milla stood with the girls in the passage just several feet from the entrance to the Hollow where lord Rychon had isolated himself since dawn, listening to the sounds of the castle and the thoughts within. He had thus far refused to take anything but water; and the thought came that sadly that was one of the more harmful habits he'd inherited from his dear mother when they were so strained, and the lack of nourishment only stripped them even more. The very sudden death of their beloved Healer, left yet another cruel rupture in their lives, and more tears were shed. Two Silent Sisters came to prepare his body, which was then taken to the Sept where he will remain for the next seven days where high-born and commoners alike will pay their last respects before being returned to Mount Ardor to rest in the Ardent Tombs with his family. And then more darkness followed late this afternoon when a black bird glided into the maester's tower, bearing word from the north... The young maester, with the circumstances decided to present the scroll to her husband instead of the lord, and he'd been in counsel with him since, also the reason for the members of the Order gathered in the passage just a few feet down from them, awaiting their instructions. But as for the progress of that, there was little to be made out. At first there was nothing from inside, and then she could hear voices. Or more specifically, Berin's voice. Raised. Heated. And then there was silence again for a time as the day dragged into twilight before the echoes that came sounding down the stones sounded different. Desperate... She looked at the young ladies behind her, thinking it better that they be distracted by something.

"You youngsters can head down to the southern hall, and see that all is prepared for tonight." she told, but the gathering may be a dismal thing.

"Are you sure?" Samantha asked, and Milla forced a smile.

"Yes. I'm sure they're just discussing the departure..." she breathed, and the girls cast glances at each other.

"Go on, I'll join you in a moment." Bella urged as well, and then they slowly left. Stephanie looked back a last time before they vanished around the corner, and Bella's attention came back to her mother.

"Did this have to come to us now, with everything else? Rychon hasn't been seen all day, what if he's not ready for this?" she breathed, and Milla glanced down.

"If we could control anything, I'd have wished for it to be this..." she agreed, and Bella stepped closer.

"What's going to happen?" the light green eyes met hers again, shining with tears.

"I don't know, my darling..." suddenly the door of the counsel chamber flung open, and a distraught sentinel stormed out, a loud curse resounding off every stone throughout the long passage, and Milla rushed to his side.

"What is it? What happened?" her hands rested on his shoulders, but he barely noticed as his eyes fell on the members of their order still waiting for their instructions, just a few feet down the hallway, whom immediately looked up at him when he appeared.

"Make your final preparations! We ride at dawn!" he called out to them, and they hurried down the passages after acknowledging him with a sure nod.

"Berin?" Milla tried for his attention again, and he finally looked at her. His green eyes hard and frustrated.

"He..." but then he hesitated, every harsh emotion vanishing as he breathed, and a softer desolation taking its place.

"I can't get through to him. He's not responding to me... at all." he sighed, and then looked away again, the thoughts flashing like the flickers of the torch flames.

"He can't go to war like he is now... he'll get himself killed." he concluded, feeling Milla's fingers tense on his shoulders.

"Oh, Berin... What will we do?" he forced a smile as he returned his eyes to hers. There was only one remaining choice, from here.

"I will lead the force." he decided, and her face dropped in horror. She might have thought to protest, but he took her hands in his and there was only silence.

"There is no other way, we cannot escape this. I will lead." he said again, then left down the hall to see to their final arrangements while Milla and Bella stood in the hallway, cold and cracked. The other vassal houses would have received the same message from Winterfell, and would be making for Smallember with first light, if they haven't started already. Bella rushed back up the incline to the door of the Hollow, looking into the chamber at him at the head of the wide table. He just sat there, staring blankly in front of him... Like he wasn't even truly alive. She called to him, but he didn't move, didn't react to her voice. She wanted to go to him, to hold him and comfort him and tell him that he was not alone. That she would be with him, and help him and support him whatever came, and that he would be al right, in time. But as she took a step forward, a gentle hand wrapped around hers, and she glanced back at her mother, standing at her side.

"Come, we'll send something up for him." she told softly, and Bella's eyes came back to him, so desolate in the quiet shadows.

"But..." there was a soft squeeze to her fingertips.

"We can't do anything, now. He just... needs some time." she told, believing that for the moment it would be best to leave him be. Reluctantly she moved back, and followed Milla back down the halls in sad silence. So much had happened, so rapidly, and the strains became more and more... It was too much, too fast, and it was overwhelming him. Light seeped away into night and the rest of the evening was spent mostly inside, shouts could be heard every so often regarding arrangements and alterations while soldiers moved up and down with equipment and crates of resources for the carts, and with supper the southern hall was largely deserted save for the women and children of the castle who at the very least tried to enjoy a rich soup with bread rolls and custard tartlets with cinnamon while the men claimed their servings much later. But late into the darkness, with some finding no kind of sleep and rather trying to wait out the time until dawn, Berterin sat on his bed just staring out through his window, thinking over the past days, and his devastated lord and friend. Ever since his mother's death, he'd become different, and barely spoke or did anything that he used to. Even the flames around him seemed darker, now... and he couldn't think of any way to help him. To lighten his burden. And above all else, they've been called to Winterfell to join the armies, and would leave tomorrow. Perhaps, it would be better for him to stay behind, but somehow he couldn't see that happening. He was a phoenix, he would rise again... even if it was with black flames. Unexpectedly, through the whirl of thoughts, his chamber door softly opened and closed again behind him, and he glanced back to see his lady standing against the wood, looking down at the floor. He hesitated, bewildered for a moment before her eyes came to his.

"Berterin..." her shivering voice came through the air, and he stood to meet her, thinking something had happened.

"Stephanie, what's wrong?" he asked, gently taking her arms and she smiled at him.

"Nothing... I just... I wanted to see you." she breathed, still shaking as her hands rested against his chest. His arms wound around her, and he just held her. There was a great deal that was wrong...

"Are you scared?" He asked, and she slowly nodded.

"Don't worry. We'll be al right." he tried to soothe her, and her arms slowly snaked around his neck.

"I am worried... About everyone. About lord Rychon, and lord Berin... about the soldiers... about you... about us... What's going to happen?" she softly whimpered against his shoulder, and he drew a deep breath. I don't know... I don't know what's going to happen... But he couldn't tell her that he too, was afraid.

"Our people are strong, and well prepared. Everything will be fine." he comforted her, and then led her back to the bed where she could sit down with him for a while, with her hands in his.

"I just... can't bear the thought, of anything happening... to anyone..." she sighed, trying to hold her senses together.

"You shouldn't think of such things, it only darkens your days. We'll stay together, we'll protect each other, and we'll come home." he told, feeling her shaking hands tighten in his. Then she looked up at him, slow and timidly.

"Berterin... We've shared some wonderful moments... Moments I will remember until the end of my days. I just..." she started before looking down from him again.

"I never want to lose them... to lose you..." she whispered, and he brought his hand up to her cheek, feeling the tremors rippling through her even there. Their memories together were precious, each moment a brilliant star in the darkness of the night sky in his mind, and the world where their road forward might lead them.

"Oh, my sweet Stephanie." it's been a while since she's been like this. This timid, this fearful... this fragile. Then her hand came up, pressing his fingers harder against her skin, and he wondered for a moment.

"I... I want you to... to take me, Berterin." she whimpered, and he sat stunned beyond any thoughts. Then she looked up at him once more, shimmering tears in her stricken eyes.

"I... want you to take me... before you leave." she breathed again, in barely suppressed sobs. After another heartbeat of silence he smiled, understanding the desperation that drove her to this. He gently cupped her face in his hands and leaned forward to kiss her, savouring it for a long moment as he felt her shaking fingers curl around his wrists. She was terrified, and where she found the courage to come to him he would never know. Then he pulled back, and gently breathed out.

"I won't do that to you." he said calmly, and she stared at him, mixes of relief and disappointment flashing behind the clear brown eyes. Then she looked down.

"Why? Don't... don't you want to?" she asked softly, perhaps she thought he didn't find her appealing, which admittedly was the farthest from the truth and he'd thought of it at some point, or several... He brought her eyes back to his.

"More than anything, believe me. I just..." I've never been intimate with a girl before... I wouldn't know what to do... then he sighed, and wiped a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

"I love you, Stephanie. And if I wait, I'll have someone to come home to. Something to look forward to when I come back, and we're married." he said, and after another moment of motionless silence she came forward, and her arms coiled around his neck.

"I love you, Berterin... I love you... so much..." she softly cried against him, and he let her as he held her, and they sat together while the darkness dragged its way past midnight as deep in the solitude of the eastern wing, Milla gasped and whimpered against her husband's shoulder when he finally eased into her, claiming his own breath and allowing his heart to calm. Her arms tightened around him, her feet pressing against his shuddering thighs, every emotion running wild through their minds and bodies. The great war... the worst threat their people would ever face, and it was here now. Rychon was a great cause of concern right now, he was utterly inconsolable and may not be able to join the effort even if he tried. It might even be best that way... Right now, he was the only living Taugere by name. But for the others, many would die, and she prayed to everyone she could think of that her family would not be among the fallen. Prayed to every entity, that her family would come back. It might have been a selfish wish, but still a thought she could not deny even in her mind. A long moment later, she softly called for his attention, and he looked up at her.

"It... It's just me, and the girls now. Who will stay?" he pulled himself carefully up to face her.

"Forty guards to the hold and the village. And Gavin, Ragon and Petyr will stay to protect you. The rest..." he paused for a moment, secretly confessing that their numbers weren't near where they hoped it would be. Twenty thousand, maybe. And they needed every single one of them.

"The rest ride north at first light." he told. She lay back, lost in memories as she tried to fight back tears. Memories that were now mere open spaces, and all felt empty... Once or twice, she wanted to head up to the lord's wing to assist their lady, when she remembered that she wasn't there any more. Claira's seats and steps were empty, and so was the spaces where her shadow once fell.

"Maybe... we should go back to Bristlemane." she whispered, and he stared at her for a moment, utterly stunned.

"Milla, this is our home. Why would you want to leave?" he asked, and the tears came. Because it hurts... Every day here pains me... Each time I see the empty chairs, it's agony...

"I know. I know this is our home... But... There's nothing left for us here... Raeghun is gone... Claira is gone... Falgon is gone... Bella will marry... Berterin will marry... They will have their own lives... I don't want my memories to become bitter... There's nothing left..." she sobbed, and he held her.

"Rychon is still here. He still needs us." he reminded, and she drew a deep breath to steady herself.

"I'm not suggesting that we abandon him... I know he needs us... But, in time... He'll be al right, in time... And then... After that..." his fingers gently touched her cheek, and he could manage a smile.

"You want to leave because of what happened." he realized, and she glanced away trying to hide her eyes, but nodded. He watched her for a little while, and then sighed, accepting that her decision relied heavily on emotion rather than logic at the moment.

"We'll discuss it again once we're back, and everything has settled." he promised, and it was hard on everyone, he knew. Again she nodded, and he gently brought his head down to kiss her neck, feeling her trying to control her breathing. He closed his eyes with his arms around his wife, drifting away into soundless sleep, heedless of a shadow silently drifting up through the halls back to the Hollow. She paused in front of the doors, holding her shaking hands in front of her face, desperately wishing she knew what to do. Was there anything she could do? Then Bella drew a deep breath, and let it go slowly before stepping forward and peering inside the counsel chamber where only a few candles burnt low, and tiny flames struggled to stay alive in the small hearth to the left. He was still there, exactly as he was earlier, as he'd been for the entire day. Dressed in boots and breeches, and no more than a faded tunic, he was sitting at the head of the table, his right arm resting on its surface, and staring blankly at the space in front of him, a yellow lord's moon looming in the night sky far behind him. A serving of their evening meal waited on a tray nearby, cold and untouched. She stood for a long while, arguing with herself whether to approach him, or to leave him be; and all this time he didn't move. Didn't even look up at her. Hardly seemed to notice that she was there at all... She called to him softly, but he didn't respond. She entered, and carefully closed the door before approaching him and again calling to him, with no outcome. She took a place next to him, as he still just stared in front of him and tears warmed her cheeks.

"Rychon, you need to eat. You need to rest." she told him, but he didn't move. A mad thought flashed through her mind, wanting to slap or shake him just to get him to do something... but what he needed now was tenderness and understanding; so she moved forward and sat down on his knees, forcing herself into his sight and lay her hands on his shoulders. His skin was burning warm, and the blaze to his eyes all but gone.

"Rychon?" she called once more, desperately wanting him to react. And finally he did, and his eyes met hers, glints of gold flashing off the hard frozen blue. For a moment she felt relieved, but then he looked away from her.

"I... I've lost everyone..." he whispered unsteadily, this was likely the first he's spoken to anyone all day, and her heart broke.

"You haven't... Not everyone..." she tried, gently brushing her fingers down his cheek. But, it certainly must have felt that way to him. His mother, her husband whom he'd called father, and their maester whom was all as close to them as a grandfather, all within the span of a week... He glanced at his hand resting on the table, and her attention followed his, then slowly his fingers uncurled, almost as if the movement was painful; and finally she saw the shimmer of a blue sapphire in a silver heart held in his palm, the edges of the frame having dug their way into his flesh. She stared at it, a woven leather band coiled around the fine chain and ribbon.

"Your mother's amulet?" she sat back slightly, and he brought his hand to her, holding it between them.

"She would have wanted you to have it." he breathed, and she stared at him.

"I... I can't just take it..." she tried to decline, and his eyes met hers again.

"You can. She would have wanted you to have it." he insisted, and after another long moment that she just stared at him, she slowly nodded and gently took the amulet to secure it around her neck where it glittered against her skin. It was beautiful, and she swore to never remove it.

"Thank you." she whispered, and he looked down at his hand now resting between them. There was one item left. Falgon's armband...

"I'm so sorry... I... don't have any words for you..." she breathed, but he just sat as he was.

"He was family, Bella... He was family..." he muttered, and her hands closed over his, holding the leather band.

"He was. Of course, he was." she agreed, but saw him shaking his head.

"He... He was blood... He was blood, and he never knew..." he corrected, then looked up again as she found herself without words.

"His ancestor Aecaeus, was married to Dowsabel Taugere, king Baderon's daughter. He was my blood... and he never knew..." he told, and she sat stunned for a time before looking down again at the leather, she just didn't know what to say.

"Sh... Should I help you with that?" she finally managed, but again he didn't reply. She studied him, it seemed all life was gone from him. Then she took the leather from his hand, and placed it on the table next to them before bringing her hands back to him, moving her fingers gently under the fabric of his tunic and lifting it up, carefully pulling it over his head exposing his searing skin to the cool light. He didn't say anything, but he didn't resist her either, and she discarded the shirt on the floor next to them. She took the band and tied it around his left arm, securing it between the muscles before bringing her hands back, and studying him once more. Of everyone, he was the only one who'd not allowed himself a single tear for them, and it wore on him heavily.

"You still haven't mourned." she indicated softly, and he shook his head as he drew a breath.

"I am the lord of Mount Ardor... I'm not allowed such luxuries..." he refused, and with a sting of frustration she took hold of his face.

"You are the lord, and nothing in the world will ever change that. But that doesn't make you a god. You are human." she told as she gently brought his face to hers, making him look at her and softly smiled.

"Rychon, you need to grieve. It's not a luxury. It's not a crime." He looked down, hiding his eyes from her. But she closed her arms around him, holding him, soothing the warm skin, feeling his muscles shudder and ripple as he fought against it.

"It's al right. It's al right. I'm here. I'm with you." Even the most powerful men, need a safe place... His hands mangled into her robe, and she held him tightly. And she let him weep, for what more was there? What could heal a wound so deep, but tears? It's al right... I'm with you... I'll keep you safe... And she stayed with him through it all. Until the sobs faded away, and the tears dried. Until the tremors ceased, and his stricken body eased; yet still she held him, until he finally slowly pulled back and looked at her, the blaze to his blue eyes returned. She rested her fingers against his warm cheeks, and managed a small smile, relieved and grateful that she could help him, even in this small way. The loss will never be gone, but slowly it will get better, and she wanted to support him through it. Then she felt his right hand on her cheek, slowly moving into her hair and rousing the butterflies in her stomach. He drew her forward and captured her mouth with his, gently at first as his left hand slid down to her low back, sending warm tingles through her limbs. Abruptly his kiss deepened as he pulled her closer, and her arms slid around his neck, surrendering to his heat. At another time, she might have resisted him, but right now that didn't matter. Nothing in the world mattered, only him. He brought her closer, pushing his lips into her neck as she gasped, the touch running through her body like warm rivers, and she felt her robe slide away from her shoulders. Then he suddenly stood, bringing her up with him and setting her down on the edge of the table with her knees past his hips, his lips still driven into her neck while she held him. The ribbon securing her gown to her neck was freed, and it dropped away from her body as he pushed her down on the surface, a sharp flood of air filling her chest to the icy touch of the wood to her bare back and his mouth working over the sensitive skin of her breast while her fingers strained into his back. He wasn't as gentle as before, but she couldn't care... Then she felt the seam of her gown brought up to her thighs, and for a moment his hand came away from her to free himself. For an instant, she thought of resisting him, of guiding him back as they always did, but let the thought go as her hands tightened around his neck, and she pulled herself up to kiss him, and his hands rested on her hips. He pulled her closer, drawing her further into his heated kiss while her feet rested against his thighs, and half a heartbeat later she strangled a cry as he entered her harshly, but she held to him, her nails ploughing through his skin. She could feel everything, every burning anger, every blazing resentment, every searing sorrow, every scorching agony, all of it with each painful movement as she smothered her voice into his shoulder, desperately trying not to cry out. But she would give him this. Would allow him this release. Would grant him this relief... Finally her hands again dug into his back, every muscle quaking and straining as she drowned a long moan into his shoulder, and his flames tore their way throughout her body. They eased and breathed, and allowed the cool air to claim them again, and the world silently faded away while he lay with her, watching darkness claim the space around them and listening to her calming heart. Grateful seemed such a simple word, when it would never fully mean what he felt. When the world relied on him to remain hard and unaffected, when a single shred of weakness would be his destruction, she gave him his strength back, with such a simple action that held no judgement. To take this broken soul and mend it back together. Then he carefully moved away, gently covering her with her dress and robe before reclaiming his shirt from the floor and refitting his clothing. Through the darkness he made his way to the door and opened it, scanning the hallways that were vacant before coming back and gently took her up in his arms hoping she won't wake, then he carried her down the passages to her chamber where he softly lay her down on her bed and folded the sheets over her to shield her from the cold, and leaned over her, his right hand resting on her thick hair and his lips against her cheek, tender words whispered against her skin. After a moment, he stood and left, shutting the door behind him, and his hand rested on the wood; praying to the gods that if they had any compassion left, she would not wake before dawn. Then he made his way back to the lord's wing. First light will be upon them soon, and he needed to be ready.

Milla woke to the rose blush of dawn with her husband's arms still closed around her. She lay a while watching him, still asleep. He was strong and brave and resilient, but the agonizing thought that this may be the last time she would wake up this way, with him next to her and his arms around her, was a terrifying one. He'd promised her so many times over the years, but what would happen this time? Then she glanced at the window, the sky still dark above them, but the time to leave would come too soon, as it always did. Then she sighed, and gently kissed his brow before standing, deciding to let him sleep a little bit longer. Hard days would be waiting for them. She dressed herself in a thick purple gown with fur lining and gold detailing before stepping out of their room, and making her way down the hallway, checking on the children. She paused at Bella's room, carefully peering inside and seeing her still asleep under the warm silks. The thought came to wake her, but she decided against it, and would leave her to her peace for a while longer. Berterin had just risen and was tending to the last of his armour, and the girls were already awake, helping each other dress. Leaving them to their morning, she made her way to the kitchen where Jeody was already preparing the dough for their daily assortment of fresh crispels, as he'd done since the lady of their hold taught him how to make them. Even that, was a bitter-sweet memory...

"Good morning, Jeody." he looked up as she descended the little steps into his kitchen.

"Good morning, my lady. What will you have us serve this morning?" he asked politely as he turned to face her, and she hesitated for a moment to think.

"Our forces are leaving this morning, as I'm sure you are aware. Under these circumstances I believe that it would be best to serve roasted grains with thick cream, honey and fruit, and tea... if there's enough." she told, and he nodded.

"There should be, my lady. I'll have my boys start distribution to the camp at the soonest." he agreed, and she sighed.

"Good. And have one of your serving girls deliver a tray to our lord, as well. He hasn't eaten anything in more than a day, perhaps he would take something this morning." she told, and he nodded again.

"I will do so immediately, my lady." then she left him for the southern hall, applying the scullions and charwomen to cleaning the floors and tables, and heading to the garden with a couple of serving girls to choose the flowers. Despite keeping to their former routines like they mostly would, it still felt odd. Somehow wrong. She missed Claira terribly, her voice through the halls, her smile at their tables, and the glint of midnight hair in the sunlight. Missed Falgon, how his gentleness would bring ease to them in times like these... but they were both gone, and the heat of tears swept over her again. Bristlemane might be a better place to try and fit their lives together again. But however hard it may be now, they would stay until Rychon had found his feet once more. After deciding on deep red lilies with small white blossoms for their tables, she returned to the southern hall to tend to the feast ware, and slowly their members started to assemble. Most of them, already armed and armoured, and the dreaded moment they would depart the grounds of the burning mountain drew ever nearer until it fell upon them with merciless intent when the horizon glowed its amber sheen. While waiting for their warriors to mount, and man the carts and wagons, Milla stood with Berin at the base of the great steps leading into the hold, where he held her in his arms.

"I will return to you." he gave her his promise, softly with his lips against her brow, and her arms tightened around his neck.

"You... You always do..." she whimpered against him, desperately trying to withhold the sobs. The words were hard, fighting their way out, but she had to believe it. Just a few feet away, Berterin stood with his lady, giving her his own promise and she forced a smile.

"You'd better..." she tried, not able to hide her shivering voice, but he laughed softly.

"As my lady commands." he agreed, bringing her hands up and kissing her fingertips before looking up, scanning the great doorway that was dormant. Then he looked at his father, doing the same.

"Tell my girl that I love her." Berin whispered, and she nodded. Bella hadn't come down, but neither did Rychon, who now stood on the crown of the tower, watching the sky changing colour far in the distance, and the first flash of the sun, wondering if he'd ever see this sight again while offering his final prayer, and remembering the faces... Father, guide me... Mother, comfort me... Warrior, strengthen me... then the cry of a warhorn echoed over the fields, and he turned to make his way down, to take his place. The dismal song of the sentry tower bells followed, tolling through the air with a sombre melody; driving the darkness away. And suddenly, Bella shot up with a start, looking out her window at a full bright dawn. No... No, they're leaving..! She leapt up, pulling her robe together as she rushed for the door with little thought for her appearance, flung it open and ran down the passage, pleading in her heart that she was not too late. She found Beatrice and a rather despondent Samantha in the hallway, speaking softly; perhaps having elected to stay inside to meet her when she came out.

"Where is everyone? Have the men already left?" she breathed heavily, and they acknowledged her.

"They're just about to, I believe." Samantha replied, and a rush of frustration swept through her veins.

"Why didn't you wake me?" she cried out, and her friends cast one another a nervous glance.

"You were sleeping so peacefully, Bella. We didn't want to disturb you." Beatrice tried calmly. You ninnies! and with tears in her eyes she continued on her way. Please... Please..! She rushed into the Hall of Fire, the stones cold beneath her bare feet as she hurried down the eastern stairway and paused next to the throne to catch her breath. With her chest burning, she glanced up, just noticing movement outside, and the shouting voices. After another moment to calm her breathing, she moved to take a step forward, but the brush steel and leather from behind caught her attention, and she looked back. Her heart sank away as Rychon came down the steps with Gavin behind him... He was well armoured. Good boots and black greaves over thick dark grey wool breeches, a shining breastplate with the burning phoenix over boiled leather and black ringmail, the black cloak, and two great swords secured to his back. It felt a dark cloud settled over her, covering all in shadow as she realized that nothing in the world would keep him here. If there was a threat, he would meet it directly irrespective of anything else. But even knowing that, did not diminish her desperation as she stepped forward, perhaps in her heart hoping to stop him. She called to him, her hands going out to him and he paused while Gavin bowed his head to him, and then left them.

"Bella." he acknowledged her, and their eyes met. Blazing blue the fire had returned to him, but there was a hardness to him that she did not recognise, that did not belong.

"I won't ask you to wait for me, your future and your happiness is more important..." he told, and then glanced away from her.

"But, I will see that you are safe." he said, and a frigid shard dug its way deep into her heart. He spoke like someone, who was not coming back to them, and knew it.

"Are... Are you revoking our betrothal?" her voice finally came, the words a jumble of stuttering sobs, and he looked back at her.

"Not officially." his voice was eerily calm and even, but the shard of ice in her chest transformed into a burning ache through her body as she pitched forward, her hands resting on the burnished steel over his chest.

"Rychon... Please stay. Please stay with me! You don't need to go! There are many others that can take your place in battle!" she pleaded with him recalling her father's words the day before, but he simply stared back, stern and cold.

"I have to." he said, and the warmth rose into her cheeks and eyes as desperation and frustration clawed at her.

"No, you don't! Please, stay with me." she continued to beg, and then felt his hands on her. His fingers gentle, but firm around her wrists.

"Don't be selfish." he breathed, and very softly pushed her hands away from him, and a sudden anger flared white through her limbs.

"Why not?!" she jerked her right hand free, and slammed her fist into the breastplate hard, the impact resounding off the stones while the skin throbbed, but then the anger vanished and the tears came.

"Please... Just this one thing... Just this one..." she whimpered, and again felt his hand on hers, his warm palm closed tenderly over her painful fist, and she looked up to meet his eyes again.

"I'll never ask you for anything, ever again, I swear! Please... Please, just stay with me." she sobbed, and he stared at her for a moment longer before sighing as he looked down from her.

"Good bye, Bella." then he released her, and walked past her, going down the grand staircase as she stared dismally after him, broken pieces of her heart falling away. If... If I lied... and told him I was with child... would he stay..?

"Rychon!" he didn't turn around.

"Rychon!" he didn't stop.

"RYCHON!" he didn't even slow down. Then she sank to the floor, sobbing into her hands as his shadow vanished through the great doors, and he took a position at the top of the steps, looking over the bailey that was abruptly drowned in a hard silence to his sudden presence. Eyes stared at him, brown eyes, hazel eyes, grey eyes, blue eyes and green eyes, shocked, startled, amazed, but no word was uttered. A stable boy darted into the stalls, and a few moments later returned, leading the lord's great Storm to the stairs. Rychon drew another deep, painful breath as he started down the steps, cursing the burning ache through his body. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but if he swayed even in the slightest, he would have broken all over again. And if he was to lead this country and its people into a future however unknown, there was no more room for weakness, not even for his love. If he couldn't be strong now, he couldn't protect her, and she was more important. As the senior sentinel remaining behind, Gavin was given command of Mount Ardor's defence, and the gates were to remain sealed save for the acceptance of produce and supplies until their return, or otherwise notified. A message was sent to Boatwright's port to have a ship prepared, should the worst happen, to deliver the ladies and their protectors to his aunt in Pentos. They would be safe there... He took a position on his destrier's left side, and brought Quill from his back to fasten it to the steed's saddle, where it would wait for his hand. Then he mounted, Summit still secured safely to his shoulders, and looked at Milla still standing at the base of the stairs, her hands clasped together in front of her chest and the shine of tears on her cheeks, while Gavin waited patiently by her side. But he couldn't find any words. He could barely breathe, through the hurt. I'm sorry, aunt Milla... You'll be safe... You'll all be al right... Then a presence came up beside him, and he met the deep green eyes of the head of their order next to him, armoured and ready with Bristlemane Blade at his side, mounted on his own silver buckskin courser, and after a moment he nodded. Rychon reeled his warhorse around, and started towards the gate, and the rest followed, the warhorn and bell choir still singing in the air around them, disappearing through the portcullis when Milla finally turned and sombrely made her way back inside, trying to fit the shattered pieces of her heart back together with each silent step. Nothing would have made him stay, it was who he was. Who he always was, whom he was always meant to be. He was lord Rychon Taugere, son of Raeghun Taugere, ruler of Mount Ardor, warden of the Corridor and line of the Ardent Kings... She looked up, and saw the young ladies on the second level in the light of the great hearth, huddled together on the floor where her daughter sat weeping, and she rushed to them where she knelt in front of Bella, and she looked up, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

"He left! He left!" she cried, and Milla's heart sank deeper into her core. She started moving forward to hold her, to soothe her, but she suddenly rose to her feet and ran up the steps, with her friends and mother following, calling out to her. But she didn't stop as she fled up the incline, up the many hallways and steps. Past the Hollow, past the treasury, past the lord's wing, past the maester's tower, past the lady's common room, all the way up the passages until she finally stood on the crown of the sun tower, watching as a black river flowed east, unable to control the tears flowing down her skin until soft hands settled on her shoulders, and she looked back at her mother.

"He left! Why did he leave?" she continued, and soft arms closed around her.

"Oh, my dear Bella..." she finally soothed her, feeling her daughter shudder in her arms.

"He left, because it's who he is... He left... to defend his people. To protect us..." she whimpered, and they stood together, shedding tears for those who had gone, for those who might not return as thousands of hooves crossed the earth, banners streaming in the wind as the lord led his men into the morning light, sun flashing off steel, making for the dawn towards Smallember.

Rhegard sat in the great hall of Winterfell, with his nephews at his side. They'd arrived at the keep the day before with their people, and more were pouring in each day. With most of the northern bannermen listening, Sansa Stark addressed them all from her seat at the high table, alongside her brother Jon Snow and the silver haired Targaryen queen whom had come back with him.

"As soon as we heard about the Wall, I called all our banners to retreat to Winterfell, and sent word to our allies as well." she announced, and then her attention went to a boy, no older than ten.

"Lord Umber." the young head of that proud house sat forward, nervously waiting for his order.

"When can we expect your people to arrive?" Sansa asked, then he stood and approached the table.

"We need more horses and wagons, if it please my lady." he explained, and then his eyes went to Jon.

"And my lord..." and then the lady standing behind the chairs, her long hair falling in silver ringlets down to the small of her back.

"And... my queen... Sorry..." the young lord added, with a timid laugh. She nodded with a small smile, and then proceeded to take her place next to the man who'd been named the White Wolf at the table.

"You'll have as many as we can spare. Hurry back to Last Hearth and bring your people here." Sansa instructed, and the boy bowed formally before leaving the great hall with his attendant.

"We need to send ravens to the Night's Watch as well. There's no sense in manning the castles any more, we'll make our stand here." Jon suggested, and the big man robed in black with a heavy chain hung from his neck bowed to him respectably.

"At once, your grace." he agreed, and then left the hall as well to tend to his task.

"Your grace?" a sardonic voice suddenly sounded through the hall, leaving a bitter chill behind. It was the young head of house Mormont, lady Leanna. Then she stood and approached the table as well, to address him directly.

"But you're not, are you?" she questioned him.

"You left Winterfell a king, and came back a..." there was a moment of silence, as she seemed to choose her words, while there was hushed murmurs along the length of the hall.

"I'm not sure what you are, now..." she finally continued.

"A lord? Nothing at all?" Jon forced a smile.

"It's not important." he tried, but the girl almost sneered at him.

"Not important? We named you King in the North!" she reminded him, followed by other voices in agreement as the former King in the North and the lady of Winterfell glanced at one another.

"You did, my lady." Jon acknowledged as he looked back at her with a soft sigh, and another calm smile while she only stared back.

"It was the honour of my life. I'll always be grateful for your faith." he said modestly, but then stood from his seat.

"But when I left Winterfell I told you we need allies, or we will die. And I have brought those allies home, while the force of the Corridor make for Winterfell as we speak, to fight alongside us. I had a choice. Keep my crown, or protect the north? I chose, the north!" he declared, followed by more voices resounding through the hall. To be honest, it wasn't a difficult choice. A title, or the lives of those whom you cared for? A smaller man stood from the high table to add his own voice.

"If anyone survives the war to come, we'll have Jon Snow to thank. He risked his life to show us the threat is real. Thanks to his courage, we have brought with us the greatest army the world has ever seen. We have brought two full grown dragons." he told, and then drew an almost uneasy breath in the cool air.

"Within a week, the lords of the Corridor will arrive with their hosts." he seemed suddenly uneasy, and for a moment cast his eyes at the stones of the floor before returning his attention to those waiting in the hall.

"And soon, the Lannister army will ride north to join our cause." he added, answered by the disdain of the northern lords, clearly opposed to the notion.

"I know! I know! Our people haven't been friends in the past. But we must fight together, now. Or die..." he tried to encourage them, and then Sansa sat forward.

"May I ask, how we're meant to feed the greatest army the world has ever seen? While I ensured our stores would last through winter I didn't account for Dothraki, Unsullied and two full grown dragons." she challenged, and then allowed herself a sarcastic smile.

"What do dragons eat, anyway?" she added, conceding that their knowledge about these creatures were limited at best.

"Whatever they want." a voice came from the other side of the table, and she looked to her left to meet the violet purple eyes of the dragon queen, regarding her with a coldness as frigid as these northern winds, and the already chill uncertainty grew. Following several more matters and appointments, the counsel was dismissed and the Tormonts left the hall with the other lords to ensure all their measures were tended to. Soldiers were busy working on weapons and barricades while wagons holding some kind of black stone, which they called dragon glass came through the gates. This was used to forge daggers, swords and even axes.

"Do you really think we can expect the southern forces?" Gaerand asked from behind, and Rhegard hid a scoff.

"The only southern force we can truly place our faith in, is that of the Goldfields, son." he breathed, looking over the yard at the masses of people moving about.

"When do you think we can expect Rychon and his men?" he asked again.

"In a few days, I'm sure." Rhegard calculated. General travel between Pale Haven and Mount Ardor could take up to a week, but a hard ride might spare them a few days.

"Our lady doesn't seem to trust our newest allies, though." Williame added, sounding almost disappointed in that, and Rhegard turned back.

"Trust is hard earned and easily lost, Williame. This has been our way of life, the way of the north, for millennia." he told, and then stepped closer.

"When you encounter a new creature, you approach it carefully lest they be dangerous." he reminded, and Williame glanced down. He, unlike most of their countrymen, seemed to approve of the newcomers.

"She came all this way." he mentioned, and Rhegard took his shoulder.

"I know, and we're grateful for that. But it's a sad truth that if you trust someone you don't know, you might end up with a dagger between your ribs." he cautioned, and then continued on his way with the youngsters following. Some of his men had been charged with digging a trench to the north of the keep where they expected the attack to come from, and he'd best see how they were faring. While the camp site to the south grew steadily, he had wished to offer his family better accommodation instead of huddling in the tents. The ladies were welcome in the halls of the stronghold of course, but they couldn't give everyone rooms away from the cold. They walked under the gate towards the outside, where his men were busy with the trench, forcing shovels into the hard soil. Wood beams were brought in by horse cart from the loggers to position in the earth, strengthening their defence. Other soldiers were roaming the grounds, trying to decide the best place to station their forces or place more barricades. But the trench itself, could be their last line; and it had to hold. He turned back to the youngsters.

"Gaerand, head to the stores. See if there's any oil we can use for this wood." he instructed, and the boy nodded.

"Yes, uncle." he hurried away, and Rhegard and Williame continued to inspect the progress of the defences.

The sun was a glowing red orb on the horizon when the phoenix of Taugere's forces entered the camp site that surrounded the small country village called Smallember, uniting with the many banners that displayed the mammoth from Earndale Palace under lord Foch, the black ram from Hurlton Fortress under lord Rames, the flower and thorns of Longdale Citadel under lord Violet, the black and white horse heads from Cainhorn Keep under lord Haslinger, the battle axe and bow of Harlston Hold under lord Garrener, the olive tree of Worthwood Hall under lord De Veaux, and the twice circled sun of Elden Castle under lord Seigre, and all their lesser followers. The supply wagons were gathered to the north of the encampment, and the horses tethered in the fields to the west. Rychon scanned over the horde, seventeen thousand men at most, but some of their bondsmen were unaccounted for. Lord Darius Foch came from the mass to meet them, followed by two of his soldiers and one took hold of the grey destrier's reins.

"Good evening, my lords." Darius greeted, and his gesture was returned kindly.

"Who are we missing, lord Foch?" Rychon asked as he dismounted, taking Quill from the saddle and allowing Storm to be led away to be rubbed down and fed after a long day's hard ride; and the others followed.

"Lord Reubel's men seems to have been delayed, and those from Bristlemane have yet to join us." he informed, and Rychon paused for a moment before breathing out.

"If they're not here by midnight, we press on without them. Delays can be costly." he decided, and then headed off further into the camp with the sentinels following to meet with the other lords while the soldiers started adding their own shelters and pavilions to the mass for the night as the sun slowly vanished from the world, and the land was lit with torches and cook fires where the men saw to their needs. Rychon and the sentinels stood with the lords and their officers, surrounding a large bonfire and addressing their progress north when the white raven of Reubel came gliding into the camp site some time after darkness had settled over them, adding another one thousand eight hundred fighting men to their mass. Not enough, but still better odds. And it was late into the night when Berin stood watching the shadows, waiting for one more. His youngest son, who'd informed that he'd lead their troops up to the assembly point himself. He hadn't seen him in so long, and wondered for a moment before another shape took position next to him.

"Anxious, lord Berin?" lord Sebaston Haslinger asked, scanning the dark empty space with him.

"My son is leading the force from Bristlemane to meet up with us. I'd hoped he'd be here sooner." he sighed, noting the light grey shroud forming in front of his face in the chill air.

"He's still just a boy." he said, and Berin cast him a glance.

"So were you once, lord Haslinger." he reminded, and the elder gentleman smirked.

"And stubborn as an aurochs to boot, I'll add." then his eyes returned to the black country.

"How many men?" he asked, pulling his cloak closer together for warmth.

"I'm not sure. No less than a thousand, I believe." he tried to recall the last count he'd sent them, it was close to that. Then he saw Sebaston looking back to the great bonfire, where most of the others still stood.

"To be truthful, I didn't think that our liege would come, given that he's lost his mother so recently." he mentioned, and Berin focused on the air in his chest. He's lost more than that...

"He shouldn't have. He didn't have the time to deal with, and accept what happened, like he should have." he replied, recalling that dreadful day. He didn't respond to anything he said to him then, he didn't move, he didn't look up or down or in any direction, he just sat there... like he was dead...

"But he did, anyway." lord Haslinger grinned, and then turned.

"He's a Taugere." he added, and then ambled back towards the others, seeking the warmth of the fire while Berin remained, wondering. Since they left Mount Ardor, Rychon's focus was mainly on the safety of his people, and instructions were spread for the countrymen to make for the safety of the strongholds. For a while, it was the better subject to concentrate on to keep his mind away from the hurt, and the horror that struck them. And the horror to come... Then he turned, and made his way back into the camp site searching for his son, whom he found in the company of the sentinels.

"Berterin." the youngest of their order turned, waiting attentively for his instructions, and Berin gave him a small smile as he unbuckled the sword belt from his waist.

"I want you to take this." he said as he held his sword out to his son.

"Bristlemane Blade?" he stared at the blade, astonished.

"She should be yours." Berin told, and after another stunned moment Berterin slowly shook his head as his eyes came up.

"I can't take her." he tried to decline, but then Berin pushed the sheathed sword into his hands.

"I'm giving her to you." he insisted, then Berterin looked down, examining the item in his hands. Longer than a longsword, but shorter than the lord's great sword. With sharp spines protruding from the cross guard, and the pommel fashioned to a great helm. Then he pulled the blade from the black leather sheath, revealing the sharp edge.

"Folded blue steel, she's almost as hard and sharp as the lord's great sword. She'll protect you well." Berin said, and Berterin slowly returned the steel into the sheath before looking up at his father again, revealing a flush to his cheeks.

"I... I don't know what to say." he said softly, and then Berin smirked.

"Don't say anything. Just shut up and take her." finally, Berterin smiled as he looked up, absolute delight shining in his eyes.

"Thank you, father." he breathed, and Berin took hold of his shoulder. The tiny little thing that was now a young man, a member of their elite order, unfearing and unyielding.

"You deserve it, son." he praised, and Berterin again laughed happily as he took in the blade in his hands one more time, and the other members of their order hailed him as the bearer of a wonderful new sword, which the young sentinel secured to his waist with pride. Moments later, a stir to the south caught the camp's attention, the sound of voices, the snort of horses, and the beat of hooves when the mounted knight joined their company. Their leader, a young man armoured in hard leather with a steel longsword at his side, mounted on a fiery blood bay, looked around at the faces and then smiled as his green eyes fell on Berin.

"Good evening, father." he greeted, and then dismounted to meet them with a fond embrace.

"Vaellion..." then he released him, looking over his son. He was tall, lean, and his hair grown out to ash blonde waves just touching his shoulders. His eyes, bright and clear in a soft lengthened face, resembling his mother. Then Berterin joined them, offering a firm hand to his brother.

"Welcome. A bit late though." he teased, and Vaellion laughed.

"We were held up at the Fountain, but at least we made it." he replied, and Berterin studied him for a long moment.

"Are... are you taller than me?" he suddenly asked, and Vaellion glanced down.

"Am I?" Berin compared them, levelling his hand above their heads.

"You are." he agreed, noting that they differed with half an inch, or so.

"Well, what do you know?" Vaellion laughed again, but Berterin smirked.

"But I'm still stronger than you." he insisted, and Vaellion nodded.

"Of course you are, brother. Congratulations on your acceptance to the order, I would have loved to be there." he told, and Berterin chuckled.

"One of the best days of my life." he agreed, and then Vaellion's attention went to someone behind them, falling silent for a moment. Then he drew a breath, visibly composing himself before stepping forward and bowing.

"Bristlemane Stronghold's forces are yours, my lord." he addressed Rychon, who stood motionless for a time until Vaellion straightened, regarding him. They hadn't seen each other for what could have been five years. But then Rychon smiled, and stepped forward throwing his arms around him, and they held one another for a moment before Rychon drew back, laying his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"It's good to see you, Vaellion. You look well." he told, and they shared a soft laugh.

"And you, Rychon." the newcomers settled in with the rest of the mass, joining their shelters to the already massive growth around the village, and shared in the rations for the evening from the cook pots while the lords, sentinels and officers did much of the same around the bonfire where Berin sat with both his sons next to him, discussing thoughts and memories and hopes, both of home and of what awaited them, like so many others. Numerous conversations drifted into the night air, of families, parents, wives and children. Men made promises to look after one another's kin should they fall in battle. But the atmosphere was not altogether dark and miserable, as some could be heard laughing and japing; and yet it was no secret that fear was rooted in them. All of them...

"How is mother, and Bella doing?" Vaellion asked, breaking a heel of bread apart in his hands.

"Both fine. But they miss you, very much." Berin answered with a soft nudge to his arm, and Vaellion laughed.

"I'll make it up to them." he promised, sharing the bread with his father. After sating their hunger on roasted hare haunch with bread and water, Berin stood intending to make his way to one of the wagons in search of a new weapon. But barely away from the light of the fire, he met Rychon on the path.

"You seem to be lacking a sword, lord Trentin." he advised, and Berin shrugged.

"I'll take another off the supply wagon." he sighed, and Rychon smirked.

"And you believe any of those sufficient for the head of my order?" he asked, then Berin glanced away in the direction of the supply wagons. The swords were simple, hard sharp castle forged steel. But, they would never compare to Bristlemane Blade, or the lord's great swords.

"It will have to do." he sighed, and Rychon looked towards the wagons himself with a nod.

"Well. I have a bit of a predicament, myself." he started as he looked back at Berin, still with a strange smile.

"I have brought the two swords of my house. And while they're both magnificent blades, I can only hold one at a time." he explained, and then brought something forward presenting it to Berin. A blade he'd been carrying in his hand.

"Would you be so kind as to look after Summit for me, until we go home?" he asked, and Berin brought his hands up, slowly taking the blade with a chest belt wrapped around its hilt, staring down at the leering red eyes looking back at him.

"But this-" It was the great sword of the strongest member who'd ever been a part of their order. The first Battle Master in Westeros for more than two hundred years. The blade of the Stone king. His friend, and brother...

"I would trust no one else." Rychon insisted, and Berin looked up, unable to control the smile despite the heat in his cheeks.

"It would be my greatest honour, lord Rychon." he accepted it.

"Good." Rychon said, and then he heard something next to him. Hands clapping, one pair; then two, then three, and when he looked up his sons were there, smiling and applauding, with the sentinels, and the lords, and more and more people. Another praise, the lord had given his family. He released the chest belt from the hilt as Vaellion came to his side to help him, taking the sword. Then Berin brought the belt around his chest and shoulders, fastening it. But, Falgon had a far broader chest than he did, and so he found himself in need of adding a hole in the leather to lock the belt to his body. Finally, he reclaimed the blade and secured it to its place, ensuring he could find and release it when he needed to. The steel was long, but not uncomfortable on him; and without a sheath, it was easy. He recalled the tall warrior, how much he valued this sword. It was a part of him. And now, for a while, he could carry it with him. Then he noticed his sons staring at him.

"What?" then the boys smiled.

"It suits you." Berterin said, and they shared a laugh. The night waned on, while the men conversed and the liege along with several vassal lords and sentinels saw that final preparations were tended to. If all fared as they planned, with little or no difficulties and the intent to ride straight through to Winterfell, they would reach their allies within another two days, or three at most. Berin moved through the camp site with his sons, assessing the state of their people, which was largely calm for the moment. Voices were still sounding into the air, some sombre, some optimistic, some indifferent, some both. And then unexpectedly, a heated voice drew him, to where a group stood gathered near the light of the fire.

"Had the lady accepted me then, I would be your ruler now! I would be the man to lead this force! But I would not have relented to a foreigner's cry so easily, and the whelp would listen to me." he pushed his way past the men, entering the circle where the robust lord Garrener was speaking, or perhaps arguing with lord Seigre, and a lash of anger burnt through his body. So, that was what maester Adlyn was referring to when he mentioned, that another lord had attempted to marry Claira, years ago.

"Am I right to assume that you are referring to lady Claira, Cornalus?" Berin suddenly demanded as he moved forward, and the lord spun around, seeming embarrassed for a moment as their eyes met.

"Because if it is, then 'that whelp' is your liege lord now, and you will respect him and his family under all circumstances." he grabbed a water skin from the man's hand and brought it to his face, it stank heavily of old wine. Lord Cornalus Garrener was a loyal man, but self-willed. And loud mouthed when drunk.

"Lady Claira would never have remarried anyone, even if the king himself insisted on it. What made you think she would simply agree to you?" Berterin added as he joined his father, and Berin hid a small smirk. Poor lad, he was still trying to keep that secret.

"She might have, had it not been for her tails." he mentioned, and Berin looked up.

"Those 'tails' were the most loyal, devoted men our realms have ever seen in its existence!" he directed purposefully, and then raised the skin.

"And this is how you disgrace the memories we have of them?" he turned, and flung the object into the air, where it vanished into the shadows as some of those around them muttered.

"While we can see to our own families and lands, we have to march up north to fight the dragon queen's war?" Garrener asked, his speech not following the fluent toll it normally would. But Darius joined them in the group as well.

"We're not. It was the wolf king who called on our people for aid, to protect the realms." he corrected, followed by another voice from the circle.

"We've been called into alliance for others multiple times over the past few years, it's a wonder we have any people left, to keep fighting for these weaklings." Sebaston interjected, and Berin regarded them both.

"Stop your bitching! We're all in this war together, it doesn't matter who you are or where you're from. And if we don't face it, everyone will die." he called over them, answered by more voices around them.

"We've been facing all kinds of problems, for the sake of others. Lady Claira had declared our country neutral after her husband's disappearance to try and fortify our positions, until this came." lord Seigre added his voice, although softer than one would expect in the exchanges of an argument. The phoenix was known to rise, it always answered. That's why they were called upon. But this was different. A sudden voice like the strike of thunder shattered the air.

"That's enough!" men parted like a scattered flock before a lion, and Rychon stepped into the light.

"Now you can stand here and argue amongst yourselves until spring, it doesn't change that winter is here now, and death's come with it. They called on us, but I was the one who answered. I don't enjoy leaving my home any more, than any one of you. But I would rather face any threat to us elsewhere, than taking the chance that danger comes to my walls! To the ones that matter to me! To take the chance, that I might not be able to defend them." he told, and the world was left drenched in silence, save for the logs in the flames and the animals of the night. There was a heat around them, and not only from the flames of the fire behind them, but the blue eyes looking over them.

"Leave if you wish, I will not blame you for your choice. But I've made mine, and I will keep to it." he sighed, and then started to turn, wanting to leave them to their own whims for the rest of the night. But then the elder gentleman from Hurlton Fortress stepped forward.

"Lord Taugere." Rychon turned back to meet lord Rames approaching him.

"Would you permit me, to speak?" he asked gently, resting a hand on the sword at his side, and Rychon released the breath boiling in his chest. What more could happen? Then he nodded. The elder lord smiled at him, and then turned to those behind him.

"We all came here, because of our oaths. We all came, because our lord answered a call. We all remember our vows, and our histories. We have served house Taugere and its lords for as long as memory exists, that is not about to change." He told them, and then glanced at Rychon before bringing his eyes back to those looking back.

"And so, I say unto all of you, that I don't care about no Wolf King or Dragon Queen, or whatever." he suddenly called out into the still air, and they stared at him in silence.

"House Rames, has drawn swords for the Ardent Kings for over seven thousand years!" he reminded them, his voice rising with pride, and then he turned back to Rychon.

"And we will continue to do so, in victory or to hell!" he drew the sword at his side, and knelt in front of the young liege, resting the tip on the ground with the hilt in his hand.

"Rychon of house Taugere, the Ardent King!" he called, and Rychon stared at him, dazed with blazing butterfly wings rushing through his veins.

"My lord..." but his words failed him. Then Darius joined him, kneeling with his blade in front of him, in honour of their ruler.

"Rychon of house Taugere! The Ardent King!" he agreed. Old lord Violet drew his sword, raising it into the air.

"To the Ardent King! Ad infinitum!" he called out, and more swords were drawn, and more voices called into the darkness, filling the night when all hailed their king, from soldiers to sentinels to vassal lords. "The Ardent King! The Ardent King! The Ardent King! The Ardent King!" Rychon stood silent and motionless, until the voices died away, leaving an echo in the distance. They were strong, brave and loyal men. They would support him, and he needed to be enough to be worthy of that. Thank you... All of you... Then he looked up.

"Get the rest that you can. It may be the last, until this war is done." he advised, sparing a last glance at the lords who praised him. Then he made his way back to his shelter, where he dissolved onto one of the small chairs, trying to calm himself. This was certainly unexpected, and by no means desired. But he did, the best he could, and would continue to do so. He could only imagine the retaliation this would bring from other reaches, perhaps it would have been better to decline. But the hope they gained, the power that brought them, he couldn't deny them that. Not in this. And so, he would relinquish this title, when the world was at peace. My sweet Bella, I miss you so much... Then a shadow entered the pavilion with him, and he looked up at Berin.

"You don't seem pleased?" he noted as he came carefully closer and joined him, sitting down on a crate; but Rychon smiled.

"I'm honoured, of course. But, Queen Daenerys definitely won't be happy about that..." he sighed, and Berin glanced away as he nodded with half a grin.

"And you want to make her happy?" he asked, and a sudden unwanted lash of warmth burnt through Rychon's stomach.

"Her happiness really couldn't bother me." he quickly told, bringing Berin's eyes back to his. But then he claimed another breath, bringing the heat under his control.

"I just, don't want another unnecessary fight. Our strength is limited, as it is." he explained. Then Berin sat forward, bringing his hands together as his elbows rested on his knees, regarding the youngster whom they had now named Ardent King.

"Rychon, these men chose to follow you. And fully aware of other rulers, they chose to name you their king. That means more, than demanding someone's submission." he said, and glanced down again at his hands.

"You remember what your father told you, about your people?" he questioned, and all of the thoughts came flooding back to him. Each lesson, each counsel, each meeting, every moment.

"Take care of them, and they'll take care of you. Respect earned is greater than respect demanded." he quoted him, all that had turned out to be true. Then Berin smiled.

"And you have earned it. Completely. We will follow you to each of the seven hells and back again if that's where you chose to go." he promised, and watched the blue eyes lighten. He was young, yes. He was inexperienced, yes. But he was powerful. He was fierce. He was a king's line, like his father and all before them. He was the king they needed as much as he was wanted, the one they chose. He sat silent for a long while, staring at the space in front of him.

"What are you thinking of?" Berin asked softly, and the eyes came to his, clear and focused.

"The Breath of Winter will meld with Bright Fire and Dead Stone. And when Winter comes, it is the Atronach that will stand in Flames and Snow…" he breathed slowly, and then stood heading out into the cool air and made his way to the edge of the camp with Berin following.

"The prophecy?" Berin asked as they stared off into the night.

"Winter is here, it meant something. I just…" he trailed off, and then ran his hand through his hair trying to bring the thoughts to order.

"Like what?" Berin asked, followed by another silence. So many questions, but no answers.

"I don't know… I'll figure it out, somehow…" Rychon sighed.

This was a clear day, with cool sunlight washing down on the lands. It was meant to be a happy day, Bella Trentin's seventeenth name day... They let her sleep in again, and when she woke insisted that she dress in a lavish gown of emerald green with gold details, after which they welcomed her to a wonderfully prepared southern hall where their remaining members had assembled, albeit much less than before. Cook Jeody's kitchen served their morning with boiled eggs, flamed pork sausage, tomatoes and mushrooms and berry sweet rolls with fruit preserve and cream alongside tea and apple press. She was presented a beautiful blue satin dress with silver detailing, a red fox pelt shawl, a gold circlet with an opal amethyst set in its centre, and a bottle of sweet rose oil. Berry and Joldewin joined them again, displaying their talents, and in honour of their fair maid, for this day crowned as the queen of love and beauty when Samantha lay a crown of woven white roses on her head, a small private tournament was hosted in the castle's outer bailey where the castle hands erected a tiny wood dais for the ladies, and even lists and tilts in the yard. Some merchants from the village took up this opportunity to sell their wares from carts, amidst those who attended. The sentinels stood as her champions, while the guards spoke freely of battling them to win her favour. From her seat, she watched eagerly as the participants entered the circle, while Petyr, Ragon and Gavin stood guard in front of them, and the rest of the members watched from the edges or even the walls and windows as the guards contended for the rights to face her champions. It was exciting, she'd never been to a tournament before; and uncle Raeghun was not fond of them although he did allow his men to practice and participate in chosen groups once in a while should one be hosted. And they would return with awards and honours for this house. The melee continued, and Ragon finally took up one of the challengers. He was declared the victor after relieving the guard of his weapon, and returned to his place with a formal bow. Then followed Petyr against a scrawny youth, and finally Gavin against one of their more burly sentries, pushed hard but still victorious. A short respite fell over noon, when Berry and Joldewin had the arena to themselves, juggling and balancing on barrels, telling their tall tales and even singing to the women that attended while Bella and her company shared soft conversation as they nibbled on nuts, fruit pieces and sweet wine, which she quite strangely exchanged for press, feeling no desire for the odd taste that was suddenly too strong. Despite the circumstances they found themselves in, this was a welcome distraction. But, her mind wandered frequently to their soldiers, their lords, her father, her brothers and her love, and she kept wondering where they were now. What they were doing. How long before she would see them again? Would she see them again? The way Rychon spoke that day, it was like he wasn't coming back... A tear burned against her cheek, and she shoved the thoughts away. No, he is coming back! He is! A rush of applause and cheers brought her eyes up to a dozen horses coming from the stable, all decorated with feathers and either blue or red caparisons, and their riders adorned in full plate mail, helms and shields. They formed two lines in front of the dais, bowing their heads to the ladies before moving away, and the first two contenders took their places in the lists where the riders were presented with colourful lances. But, she felt suddenly uneasy.

"Won't they get hurt?" she whispered, but Beatrice leaned slightly closer.

"The lances are blunted, and made to shatter on impact. They should be fine." she explained, and the joust commenced in all its risible glory, pieces of splintered lances littering the yard until but two riders were left. Ser Ragon of Flint finally faced off against ser Petyr, breaking shafts in no less than six tilts before the latter was unhorsed, and his courser left trotting down the length of the tilt alone. Bella stood, watching anxiously as others approached the sentinel lying motionless on the ground, but released a relieved breath when they helped him to his feet with a surge of laughter. He was unharmed, but definitely breathless from the fall. Ragon approached the dais, still mounted on his pale courser, and bowed his head to the ladies.

"All my victories I dedicate to you, oh fairest queen of love and beauty." he declared loudly, and Bella couldn't stop a soft blush to her cheeks, barely hidden from the rugged knight smiling back.

"You have my deepest gratitude, ser. You have defended my honour without fail. Might I ask, which boon you desire? If it is within my power, you shall have it." she replied, trying to play the part; and then was revealed glinting eyes from a happy face.

"I would ask nothing of you, my lady. But any token from you, will be cherished to the end of my days." he said, and she laughed. She didn't have much to offer him, but stood and took her shoulder cloth from the neckline of her dress, and presented it to him. He carefully urged his steed forward, and gently took the cloth from her, bringing it to his cheek.

"I shall keep this with me, so it may bring me fortune in all to come. Thank you, sweet lady." he thanked her, and she nodded with a kind smile before he turned his horse, and made his way back down the length of the list, displaying his reward with pride. With the sun low on the horizon, and most of the excitement done for the day, the lists were removed and the carts rolled back to the village, and the people returned to their business. At their evening, the hall was filled with firelight and happy songs, Jeody presented their tables with another lavish feast of honey glazed suckling pig, roasted with cherries and almonds, along with lard baked spiced potatoes. Sweet carrots and creamed spinach. Followed by raspberry and vanilla cakes. The ones she'd always loved, because aunt Claira always smelled like that. But suddenly, she felt sad. It felt empty, and cold, and lonely, and silent despite the revelry around them. She missed them all, and if she could have only one single wish, it would be for them to be here with her.

"Bella?" she looked up, realizing that she'd been simply staring at her plate for a long while now.

"Are you al right?" Milla softly asked from her side, and she smiled.

"Yes, I'm fine. This has been a wonderful day, and I can't thank you all enough for doing this for me. I just wish, that everyone else could be here as well. That would have made this day as perfect as it could be." she sighed, then took the goblet from the surface of the table, daring a taste of the sweet apple press, almost too sweet. They shared more discussion on the day, how valiant the sentinels were, and how much effort their people went through to make this day so exceptional, even if it was just their household and some of the villagers. It wasn't an official event, but news spreads quickly with everyone adding their tails, and soon enough it would be known throughout the kingdoms, called some fanciful thing no doubt. The hall was cleared, and their members off to their chambers, and the stronghold left calm and quiet while the guards kept their watch. While in bed, covered under warm furs and soft silks, she thought of them. They should arrive at Winterfell in another two days, perhaps three at the very most. They would look after each other, they would keep one another safe, they'll come home again. But then she felt warm, exceedingly warm as tears blurred her vision, and once bright stars became smears of white on the other side of her window. Why did uncle Raeghun have to disappear? Why did aunt Claira, and Falgon have to die? Why did her father, her brothers and her love have to leave now? Why did Rychon tell her the things that he did? Why did this happen to them? Why, did any of this have to happen at all? She wanted to cry, to scream and curse the world. She wanted them back, all of them. To be whole again. She sobbed into the pillows for a while, and then with exhaustion came the sweet smell of white flowers, and the cool touch of a frozen feather down her cheek, and she slept.

Once again, the hall of Winterfell was filled with people, when another force came from the south. Only one man, such a disappointment... The once golden lion of house Lannister, ser Jaime stood solitary in the centre of the great hall while the lords of the north watched him from the seats and the walls and the shadows, curious but more cautious while queen Daenerys sat at the head of the high table, watching him with both Sansa and Jon at her sides.

"When I was a child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story. About the man that murdered our father. Who stabbed him in the back, and then cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor." she told, bringing up those distant, vivid tales, and the knight looked back.

"He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man once we took back the Kingdoms and had him in our grasp." she added, the threat behind the words not disguised in any way, and a moment's uneasiness showed in his posture.

"Your sister pledged to send her army north." the queen reminded him, purposefully.

"She did." he agreed, he was present when she made that promise.

"I don't see an army. I see one man, with one hand. It appears your sister lied to me." Daenerys concluded, and Jaime glanced down with a subtle sigh.

"She lied to me, as well. She never had any intention of sending her army north. She has Euron Greyjoy's fleet, and twenty thousand fresh troops. The Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for. Even if we defeat the dead, she'll have more than enough to destroy the survivors." he explained, and perhaps he'd always been aware of that, somehow.

"We?" Daenerys asked, clearly surprised at his choice of words. But uneasy as he was here, alone and surrounded by those who'd once been his enemies, he remained resolute.

"I promised to fight for the living, I intend to keep that promise." he insisted, and then the queen's hand stepped forward.

"Your grace, I know my brother-" he started, and her eyes met his with an almost cold glare.

"Like you knew your sister?" she challenged, and he took a moment to breathe, choosing his words.

"He came here alone, knowing full well how he'll be received. Why would he do that, if he weren't telling the truth?" he tried, but she did not seem to be convinced.

"Perhaps he trusts his little brother to defend him, right up to the moment he slits my throat." she hinted,

"You're right, we can't trust him." Sansa suddenly agreed.

"He attacked my father in the street, he tried to destroy my house and my family, the same as he did yours." she told, casting the queen a quick glance.

"You want me to apologise? I won't." Jaime suddenly voiced, looking at her.

"We were at war. Everything I did, I did for my house, and my family, and I'd do it all again!" he justified his actions, followed by a short pause in the still hall.

"The things we do for love..." the words floated into the quiet, coming from the youngster, covered in thick furs and seated in a wooden chair fit with wheels for him to move about. Currently, the youngest of the Stark family, called Brandon. For love, people do terrible things, it's true. Stupid things. But all, to protect your family.

"So why have you abandoned your house and family now?" Daenerys asked the knight, and he softly sighed, casting a quick glance back over his shoulder.

"Because this goes beyond loyalty." he decided, and then looked back at the queen.

"This is about survival." he decided, and then a moment later a tall woman rose to her feet, armoured in black and covered in a thick winter cloak.

"You don't know me well, your grace." she started as she took a position in front of their visitor from the south.

"But I know ser Jaime. He is a man of honour. I was his captor, once. But when we were both taken prisoner, the men holding us tried to force themselves upon me, ser Jaime defended me." she continued to explain, and then paused on a memory.

"And lost his hand because of it." she added, as he stared from behind her shoulder. Then her attention went to the lady, sitting to the left of the table.

"Without him, my lady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armoured me, and sent me to find you and bring you home, because he'd sworn an oath to your mother." she told her, and Sansa hesitated for an instant before nodding.

"You vouch for him?" she asked, and Brienne answered.

"I do." Sansa looked up at her again.

"You would fight beside him?" she asked, and again Brienne of Tarth answered, unafraid.

"I would." she confirmed.

"I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay." Sansa finally agreed, unmindful of the disfavorable stare of the queen beside her. Then she looked away.

"What does the Warden of the North say about it?" she asked, still opposed of the notion, but then he breathed in.

"We need every man we can get." he agreed, and Daenerys slowly looked back at Jaime.

"Very well..." she relented, and the queen's commander stepped forward, to return the knight's sword to him, which had been seized when he was brought to the hall. But he too, seemed distrustful of the southerner.

"Thank you, your grace." Jaime bowed his head. With that the hall was vacated, and their people left, back to their business. Rhegard and his nephews returned to their tasks of reinforcing the hold's defences, which had slowly spread around the castle, and the boys had taken to it quite well. Dragon glass spines were fixed to the walls and driven into the wood of the barricades. The trench was finished and equipped with oiled logs and sharpened shafts, a makeshift bridge designed to break when the enemy came too close would allow passage over the dangerous ditch. He smiled secretly, that had been Williame's suggestion. His father would be proud. And then he wondered, when Rychon and his people would arrive. Would Falgon be with them, this time? He was their strongest, their most skilled warrior. And with his fearsome sword, he might be able to turn the odds to their favour all on his own. The gods only knew, they needed that... The forges were still busy creating weapons from the dragon glass, brought up from Dragonstone's bowels; and while expecting the attack to come from the northern side, the camp site to the south of the keep kept growing each day, but most of the men they had here were more accustomed to scythes, hammers and ploughs rather than daggers, swords and axes. They were not soldiers. And without decent training, they wouldn't last long. After sending Williame to check on their families in the encampment, and Gaerand to the forges for more dragon glass spines for another barricade that needed some enhancement, he took the time to inspect the trench one more time. A decent piece of work, but by no means perfect. It would delay them, but it would not stop them. As he walked the length of the trench, searching for faults he noticed the knight who had arrived, in discussion with Brienne of Tarth who'd been given command of the left flank. He'd come to give his hand to aid them, even if it was alone. But how much could one man, with one hand, do? And he hoped, that the lords of the Corridor would arrive sooner, rather than later. The women and children would wait out the battle in the cold darkness of the crypts beneath the keep, it was the safest place they could hope for. The day continued with more provisions and preparations in and around the castle, but hope was not everywhere, and he could hear as much from those who claimed their rations of soup and bread from the yard while he proceeded to ensure that all was as best they could have it; and later he found himself standing on the catwalk above the south gate watching the lands, waiting anxiously as he prayed to the old ones to hear him. Once they're here, I might feel better about this… Theon Greyjoy and his small company of Ironborn arrived at the castle just before noon, adding another handful of fighters to their cause. They needed everyone…

"You seem to be anxious, lord Tormont." A woman's voice drew him from the fields beyond, and to his left the lady of Winterfell approached him with her guard once again by her side, on rounds with her own inspections as she did rather often now. He chuckled softly as he turned to face her, everyone was anxious of course. But his demeanour had been a bit stale the past two days.

"Lady Sansa." He greeted her with a polite bow. Then her blue eyes cast a glance at the horizon he'd been watching for a good while.

"You're waiting for your nephew, and his men?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I am, my lady." He agreed, and her eyes returned to his with half a smile.

"They will come. You should have more faith in your family, my lord." She advised, and he nodded slowly.

"As you have in yours, my lady." He agreed, and then spared a look at those ambling in the yard of Winterfell, foreigners among them.

"What do you make of our newest ally?" he asked, and she drew a breath.

"They came to our aid, and we are grateful for that." She said, but the voice behind the words meant something entirely different.

"We are, but when the war is done, the north will be submissive once again." He mentioned, and then met her stare, cold and unmoved.

"This is hardly the place or time to discuss such matters." She quipped, and he hid a grin.

"Well, it seems I would have my answer then, my lady." He dismissed it. She had no love for these people, any more than he did. They were different, and strange. Not of the North. Not to be trusted… Then he looked up as the very stones beneath his feet started to quake, at the mass of shadows appearing out of the mist of the horizon, banners streaming in the cool northern air, receding before the blaze that came with it, and the Phoenix rose from the distance. With the cry of the warhorn spilling over the keep, he and his companion made their way down to the yard to receive their allies, joined by the Warden of the North, and the Dragon Queen. What felt like an eternity later, the lord of Mount Ardor and his company of six entered beneath the gatehouse, armed and armoured, the shining breastplate displaying its proud phoenix and a deep red fox pelt covering the lord's shoulders over the black cloak; but something was different. Something was wrong. It was like winter itself had entered the castle as his eyes met the frozen blue of the man mounted on the great grey destrier.

"Thank you, for riding to our defence." Jon said as he approached, and Rychon nodded.

"Your Grace, where do you want our men?" one of the company asked, his thick brown hair framed his face like the mane of a lion. Rhegard recognised him as Lord Rames, of Hurlton Fortress. Daenerys stepped forward to join them, and to give her answer.

"You could have them stationed at the west side." She told, but the lord didn't move. His eyes remained fixed on Rychon, and then he looked back.

"Have them settled on the hill to the east where we'll have a better vantage, and post sentries. I'll give more orders later." He told, and then his attention went to another gentleman, just behind.

"Lord Violet, see to the equipment." He instructed the gentleman with silver waves and a cropped beard over a gentle face with green eyes. Both men bowed their heads.

"Yes, your grace." They agreed in unison, and then left back the way they came to carry out their instructions while those looking on, stared blankly at the men for more than a moment. They were not speaking with either the queen, or the warden. But to him, whose ancestors were known as the Ardent Kings…

"Your Grace?" Jon finally breathed, more than surprised; and Rychon looked back at him calmly, almost coldly.

"A king or queen is traditionally addressed that way. The older term is 'Majesty', I believe." He reminded, unaffected by the stares. Then the queen moved forward, frustration if not anger clearly noticeable in her very steps.

"When did this happen?" she asked, and he noticed the smiles of the sentinels around him, while he remained indifferent.

"Recently." Rychon replied casually, apparently vexing the wroth of the dragon queen who had come to claim these kingdoms.

"You swore an oath to the King in the North, when he knelt to me your allegiance consequently became mine!" she pointed out, purposefully that all would hear. But again, with little effect as the group simply regarded them.

"I swore no oaths to anyone. I gave him my word for our support, not my servitude." Rychon suddenly emphasized, and while that was true, he did that as a liege lord, not a king. Not yet…

"And now you are called a king? You come here a traitor!" Daenerys directed, before his voice devoured hers.

"I don't care who calls who what, we're not here to debate titles! I came here, to protect my people, and because I made a promise. That's it." He crushed them, completely. He would have no further arguments, then he leaned slightly forward, his arm resting over the pommel of the saddle, his hand inches from the grip of his great sword.

"And this is the reality… They are coming for us with everything they had north of the wall; peasants, nobles, horses, rats, it doesn't make the slightest difference to them if you have a title, last name or no name at all." He added, and for that moment they might have forgotten about that as she stared at him. Enraged, perhaps even hateful, despite the powerful warriors surrounding him, the head of his order on his right side, with the face of a great sword watching from behind his shoulder. One he recalled, from somewhere…

"My people chose me. And I will be, whatever they need me to be." He said, and Rhegard watched her gloved hands clench into fists. This was not welcome news.

"As long as you are called king, you are in rebellion!" she accused, but then from behind, Tyrion Lannister, the hand of the queen, came to attempt a reprieve.

"Might we discuss this matter privately, your grace? Away from others." He suggested, sounding rather desperate. She glared down at him for a moment, and then his attention went to Rychon.

"Please." He urged, gently to mask an anxious tone. Rychon drew a deep breath, then glanced at the sentinel at his side, who shrugged.

"As you will, your grace." Berin acceded, then Rychon looked back at Tyrion, waiting restlessly for his reply. A moment passed, that felt like an hour; the air around them thick like the ocean's winter fog. Then he nodded, and dismounted from his destrier, followed by the head of his order. They were escorted to the library of the ancient keep, where words were exchanged between their leaders and their attendants while Rhegard waited outside with others. He could hear the voices. Solid, heated, despondent, defensive, persuasive… all the tones of a fantastic conversation. Or argument… It struck him again. They awaited a lord with his host, yet there arrived a king with his legion, all loyal to him with no care for another. He thought back to that time, which had cost their families so much. 'War of the Five Kings' they called it, a debate there settled with multitudes of death. Now, two queens and two kings, of which one had already submitted. Would he? No, the answer to that was far too apparent. The Taugere men were never known for idle submission. And he, was not the boy that left Pale Haven. Liege Lord or King, he was a man. Fierce, hard and forged. What happened..?

"I suppose that this might not end well…" Brienne sighed, still listening to the voices inside the chamber, and Rhegard stared at the stones in front of him.

"He has always been headstrong, even as a boy. And he's become a powerful man. I don't think he will be easily swayed." He agreed, when the door suddenly opened, and their visitors departed followed by the warden and the queen's hand as they made their way down the passage.

"Lord Taugere!" It was Jon, calling after him as they passed in a wave of warmth that clung to the cold walls, but the youngster paid him little mind as he continued to try for his attention, without much success until the lady of Winterfell's voice rang down the stones.

"King Rychon." Only then did he pause and turn back, the others coming to an abrupt halt as his eyes regarded them, the blue burning even here in this dim light.

"You are welcome within these walls." Sansa assured, but there was almost nothing to his features, but a calm gaze.

"Thank you. But I stay with my men." He decided, then proceeded away from them with Berin at his side while they lingered behind, the silver haired queen still glaring at his figure. At the far end of the hallway, a gaunt figure stood in the arch of the door, blocking their way. The summer skinned commander of the Unsullied force. The sentinel made to depart the passage first, when abruptly stopped. What is he doing..?

"Stand aside, if you wish to keep that hand." Berin's voice emitted down the shadows, as chill as the air outside. Rhegard felt his fingers go strangely numb. Despite the known strengths of Daenerys Targaryen and those who followed her, intimidation however direct or subtle, would have no effect on the lords of the Corridor. Then the foreigner moved away, and they passed without further hinderance back the way they came. Rhegard turned back, returning to the group in the hall whom had resumed their discussion on this unexpected turn of events where Tyrion addressed his queen, still apprehensive of the circumstances.

"If it makes his men fight harder for him, then let them call him king, until the war is done. Then we will discuss the terms of his submission." He advised, but the challenge in her violet eyes was hard.

"Discuss?" he nodded, hoping for a softer exchange.

"Fervently, of course." He promised, and then she looked at Jon next to her.

"Your grace, we need the men. They came to our aid when called, as promised. We cannot bear enmity between our own people, if we hope to win this." He agreed with Tyrion, followed by a hard silence as she exchanged glances.

"Only until the fighting is over with." She finally allowed, then turned and walked the other way. Tyrion looked at Jon before releasing a tense sigh, and then followed after her, and Rhegard stepped closer.

"What happened?" he asked, and Jon's eyes met his.

"He kept his word. But this was unexpected." He started, and then glanced down as he sighed.

"She is our rightful queen, yet he won't relinquish his title." He said softly, and Rhegard had to bite back a smirk. Why should he..?

"His line has been kings long before hers." He reminded.

"Until they knelt to Aegon." Jon countered.

"The Taugere men never knelt, it was a girl that surrendered to the Dragon." Then he looked up, down the passage where they disappeared.

"But if you'd permit me, I will speak with him." He offered, and Jon nodded. Then he left to find them, in the yard where they were preparing to remount their steeds, and he approached the Ardent King.

"Ryhon." He turned, and was graced with a small smile.

"Uncle Rhegard." He acknowledged him, and the cold he felt before receded.

"It's good to see you, son." He said, and Rychon faced him fully.

"And you, uncle." He replied, and Rhegard spared a glance at the men waiting for their king.

"We haven't had a chance to speak. May I ask you to walk with me?" he asked, hoping he might accept. Not too long ago, he seemed eager to escape these walls. Then Rychon looked at Berin.

"You can head on to camp or wait for me. I won't be long." He gave them their choices, and Berin nodded.

"We'll be here, your grace." He assured, and then watched as Rhegard and Rychon made their way across the yard, towards the northern wall.

"I apologise for the way you were received." Rhegard said, but the youngster simply shrugged.

"I suppose that couldn't be helped. It was unexpected." He sighed, glancing around as they walked. But still, something was different.

"You look well, although tired. Are you al right?" Rhegard asked.

"I'm fine. A lot has happened." He assured.

"So it would seem." They ascended the steps to the rampart, overlooking the northern country where more soldiers were sparring just outside the walls, and men continued to look to the defences.

"You were named Ardent King by your people." Rhegard pointed out, watching the youngster's eyes glide over the horizon as his arms rested on the snow-covered embrasure.

"I didn't ask for it, uncle. I wasn't exactly in a position to refuse them." For the first time, he sounded apologetic; but then he released a soft breath.

"But when I saw that resolve, that hope it brought them... How could I?" the lord smirked. The Northern lords chose their own king, twice. Why shouldn't the lords of the Corridor be given that same choice? And if he'd be allowed his own honest truth, it was something gratifying. His nephew, was a king…

"Personally, I couldn't give half a shit what these foreigners think or want. Here, a man gets what he earns, when he earns it, Rychon." Then the ardent blue eyes met his, glittering in their blaze like frost in sunlight.

"If your people chose you as their king, you are under no obligation to anyone else, to surrender it." Then Rychon smiled and nodded as his eyes returned to the horizon.

"She wants the world to march under one banner, specifically hers. It's a beautiful dream, but a fragile one, and will never happen." He sighed, and Rhegard understood that he was referring to the silver haired queen.

"Because we live in a world with people, all who have their own will. So, she can choose a world with people, where someday, someone will rise to oppose her or her family because of that will, which is the very world we all came here to fight for. Or, a world with mindless corpses, who follow simply because there is nothing else…" Again, Rychon took a moment staring at the world.

"My people chose me, I never claimed it. But our choices influence our future, and our world. Which would they rather have?" Rhegard smiled. He would not blame anyone, for that choice.

"When did this happen?" Rhegard asked, leaning against the stones.

"Two days ago, at the Smallember encampment before we crossed the border." He told, and Rhegard nodded. That was very recent, indeed. But not something that could now be disputed.

"Does your mother know about this?" Rhegard asked, and there was a change. Rychon rose up and turned to face him, the chill suddenly returned to his features.

"My mother's dead." He said, and those words struck him like the blow of a blunted battle axe. He could feel the cool northern air fill his chest, but there was no breath to be had from it, and the world swayed in a dizzy cloud.

"Wh... What?" It couldn't be true… It just couldn't… She was so young, so spirited, so beloved, so safe…

"That can't be! It can't! With Falgon-" he tried, but Rychon glanced down as he shook his head.

"He's dead, too." The world dissolved, a black ash before the wind as the image slammed into him. The great sword that the head of the Sentinel Order now carried, it once belonged to him…

"No..." they were gone. All of them. So suddenly…

"When?" it was a whisper, almost without words. Claira… My sister… My sweet, beautiful sister… How? Why?

"A fortnight." Rychon told, his eyes going up to the sky.

"It was not an enemy attack, I take comfort in that, at the very least. They left this world, without fear. Or pain." He sighed. That was the one solace he had, for them. That they were happy, in the end. That they were together. He looked at his uncle where he stood, lurid and lifeless. Cruel as it was, there was no opportunity to truly grieve now. He moved forward, placing a hand to his shoulder and stirring him from that death before guiding him away to attempt more pressing discussions, and cast a quick glance back over the yard where his men still waited for him, Berin seated on a wood step and watching the people in the yard. Soldiers and peasants, northmen and foreigners. His sons and lord Haslinger with the horses, the lord's voice low as he muttered about the southern army that had still not arrived. Others were talking as well, debating on whether they'd survive this.

"He's changed. He's not the youngster he was when I first met him." He looked up, at the short man suddenly standing next to him, looking over the people he'd been watching. And then smirked.

"Plainly obvious, lord Tyrion. He is our king, now." He quipped, and the hand of the queen lowered himself to take a seat next to him.

"So he is… And she's not pleased…" he sighed. They weren't happy about that, at all. It was all they could do to stay, and fulfil their promise. Then his eyes went back to the yard, going over each of the faces.

"The northern lords chose Robb. They chose Jon. These easterners, the Unsullied and the Dothraki. They chose Daenerys. We chose him." He put forth soundly, to acknowledge that fact whether they liked it or no. Then he sat back, that was a fact he had to acknowledge as well. The change in him was sudden, and severe.

"But, circumstance forces us to change. A lot has happened since we left you in King's Landing." He said, and watched as Tyrion nodded. Despite it all, that wasn't an aeon ago.

"Yes, a lot can happen..." he agreed, and Berin looked up to the catwalk where the Ardent King vanished a few moments ago with the northern lord.

"He has had to face a lot of things, that most don't see until well into their reign." He started, and as he told the history of the past few weeks, saw the dwarf's face change in successions of intrigue, happiness, astonishment, shock and glee.

"That is a lot." He finally agreed again as he looked up.

"I'm not asking that you brush off his demeanour, but simply that you consider it with a degree of understanding. He came, despite suffering more loss very recently." He added, and Tyrion looked at him.

"Who?" he asked. That news had not travelled that far, yet.

"His mother, her Battle Master and our maester." He revealed, and for a long moment he looked utterly stunned beyond words before the daze left him.

"All of them?" he breathed, perhaps with no other words to say and Berin nodded.

"It was sudden… It's not easy to lose the people you love so rapidly, and Rychon was inconsolable when they passed. I believe that it has made him hard. But since we set out, his thoughts have only been of how to keep others safe." He told, and Tyrion looked down at the ground in front of them, his hands clasped together and his left foot shoving some of the dirt around. There was understanding, and all the sympathy he could muster without offending his own queen.

"That is very tragic, indeed. All that, and he's what? Nineteen? Twenty?" he said, and again Berin smirked. He should have known that. But he could have become confused, as was done so easily even for himself from time to time. Rychon neither appeared nor behaved his true years.

"He's sixteen." He corrected, followed by another silence. A short while later, he looked up, his eyes following the figure passing them, and then stood.

"If you'll excuse me, my lord. There's a lot to be done." He pardoned, and followed the Ardent King back into the yard, where people were still ambling about. Jon had come out, to assess the state of their people and defences. But suddenly, Rychon seemed frustrated, at something.

"Has something happened?" Berin asked, and Rychon glanced back.

"The Lannister army will not come. We're alone, in this." He sighed, and Berin paused feeling the stings down his back. Fuck… Their southern border was left unprotected. If they suffered an invasion from the south, they had nothing to thwart it.

"What are we going to do?" his senses returned, and he followed as Rychon scanned the yard.

"I don't know. We can't send anyone back. But if we could…" he trailed off, rooted in his steps and staring off into the distance, with almost breathless silence.

"Your grace?" Berin tried for his attention, but the silence remained for a moment longer, still.

"Rychon?" Berin tried again, and then he could make out his voice in the quiet shroud.

"Shield…" suddenly, he moved again making his way to Jon, surveying the forges.

"Where will those who cannot fight be?" he asked, and Jon turned to face him, seeming to have been startled at the unexpected approach.

"In the crypts beneath Winterfell." He finally told.

"If the worst should happen, is there any way they could get out?" Rychon asked, and he glanced at the arch heading down into the darkness of the earth.

"There was a pass to the east, but that section of the crypts have caved in a long time ago." He explained, and Rychon turned, taking in their surroundings with renewed thoughts.

"I… I had a dream… Or, I think it was a dream… It didn't feel like one…" he tried, and then drew a deep breath before releasing it. Berin took a step closer, resting a comforting hand on the young king's shoulder.

"It's al right. Tell us." He urged, and the eyes returned to them, bright and clear.

"Winterfell won't hold…" he stated, and it dawned. It was situated in the open, they could be surrounded by the dead. Despite all of the efforts to fortify it, with the numbers of the damned they will be overwhelmed.

"Jon, we have to move everyone. There is a better defence from our border. A shield. We must leave immediately, and have the women and children make for Ramshorn in the Corridor. They'll be safer there." He told, and they stared at him, stunned cold.

"A shield?" Jon questioned, and Rychon faced him.

"Yes, a living shield. The Atronach." He clarified, and the same words came back to Berin. The Atronach will Stand in Flames and Snow… This, was what it was meant for. This is what they died for. What their family suffered for, with little justification.

"What good would a shield do?" Jon asked, still stunned.

"When using a shield, you hold in in front of you. It's not lying discarded somewhere." Rychon pointed out.

"Are you being serious?" Jon asked, more than a little baffled.

"Do I look like I'm making a joke?" Rychon challenged, and their eyes met, hard stares as solid blades until the Warden finally looked down, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't know, Rychon. That's a big move." He mumbled. Rychon hesitated, and then sighed, glancing down at the ground.

"I won't beg you to believe me, I know I sound insane. I thought I was. But, my mother gave you the benefit of your word. Now, take mine." Jon stood motionless for a time, wondering. So much had been done, and to just move on a whim?

"Many won't be happy…" Jon finally sighed, seeming to heed the advice.

"I don't like taking chances with the lives of others." Rychon insisted as he started to turn.

"Talk to your people, they'll listen to you. I'll see to mine." He said, and Jon slowly nodded.

"I'll try my best… your grace." The warden muttered, apparently struggling with those last words as Rychon left him, followed by Berin.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked softly.

"I've only ever been this sure about anything, one other time in my life. We have to get it done." Rychon again insisted, making his way back to where his company waited with the horses.

"I will send our families there now, those who wish to join them are welcome to do so." He decided, and Berin nodded. Even if the others refused to leave, they at the very least would be safe. Rychon looked at the youngest of the Trentins as they approached.

"Vaellion." The youngster's head shot up, attentive for his instruction.

"Gather a party of men you trust, and find the women and children of houses Tormont and Scharer. Deliver them to the safety of Ramshorn, and do it quickly." He told, and suddenly his face dropped in disappointment.

"But Rychon -" he started, attempting to protest when silenced by the hard stare of his father.

"You are taking an order from your king, boy." He directed at him, and for a heartbeat he stood frozen, watching as his friend mounted his Storm. Then bowed his head.

"At once, your grace." He agreed, and then remounted with the rest of the party.

"Lord Haslinger, have the equipment returned to our border. We will find you on the road." Rychon further instructed, and the lord acknowledged him with no argument. Then his attention turned to the remaining of his company.

"Lords Trentin. Take the rounds with me." He invited, and they left the castle back the way they came beneath the south gatehouse, and while the others took to their tasks as ordered, Rychon, Berin and Berterin circled the stronghold, and finally paused on the height to the east where their men had assembled, looking down over all of it.

"You think this will work?" Berterin asked, hearing Rychon breathe out.

"I sure as hell hope so…" then he glanced at him.

"I know it's a lot to ask for. But, my father, my mother and Falgon was taken from this world without cause or justification so that their strength and love may protect it." He told,

"That stone we saw?" Berterin asked, and Rychon nodded.

"That stone, is called the Atronach. It is a creation, caused by the joining of the embodiment of the strongest elements to create a shield." He explained, as best he could. His father was fire. His mother was water. And Falgon, was of the earth…

"The dream?" Berin asked, leaning slightly forward.

"A man spoke with me, he told me that Falgon's existence was not mine to end. That a shield was needed…" he muttered before raising his eyes to the sky.

"That's why he belonged to my mother. That's why, everything that's happened…" he trailed off, followed by a silence. Berin glanced at his son on the other side, waiting for the king to continue, but when he didn't, simply shrugged.

"If we don't get them to move, then it would all have been for nothing. My family and my people would have suffered for nothing. And this world will fall." He determined. Down in the camp to the south of the keep, a group was gathering, and another progress came from the gate.

"Well, I suppose we should go find out whether they could be persuaded." Berin sighed, and they started their way back to the castle. Passing through the camp site, Berin paused again, watching the group. Two of their soldiers were loading items onto a mule cart while several others surrounded the ladies and children of houses Tormont and Scharer, his son among them waiting for preparations to finish so they could leave as ordered.

"Go on, I'll just be a moment." He urged, glancing at the Ardent King and his companion who had stopped to wait for him. Ryhcon nodded, and the horses continued on a walk on the road that led to the gate while he dismounted, and approached his son.

"Vaellion." The youngster turned to face him, still seeming disappointed.

"Father." He acknowledged him, and Berin gave him a small smile.

"I'm sorry, I know it's difficult. You shared a home with Rychon, grew up with him like a brother, as I did with his father." Those memories, were still so clear. Each one of them…

"But, he is our king. He can not be questioned in front of anyone, under any circumstances." He cautioned, and Vaellion glanced down.

"I… I know. I just, wanted the chance to prove that I could be just as strong, and brave as my brother." He muttered, and Berin placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"He knows. Why do you think he trusted you with this?" then the young face lit up, and he looked at his father. Family, was their most precious, and he just remembered that.

"I won't let him down." He promised, and Berin laughed.

"Good. You should get going, sooner rather than later." He advised, and then noticed the ladies approaching.

"Lord Berin." He bowed his head, acknowledging the beautiful lady with strands of silver in her lush brown hair; and he was vividly reminded of Claira.

"What's happening?" she asked, not as much distressed as he first might have thought.

"Quite a bit has happened, my lady. Not all that I can share with you at this moment. For your safety, His grace has ordered that you be escorted to Ramshorn with all haste." He told, and she stared at him for a moment longer.

"His grace?" she might have thought he was referring to Jon, who had surrendered his title. And their own arrival had not been formally announced.

"Your grandson has been named the Ardent King, my lady. Chosen by the lords of the Corridor to lead, and rule them." He informed, and her daze faded into glee, tears of pride and joy starting to gleam in her eyes. Then he bowed to them again.

"If you'll please pardon me, my lady. I should return to my assignment." He excused himself, and then quickly returned the way he came. He didn't know if she was aware that Claira had died, but from the way she looked did not believe so. That news would reach her soon, and he'd best not be the one to tell them… He remounted his courser, and continued through the camp to rejoin the king's company at the stronghold's southern gate, where the Dragon Queen and her advisors had emerged to address the new situation, already in discussion.

"The Warden has informed me that you want us to move down to your borders." Daenerys repeated, looking up at the still mounted king.

"I know it's a lot to ask for, but yes." Rychon confirmed.

"And why would we do that?" she challenged.

"Because despite your best efforts to fortify Winterfell, it's facing open battle. Open battle means it could be easily overwhelmed by enough numbers, which sadly the army approaching has more than enough of." Rychon told.

"And you are sure, we will have a better chance from your border?" Sansa asked from next to her brother, and Rychon glanced at Berterin next to him, their eyes sharing the memories of that sight.

"If we don't have a better chance there, we never had any chance at all." He insisted.

"You understand that this will take time, time that we might not have?" Jorah cautioned.

"People take only what they need. Our purpose is to save lives, not possessions." Berin voiced.

"Our people have spent days preparing Winterfell for a siege, your grace. Expecting them to just abandon everything might prove to be a difficult thing to consent to." Sansa cautioned, and the king's eyes fell on her.

"I understand that. After all, it wasn't easy for my people to leave their homes at the call of an ally to answer a threat that no one believed with no proof but words, when our own lands could be jeopardised from the south, which is now a greater possibility from what I've heard. But, the core of the situation we're facing is the preservation of life. Not of lands, or riches, or glory, or names. If we don't take the best possible chance we have, everything we have and see now, will mean nothing." Rychon told, his voice deep and calm like the rushes. Daenerys stared at him for a moment longer.

"And this suggestion is not simply a means to fortify your own position, as things currently are?" she huffed, and he leaned back slightly in his saddle.

"With respect, your grace. I won't repeat myself. Believe what you will, my advice is first and foremost for the best chance to protect our people. All of them." He finished, and then started turning his destrier back towards the fields.

"Best you make your decision quickly, our time is limited." He urged, taking in the eyes staring at him. The queen's council. Some who knew him, some who didn't. Rychon Taugere was no weakling, or coward it was proven. But careful of risks. And a man true to his word like only a few in their history had been. And without prejudice, tradition reigned here. A king overruled a queen irrespective of age unless she inherited her rule directly from her predecessor, and while the Ardent King was born on these lands, she had come from across the sea despite her lineage...

"Jon…" The Warden looked back to the lady of Winterfell, just behind his shoulder.

"I know our people have done a lot, but maybe he's right. I… I think it might be best if we go with them, then. Bran will be safer there." She said softly.

"But, to just abandon our home, again?" he questioned.

"We won't. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." Another voice came up, and they turned back to where it came from. Arya stood watching them.

"I'll stay. Along with Theon and his men, and a handful of others to hold the keep for as long as we can. Maybe we'll give you a decent head start." She proposed, and Jon approached her.

"You can't. It's too dangerous." He opposed, but she smiled.

"I've faced death multiple times, hasn't taken me yet. We'll be just fine." She assured him. Then he looked back at Rychon, then Daenerys, and then at Sansa. The choices were hard, and cruel. But the best chance they could give their people, was the only one left.

"As you wish." He finally sighed, and orders were relayed. People were gathered, and tents levelled. Horse, mule and ox wagons assembled, smaller carts harnessed to goats and even bags strapped to sheep as quickly as possible for a swift departure, and before long the black river was flowing south with people and animals, foreigners and citizens carrying as much as they could without slowing down their pace while the sovereigns watched.

"You're sure we're doing the right thing?" Jon asked from his side, and was met with the burning blue of the youngster's eyes.

"It has to be, or we're all dead either way." He breathed, then turned his destrier south, watching as two immense shapes glided through an overcast sky. The Breath of Winter will meld with Bright Fire, and Dead Stone. And when Winter comes again, the Atronach will stand in Flames and Snow… It had to be the answer. It had to be their best chance.

"Best get moving. We have a lot of ground to cover, and little time to do it." He urged, and spurred his Storm into a paced canter over the field, along the moving mass, having the final order called out.

"Have all forces massed behind the Atronach for battle!"