Chapter 1: Winterfell

When Will awoke, he had soon realised he was alone. Annalise had gone, and he was no longer at the Kiln of The First Flame. Gone was the dusty pathway leading to the arena where he fought the flame's guardian, gone was the black hole in the sky that was the sun, and gone were the swords and spears lodged in the ground, markers of how many had fallen.

No, I can't have, I shouldn't be alive...

William soon pulled himself up from where he was lying, and he realised he was in a sort of crypt. Statues were standing on his left and right, as far as he could see. Each statue had a lit brazier in front of it, and the statues themselves were made of stone, each one perfectly carved into a man, with long hair, a large beard, a sword on his lap and a wolf by his side, sitting on what looked like a throne.

I don't think I am in Lothric any more…

Ever since Will had arisen from his grave, he could tell Lothric was a land of magic, mysteries and bloodthirsty beasts that would have torn him to little pieces. If he couldn't see it himself, he could feel it in the wind or in the air. Wherever he was then, he couldn't feel anything, no beasts, no corrupted knights, no horrifying monstrosity that was bearing down on him. It was a nice change of pace.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" Will asked, with nothing but an echo in return.

Aye, good job Will, alert people to your presence, that won't get you killed…

"Annalise, are you there? Annalise?" Will called out, but it was to no avail.

Will could feel himself, and by extension, the various souls he held in his being, shudder at the lack of magic wherever he was. He had never been to a place so devoid of wonderment. Despite the amount of amazing creatures like the wyverns and dragons in Lothric and their apparent hatred of all things fleshy and human, Will couldn't help but admire them, as they flew through the skies.

Suddenly, the grinding of steel warned Will to somebody's presence, and he too unsheathed his longsword, still coated in dirt, muck and dried blood of his enemies. He was fighting in a crypt, in a land he didn't know, and his best friend had left him. Will was not in the best of situations.

"Whomever has unsheathed their blade, come out, I mean no harm!" Will yelled.

Please, be nice to me for once in my life…

A large, broad -shouldered man stepped forward, a massive great-sword held in his hands. He bore an amazing resemblance to the statues that surrounded them, and Will was quick enough to determine that he was most likely a descendant of those entombed in the crypt.

"Ser, what is your name and what are you doing in my crypt?" The man said. He wore a massive fur cloak, that was dragging across the floor as he marched towards William. The large stubble and long greying hair gave the man a wiser look to him.

"My name is William. Ser William of the Holy Lands of Astora. May I ask who I am speaking to?"

"Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Where you are now is the Stark family crypt, and I would like to know how you managed to get in here. Now."

Lord Stark was kind enough to place his sword back in its sheath, and waited until Will did the same. He was an older man, looking like he was in his late fifth or early sixth decade. The wrinkles on his forehead shown years of hard work and stress, and for once, Will was happy he was a knight and not a lord.

"Truth be told, I have no idea how I came to be here. A time ago I was with my friend, Annalise, in the Kiln, and now I am here." Will replied, telling the truth.

"The Kiln? Annalise? Ser William, you will have to explain this to me properly."

"My apologies, have you heard of a land called Lothric, Lord Stark?"

"I heard a tale or two during the Greyjoy Rebellion, an old tale, where a castle stands high above everything below it, mountains and all. Ser, it is only a tall tale."

"I can tell you know Lord Stark, it is no tall tale. Lothric is all too real, and it would be too soon if I were to ever return."

The look on Lord Stark's face was one of interest, and the fact that Will had just told an old and wiser lord that he came from a place that may not exist might have lowered his respect for Will.

"You said you had a friend, Anna-what?" Lord Stark asked.

"Annalise, a very close friend of mine."

"What did she look like?"

"Ummmm, pale skin, silvery hair, flowing black robes and capes. Oh, and she wears a blindfold over her eyes, but I don't know why she does it."

Please say you have seen her, we need to go home…

"I am deeply sorry, Ser William, but I have not seen a woman like you have said, and I would have remembered seeing her if she was dressed like that."

Well, I guess I was hoping against hope asking that…

"Lord Stark, I am not from these lands and I have little clue where to go. I shall leave Winterfell as soon as humanly possible, I wouldn't want to impose on your land any longer..."

"Nonsense, Ser Will. You shall become a guest of House Stark for as long as needed. You shall be given a bed, food and drink as any man would. I suppose it would be a start if you met the rest of my family."

After leaving the crypt, Will had made it clear to Lord Stark that being human in Lothric was not common, and that he was Unkindled. Lord Stark had gazed at him for a while, before asking him what it actually meant to be unkindled.

"Ser Will, what do you mean by Unkindled?"

"I mean that because I was killed during the First Flame's first linking, I was turned to ash. When the Bell of Awakening tolls, the Undead, or in my case, the Unkindled rise from their graves to link the flame once more." Will responded, as he placed the bottomless bag on the floor of his new room.

"But if you were dead, how are you here now?"

"I am here because I was the one to link the flame most recently. I shared the flame with Annalise, and somehow we landed here in..." Will had trailed off, not knowing in general where he was.

"The Seven Kingdoms of Westoros." Lord Stark reminded him.

"The Seven Kingdoms. The Unkindled and Undead bear the darksign, which is our way of clinging to life when we should be dead and resting. Eventually, if we die enough times and lose our minds, we go what is called Hollowing, where we lose all our wits and attack anything in sight. Those who are lost are called the Hollows, and we do what we can to put them to rest. I have died many a time, Lord Stark, but the will to find a cure for myself is too strong for me to hollow."

"Will, what do you mean by the will?"

"Hollowing can be staved off for a time. We either use the embers to restore some humanity, or by being fixated on something that keeps us occupied so much that the hollowing process stops. I knew a blacksmith, Andre, who was like me, but he managed to create a forge at our home, and it kept him from hollowing, and the rest of us happy our weapons didn't fall apart."

The rest of the time Will was in his room, he was asking Lord Stark, who he was quickly told to call 'Ned' about Westoros. Ned had told him of the Targaryen Dynasty, of how they crumbled under his friend and king, Robert Baratheon, and the most recent rebellion, the Greyjoy Rebellion, who were crushed by the might of five of the seven kingdoms. Ned also told him of the harsh winters, the beautiful summers and springs, and how the summer could last decades but the winter even longer.

After finally being relieved of his armour, Will finally took the opportunity to sit down. Lord Stark looked at him oddly, before being told that sitting down almost never happened in Lothric unless he was at the Firelink Shrine.

"Ned, if you are a lord, and this area is truly civilised then I would like to do something that I haven't done in a while."

"And what would that be, Ser Will?"

"Have a bath, Lord Stark."

It had been ages since Will had heard a proper laugh, not the dry laughs of Hawkwood, or the pompous yet hopeful guffaws of Siegward. He sorely missed his companions, the dour Hawkwood, the hopeful Siegward of Catarina, the normality of Anri, a shield-maiden of Astora, and the strictness of Sirris. He held their souls inside of himself, when he had left for the Kiln, from time to time, he could feel their souls inside his own, and he could hear their echoes within him.

This might not be all bad…

Later in the evening, shortly after dinner, Lord Stark had called William from his room to the main hall. Decorated in wolf like statues and banners of howling wolves, Will knew that the house's sigil was the wolf. As he looked in front of him, he saw Lord Stark sat in the middle of the table, and his family on his right and left. The oldest on his left was his wife, and their daughters, one had fiery red hair and pale skin and was trying to conduct herself in a lady-like manner like her mother, the other younger girl was not lady-like at all, with her rugged brown hair and dirty clothes, scoffing down some of the leftovers on her plate.

The boys were completely different, the three oldest were bickering about one of their supposed 'conquests' the night before, and the two youngest were still eating.

Must be Lord Stark's family…

"Sir William of Astora, I introduce to you my wife, Lady Catelyn Stark, and my daughters, Lady Sansa and Lady Arya. To my right are my sons, Robb, Brandon and Rickon. Sitting with them are my ward, Theon Greyjoy, and Jon Snow."

"It is an honour to meet you all."

William was soon bombarded by questions, most of them from the younger children. Arya had asked if he could train her, only for her request to be smacked down by her mother. After her, Bran had asked if he was a true and proper knight, to which Will responded that he was, and Rickon had asked him if he knew any stories from 'Atsora'.

"Rickon, he isn't from Atsora, he is from Astora." Bran corrected him.

"That's what I said!"

"No, you didn't, you said Atsora."

"I did not!"

The bickering between the two youngest was getting louder and louder, and going nowhere. Soon enough, Lord Stark had enough and ordered Jon Snow to take them to bed.

"I am sorry, Sir Will, my children get excitable before they go to bed."

"No apology needed, my lord."

It was soon after that Lady Catelyn began to speak. "You say you hail from Astora, yet I have never heard of such a place, and neither has Ned or Maester Luwin, so where is it?"

"A place far from here, and a lot different too. My lady, you must understand, I have not been to my homeland in a long time, and I was buried for most of that time, I cannot keep up on world events when I am dead."

"Dead, you say?" Lady Catelyn asked, a suspicious look in her eye.

"I use the term loosely."

"How can you be dead if you are here right now?" Lady Sansa asked.

"Where I am from, magic is commonplace and it keeps where I am from alive. At the start of a new age, men and women like me are reborn from ash and cinder, and are brought back with a duty."

"It sounds just like a fairy tale! What is it like, where you are from? What is Astora like? Where else is there?"

"Sansa, give the man some time to think about what you are saying." Lord Stark interrupted, silencing his eldest daughter.

It took William a while to even try and remember anything about Astora, let alone anywhere else or what they looked like. He could remember Astora before the scourge, before the foul beast known as Aldrich, the Devourer of Gods, ravaged the land, devouring men, women and children. Will remembered perfectly well of when he travelled to Irithyll and the abandoned castle of Anor Londo, and fighting alongside Anri. Before Aldrich, Astora was replete with royal blood, and he could soon remember what happened to his once revered homeland, now a ruin of itself.

Let's take Aldrich, for one.
A right and proper cleric, only, he developed a habit of devouring men.
He ate so many that he bloated like a drowned pig, then softened into sludge,
so they stuck him in the Cathedral of the Deep.
And they made him a Lord of Cinder. Not for virtue, but for his might.

Aldrich made his skin crawl, and even thinking about what he saw in Anor Londo would never leave him. He walked into the main hall of the old and archaic castle, the castle built by the gods, and his first steps were in a black and sticky substance, which Will and Anri soon realised was Aldrich himself. Though he wasn't in his sludge-like form, he had taken upon a new one. The form that gave him the moniker of 'Devourer of Gods'. One of the old kings' sons, Gwyndolin, had been swallowed by Aldrich, and was used as a puppet for Aldrich's purpose, to eat Anri and Will.

"You would like it there, Lady Sansa. The castles are massive, towering over all of the land surrounding them, and you would fit in with the lords and ladies. The men of Astora all wear a blue cloak with a roaring lion on it, our flag of Astora. Sometime we even wear them into battle. You really would enjoy it."

"It sounds like a bloody fairy tale, just like it always does when someone says they have came from 'Lothric' or wherever you bloody well came from." Said the lean youth on the further end of the table.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Who are you to call me boy? You look just as young as I!"

"Have you ever died only to realise that you rise up over and over again? Have you ever tried to even comprehend what I have had to go through when I was in Lothric? Have you ever had to kill someone who you knew because they had lost their mind?"

"Then I shall call you whatever your name is, or boy, which would you prefer?"

"Theon. Theon Greyjoy."

"Well then, Theon Greyjoy. Tell me when you aren't a green little boy and then we say who has had it worse in life."

After a while of back and forth discussion, mainly of what Lothric was, and what had happened to William before he had landed in Westoros. The topics ranged from family, to other places beside Lothric or Astora. Lady Sansa had begun to regale in the tales of Florian and Jonquil, and Aemon the Dragon Knight, who defended his sister Naerys from the grubby clutches of his elder brother Aegon the Unworthy. It was a proper fairy tale, one that had been told to the young lady since she was a little child.

When everyone had soon gone to bed, Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn had summoned William to the Lord's Chamber for a reason unknown to him. "Lord and Lady Stark, you called for me." William said to the couple, wandering around in their bedclothes, yet both looking rather unkempt and bedraggled.

"Sir William, you will excuse me if I am not so courteous in the way I speak to you whilst my children are not here," began Lady Catelyn. "I have never met you before, you claim to come from a land I have not heard of, and you seem to think we believe everything you say. The younger children might, but I do not."

"Lady Stark, I do not wish to anger you. Everything I have said is true. I come from Lothric, and my friend is missing, and I need to find her."

"Sir Will, do you have any proof of this, that you are as you say, Unkindled?"

"There is a ring I wear under my left gauntlet, the Ring of the Dead, it is meant to conceal my facial… abnormalities. I could take it off, but I doubt that you will like what you see."

"Go on then, take off the ring."

William took of the steel gauntlet, rolled up the sleeve of his shirt under the armour and took off the silver band, the four yellow gems embedded in it glowing and shining in the fireplace's light. "By the seven, your eyes… and your skin! What had you done to get such a curse?" Catelyn asked.

"I did nothing, I am an unkindled, so I am born from the ashes of Undead who failed to rekindle the fire. I hadn't had the curse until the flame died, then I awoke in the Cemetery of Ash with the dark sign on my neck and sword in my hand."

Will did not need to see himself inside of a looking glass to know that he looked dead on the outside. The unkempt black hair had fallen out, with only a few strands left, the sea blue eyes had turned ice white and held a blank stare within them, and the semi-pale skin had turned into a mottled and sickly green. As soon as both the Lord and Lady Stark had recoiled in surprise, the ring had gone back on and the gauntlet was soon covering William's hand.

"Do you have any more surprises, William of Astora?"

"There is not a man alive who can beat me in single combat, and it is not skill that is needed to bring me down, but numbers. I am stronger than any man you know." Said William, with pride.

"If that is the case then, why are you here, and what do you seek?" Asked Lady Catelyn.

William faltered, only for a moment, but he faltered none the less. It was a question he had asked since he had arisen. He knew he needed to rekindle the flame since Annalise had told him he was a Champion of Ash, and that he was destined to link the First Flame, but he was not in Lothric then, there were no Lords of Cinder to slay and no First Flame to rekindle.

"I do not know, my lady. I wish to find my friend but the chances of finding her are slim in a world I do not know. I suppose I would serve your house, if you would take me. Lord Eddard has shown me a great kindness that no other man has shown me where I am from, and offered comfort nobody has offered me in years. I cannot serve a king I do not know, and I wish not to wander the roads looking to fight bandits like a common mercenary, but I think I could serve you, for a time at least."

If Will could have described Lord Eddard Stark's face at that moment, it would have been filled with gratitude. "Well said, William of Astora." He remarked.

"So, should I call Winterfell home, or should I find another settlement?"

"I think we might have a spare room for you. If anyone asks, you are Sansa's sworn shield from Astora, people don't know how far the world goes, so I wouldn't be surprised if people just take you at your word." Said Lord Stark.

"Of course, my lord. May I take my leave?"

"You may, Sir William. I shall see you on the morrow."

"Thank you, my lord." Will then took his leave, and promptly went to bed, to contemplate the fact that he may have a small chance of making his way in the Seven Kingdoms of Westoros.