It was a dark and stormy night.
Things started going wrong for Arya when the tents began collapsing. A volley of flaming arrows streaked through the air. Flames rose from one of the fallen tents, blotting out the stars with smoke. Then came the all too familiar melody, ever mocking, a funeral dirge for the soon-to-be-dead. And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Tom O'Sevens had sung this song for them, on another stormy night just like this one.
Turncoats, the whole lot of them! The Freys meant to kill Robb. And Mother too, so that they would follow Father, Bran, Rickon. Only Sansa and Jon still lived, one a prisoner at cruel Joffrey's court, and the other far, far away at the Wall. And every Stark soldier trapped in the castle, judging from the screams that were now coming from the tents. Occasionally a man or two rushed out of them, slapping at the flames licking their arms or legs, only to be cut down by arrow, spear or sword. And Arya was soon to join them, for riders were now coming her way.
And now the rains weep o'er his hall…
A chilly gust of wind silenced the roaring flames. With the wind came a flood of rain, drenching everything all at once, including the fire creeping up a Stark banner that still stubbornly fluttered in the stormy gales. The banner flapped once more before the flag-mast toppled. Arya barely caught the banner in time as it flew towards her.
Gray soot coated the tattered banner's lower half, above where it was singed on its bottom edge. Several large gashes were torn in the fabric, and many smaller tears, yet somehow the banner still hadn't fallen apart. And the Stark direwolf remained unburned, poised as if it were following the blue star shining through one of the small tears. Follow the Ice Dragon's sapphire eye if you ever get lost, Maester Luwin had once told her. For the constellation leads all the way North, back home.
Suddenly Arya was aware of dark shapes all around her. Not the torch-bearing Freys with their fell blades, gladly slaughtering every last northman, or other rivermen, they could lay their hands on. The silhouettes had to be Robb's loyal soldiers, who would fight and die for her brother, for the North and the Trident. One of them crashed into Arya, knocking her onto the ground, banner still in hand. "What's going on?" she asked in scarcely more than a whisper, but the figure was long gone.
"Get out of here… we have to get out of here…" her voice was louder this time. There was still no answer.
Arya struggled to her feet and took a deep breath.
"Who owns the North?" She shrieked at the top of her lungs, wiping off the tears clouding her eyes with one hand. Her other hand firmly clasped the Stark banner, waving it from side to side.
"We do! We do!" The reply finally came. Dark shapes rose all around Arya, men of the North, men of the Riverlands limping towards her, rallying around the banner. A horseman bearing the Twins galloped towards her, but an axe lodged was swiftly lodged in his chest and he fell, cursing, down to the muddy ground. Sandor Clegane was by her side now, reaching down with his hand. "Come with me. We need to get away from here, and now. Your little show brought us a chance."
"But we're here," She replied, her voice now scarcely more than a whisper, from a little girl shivering and scared. "The Freys are down for now. The gate is even open. We have to go save Robb, and mother."
"You go in there, you won't come out. Maybe Frey will let you kiss your mother's corpse. Stay and die, she-wolf. Or run and live. And I'm not done living yet. Live or die. Your-"
"Who owns the North?" Arya again lifted the direwolf banner high. She reached for her side, but found nothing. Needle was long gone of course, taken away when she was captured by the Mountains' men.
"We do!" Came the cry again, and more Northmen gathered around her. A shaking merman came forth. Then a bear, steady. Black battle axe on silver, honed and ready. Still more shapes pressed towards her, blackened hands outstretched under the darkness of night.
Far away, Arya spotted the dull glint of reddened blades. A few Frey swordsmen had finally rallied and stood in a thin line, hoping to hold until reinforcements arrived. But it was too late. A few brave Northern pikemen picked up tentpoles and charged. The tentpoles slammed into the ground before bouncing, then rammed against the swordsmen's shields, shattering not only those shields but the foe's entire formation too. The rest of the Freys fled, leaving behind their hapless fellows who were knocked down and now pinned to the ground by the makeshift pikes. A few more Northmen cautiously advanced, casually picked up the fallen swords, and gently slit their previous owners' throats.
"Who owns the North?" Arya screamed at the top of her lungs. "Show me!"
For a moment, all was still. Then the Northmen surged forth with a great cheer, brandishing swords and spears and axes hastily picked up from the ground. A few chair-legs, a kitchen knife or two. Arya could swear she even saw a few pieces of cutlery. Anything would have to make do for now.
Though the onslaught of Northmen and Riverlanders was but a tithe of those who feasted behind Frey's walls, Frey's scattered men were now surprised by the veterans who once fought at Whispering Wood, Oxcross, a hundred battles large and small. The few guards at the gate too stupid, or stubborn, to flee were soon clutching at opened throats and exposed entrails, wailing as they struggled to avoid being stomped by the feet of escaping Northmen.
Arya ran. Not for her brother now, not even for her mother, but for herself.
...
It was a dark and stormy night.
"Do make yourself comfortable," the bearded man suggested, gently leaning his cane against the wooden desk. The similarly weathered wooden chair creaked as the man dragged it backwards with his one good hand, before he plopped onto the chair with a satisfied grunt. Where his other hand should have been was instead a claw-like metal contraption, attached to a black sleeve running down the length of his forearm, or perhaps where his forearm should have been. Claudia could not tell if the man only had one forearm too.
The air in the torch-lit hall lacked warmth, though that was to be expected when winter was coming, and compared to most of the lodgings Claudia had been living in since the world went to shit it was downright comfortable. Certainly much safer. She had been living on her boat with her young son ever since fleeing Barcelona, only coming ashore for food or fuel, but the seas brought about their own perils, and even the world's sturdiest boat could only last so long. She ought to count her lucky stars, now that the two had finally found a community that could take them in before their vessel fell apart.
"Water? You and your kid must be thirsty." The man set down a glass of water on her side of the table, then another, before offering his outstretched hand. "I'm Rick Grimes, by the way. Welcome to Alexandria."
Could he be…
Perhaps Claudia could ask him later, not when there were others around, and definitely not when there was a scribe religiously noting down every word she and Rick said. "Yes, please," she replied, yet she could not help but pore over every detail on Rick's face, even as her son noisily gulped down his drink. At least the man didn't seem to mind the staring. Finally she had to break the uncomfortable silence. "I was told you're the leader here. And speak a bit more slowly please. Catalan and English only share so many words, and it isn't as if I had many people to practice English with in the past few years. My son can speak a bit, but he's shy at times… Parla anglès amb l'home, Eduard, sisplau."
"Sí, mama. Hi Ric," the three-and-a-half year old chirped. Then he went back to racing his toy boat in aerial oceans. "Vroom! Vroom!"
The scribe flung her pen down as she finally lost her battle against laughter. "That's a sailing boat, kid, not a motorboat. I'm Maggie by the way. Leader of the Hilltop. Pleased to meet you." She leaned forwards and shook Claudia's hand. She reached to shake hands with Eduard as well, but he intercepted her hand with a high-five and returned to his pirate-y adventures in the Caribbean.
"Do excuse me," Claudia murmured, her face reddening.
The room burst into laughter. "No harm done," Rick answered. "And I might as well introduce you to everyone else you ought to know. You've met Maggie from the Hilltop. The guy who looks like Jesus, well, Jesus. He's one of our chief lieutenants. Guy with the mullet next to him is Eugene, our resident science genius. Any of our technology you see around you, he probably built it…"
As if on cue, the oil lamps in the room started flickering.
"…man with all those braids is Ezekiel, leader of The Kingdom - and no, he doesn't rule his people differently than the rest of us. And behind him is Dwight, the new leader of the Sanctuary."
An eery silence fell upon the room.
"Allow me to elaborate." Claudia could now clearly see the burnt half of Dwight's face now that the man was stepping forward, and evidently Eduard could too as he shrank behind his mother. Even from this distance, Claudia could smell the alcohol in his breath. "Rick calls me the new leader because we Saviors had an old leader called Negan who thought he could rule everyone here with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. Oh, and he branded half of my face. In case you haven't noticed. The strange looks here are because we fought a war a few months ago, loads of people died, and now Alexandria lords over us instead of the other way around -"
"Lording over you?" Rick's cheeks flushed ruby-red, almost as red as Dwight's. "Don't be silly, Dwight. We're equal partners in a network here. We help each other…"
"Sure we do. But when I say we go left, and Rick Grimes says we go right, do you think the Saviors would go left or right? It's fine, Rick. You rule us well. Besides we Saviors lost fair and square. To you, to you over there, and you, and you over there…" Dwight's wobbly fingers started pointing at various members of what appeared to be the local elite. "you too there, you there… and that lil' shit over there."
A boy of around twelve years old barrelled into the room, long black hair plastered against his forehead. Even at this distance Claudia could see the ragged skin barely covered by the curtain of hair spilling over half of his face. The boy's hat had a semicircular hole on its rim. Claudia shuddered as she realised what that likely meant.
Surely he's the right age? Then he has to be…
Rick laughed heartily as the boy leapt into his arms. "As you can see, I have a son too. Carl, say hi to Claudia and Edward. They're newcomers."
Carl gave both a little wave. "Hi Claudia. Hi Edward. Anyway Dad I know we need school and all, but do we need that much of it? I can already read and write. Why do I need to know how to do math, science or 'appreciate English literature'?" The boy's fingers air-quoted what he probably heard from his teacher, or maybe another adult, just like Eduard had recently started doing when throwing a tantrum. "Go ask Eugene or someone else."
Claudia was about to ask about Rick and Carl when the world turned upside down.
First came the big bang. Then the heat. Then the brightness rushing in from the windows. Claudia felt as if she was right in the heart of the Sun.
...
For a moment, just as she dashed under the lowering portcullis, Arya thought she saw a curtain of light descending from the heavens. But Maester Luwin once said such sights only appeared north of the Wall, and the Twins were far south of even Winterfell, the streaks of purple further south still.
"We have to go back!" she shouted, her voice hoarse. They had to. To save Robb. And Mother.
Suddenly she lunged backwards. A hand grabbed at the scruff of her neck. She dropped the banner and tugged at the hand, but it was too strong for her. For the briefest of moments she flew, then found herself on Sandor's lap, riding back down the way from whence they came.
"I hate you!" Arya's clenched fists pummeled down on Sandor's back, but the Hound didn't even flinch. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the flames, and Mother and Robb, slipped further and further away, until they were gone.
...
"Was there a power breakdown?" Claudia yelled, her son curled up in a ball around her feet. The light and heat were gone, and so was the storm.
"Definitely not," Rick replied, yanking at his son's collar as Carl tried to follow all the other adults running out of the hall to see what's going on. "We use solar power here. Even if it broke down it
wouldn't be like… this."
"Rick…"
"Stay here for your own safety. I'm sorry, Claudia, but we've never had anything like this happen before. I'll need to deal with this situation. Carl will get what you and Eduard need." With a curt nod, Rick strode out of the hall with his son, leaving only two Alexandrian guards at the door.
A few minutes later, Eugene dashed back in, carrying a box full of electronics and what seemed to be a few manuals. Only now did Claudia notice the power sockets scattered around the hallway, but that still didn't explain using oil lamps. Perhaps they had already burned through their lightbulb supply. "Can't guarantee it'd work,' Eugene huffed. "And even if the other settlements can hear us, they don't have radio transmitters of their own. Fastest they'd get word back is by a dude on a horse."
As Eugene worked on the radio, various people began filing back into the room. Dwight and Ezekiel entered, along with two women who Claudia had yet to meet. Maggie and Jesus brought a couple of soldiers in riot gear. Carl came back with a pile of clothing and a basket of food, leaving them by Claudia's side without a word. Finally Rick himself returned wearing a button-up shirt and sat in front of the microphone. "Is this thing ready?" he asked, his voice slightly echoing on the speakers.
"I think so. There's only so much I could check and fix in half an hour." Eugene slightly adjusted the mic. "Starting in three… two… one…"
A red light came on. Eugene silently stepped back, and tiptoed out of the room.
"This is Rick Grimes calling. As you probably noticed, we just had an emergency. Your leaders and I are holding an emergency meeting at the Alexandria Safe Zone. I need ten soldiers from each community at Oceanside by this time tomorrow. Over. Jesus, send two riders to each community in case they didn't get this message… Eugene? Eugene? How do I turn this thing off?"
Claudia followed Rick as he stormed out of the room. The mullet-man was staring into the sky with his binoculars in one hand, holding two books in the other.
"What the fuck are you doing, Eugene? Now's not the time to be looking at the stars, or to be reading - " Rick snatched the books from Eugene's hand. " - Sixteen Thirty-Two, or Island in the Sea of Time. Go read or do astronomy when we aren't in the middle of an emergency -"
Eugene's face was sheet white."Rick? I have a feeling we're not in America anymore."
[A/N: This fic will mainly follow the story of Rick, Carl, Arya and... someone else, with the first two being co-protagonists, though needless to say this story would also examine the ISOT premise from the Westerosi's perspective. The story itself is planned in three acts, the First detailing the Alexandrians' intervention in War of the Five Kings and the immediate aftermath, the Second revealing the massive turmoil brought by the Alexandria ISOT and the impending undead onslaught, and the Third chronicling humanity's hard-won victory during the Second Long Night (as opposed to an Inconvenient Evening). Some very small changes are made to both settings just to make the story flow better.
Note that various events and the characters' viewpoints/ideologies, including those of the protagonists, do not necessarily reflect my support or stance. This story's world(s) is/are considerably different from our own, have had divergent historical progressions, and even the natural laws operate differently to ours.]
