Well, here we are again! Happy Xmas, Holiday's and New Years to everyone!

Got this chapter out in time, if only barely. Between the holiday's, starting a new role at work which is incredibly demanding of my time and dealing with a toddler and a very pregnant wife…I don't really have the time I used too. I'm going to be doing everything I can to keep my update schedule going strong. But I do ask for patience if I'm a little late on getting chapters out every now and then.

Now, y'all can skip this part if you want…but I honestly want to get something off my chest. For only the second time in all my time writing and being a part of this website, I actually had to block a user. Normally, I am all for people having their opinions, that's part of life, no one is going to agree with you one hundred percent and expressing opposition or criticisms is one of the methods in which we can grow. However, there is a line that goes from constructive or even flames…to straight up trolling. This story was recently hit with a troll, who decided to take it upon themselves to leave a review for just about every chapter that…well let's just say that according to the troll I'm a retarded idiot who doesn't know my ass from a hole in the ground and deservers to die. And I'm not exaggerating here. They left a review that honestly said I should just die and stop writing. Honestly, I don't need that kind of hostility in my life, so for the second time, I blocked a user and reported them, not that it'll do much good. And for those of you who came in defense of me and this story, I whole heartedly thank you. Given that you all are still reading this story on chapter 26…I'm taking it that you at least like what you're reading. So I cannot expressive enough my appreciation for all of your kind remarks. And even the constructive criticism that has helped me shape my writing to be better, I thank you all.

Okay, rant over. Let's get to the chapter! And on a happy note, this story has officially become my most reviewed, alerted and favorited story!

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


Chapter 26

Throughout her entire life, Olenna Tyrell had always had certain notions about regions outside of the Reach, particularly when thinking of the North. The land was cold and the people were colder. Neither offered much value to the 'civilized' people that lived below the Neck, outside of being a good place to send the unwanted. But during her admittedly short time here in the North, she was finding that she was needing to reassess her assessment of the North and its people. The land was still bone chillingly cold, and it wasn't even a winter year yet. The people where still standoffish and very wary of any outsiders. But on the other hand, she had never seen a more joined, more hard-working group of people than the people of the North. They worked to better themselves, as did anyone else. But here in the North, they took the saying 'the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few' to an almost extreme degree. And the people of the North were also brutally honest. Something which she could greatly appreciate after having spent her entire life around sycophants and liars.

But while she could admit, though never aloud, that she had misjudged the people of the North, there was still one inescapable fact that was weighing heavily on her mind. And that was the fact that there was very little for her to do here in this blasted land! Especially now that her grandsons had left with the wolves, the Dornish whoreson, and the Lost Lion to speak with the wildlings north of the Wall. That wasn't to say that she had nothing to do, far from it in fact. She was constantly busy every day from the moment she woke to the moment she closed her eyes for the night. After all, it wasn't every day that she had the opportunity to carefully observe how a land had managed to go from a group of barbarian people to one of the most influential powers in the realm seemingly overnight.

Every day she spent her time wandering around Winterfell and even Winter Town, taking mental note of everything she could until she returned to her room so that she could write them down. Their alcohol production, their massive glass gardens which now spanned several acres worth of land. Their glass production, hells even their martial training which she admittedly had little interest in. Everything that made the North into the power it currently was she took careful note of in the hopes that once she returned home, she would be able to implement them into the Reach and give them the advantage once more.

But after days of doing this, she realized something was very wrong. She was able to come by the information far, far too easily. The glass smiths, while not outright giving away their secrets, did not bar her from watching how they made the glass. In fact, they even identified most of the components that were needed to make the glass as strong as it was. Same with the alcohol, though granted the creation of alcohol wasn't a great secret. The men sworn to House Stark also didn't make any effort to hide their training regimes from her eyes, though after watching them for a few days she was sure that if she tried to make their training standard in the Reach, then House Tyrell would find themselves without any guardsmen. But still, the fact that she was able to get what she wanted so easily greatly unsettled her. And it wasn't just her, the same was true for the Dornish whores and the Imp, both of whom she knew were snooping around just like her trying to learn what they could before taking it back to their homes with the hopes of replication.

'Why are they not being more secretive?' she wondered, and not for the first time as she went back over her notes again for the tenth time that day. 'The only thing I haven't been able to ascertain is just how exactly they make this miraculous medicine that can apparently cure even greyscale. The glass, their exotic food, and the medicine has made the North into a serious player in Westeros… Yet they are doing very little to safeguard that which has brought them such good fortune. Why?'

The only logical explanation she could come to regarding their openness was the fact that the North didn't need to keep these secrets to keep their power. Which meant that Stark and the Sorcerer had more secrets that made those which were already known obsolete. And that truly troubled her. She'd already heard her grandson's squire talking about some sort of horseless carriage. If they could make such a thing come to fruition, and she had already learned the hard way not to doubt the Sorcerer or the Starks, then they would have a whole new advantage to hold over the heads of everyone else. 'As if they don't already have just about every advantage one could ever hope for. The only thing House Stark and the North is currently lacking in is sheer numbers. But given the recent influx of people to the North, both from Essos and from south of the Neck, even that might no longer hold true in a decade or so.' Olenna huffed as she got up from her seat and made her way to the lone window in her room, which overlooked the main courtyard of Winterfell.

Immediately, her eyes were drawn to the far side of the yard, where the remaining Dornish women were gathered, their backs turned towards her, no doubt watching the sparring yard below and trying to pick out which man they wanted to bed. 'Not that Arianne needs to pick,' she thought, her eyes traveling briefly over the tumbled mass of black hair that she knew belonged to the Dornish Princess. Her granddaughter's prediction about the Dornish being after the legitimized bastard boy had unfortunately been proven true. And from the gossip floating around, the Princess had managed to ensnare the so-called 'White Wolf' in almost record time. The two were hardly apart from one another, as they often retreated into the Sorcerer's Tower to do gods only knew what, but given what Olenna knew of the girl's uncle, she had a fairly good idea about just how the Princess had managed to get her wolf so fast. Not that Olenna blamed the girl in the slightest. The girl had used her assets well and had ensured the loyalty of arguably the most powerful of the wolf pups. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Olenna could just make out the slim form of the youngest Stark girl standing alongside the Dornish with that ever-present wolf by her side. 'Greedy snakes,' Olenna huffed. 'They've already ensnared one wolf. And now they're trying for a second.'

While she loathed to admit it, the Dornish had done a far better job at securing the wolves than she had. While the Dornish had managed to get their hands on perhaps two wolves, Olenna had still yet to secure Sansa as Willas's future bride. 'Sansa.' Just thinking of the girl brought a mix of emotions to Olenna.

She knew the moment the girl healed Willas that there could be no other candidate for the next Lady Tyrell. With her power, the people of the Reach would flock to her, to House Tyrell, in the hopes of receiving her blessing and healing. It would've been a boon if the girl was a devote of the Seven. But, alas, while she was open to the Faith of the Seven she still held onto the old gods. Though not as tightly as the rest of her family. And on top of her magic, she would also bring with her the support of the North. Plus, the girl seemed naïve. And while such a trait was not ideal in the long term, her naiveite would allow Olenna to mold the girl into a perfect future Lady of the Reach.

But there was a problem. One that she had not seen until after the wolves had left.

She'd thought that with Ned Stark and the Sorcerer away from Winterfell, she would have the perfect opportunity to catch hold of the girl and ensure that she pressured her father into accepting the marriage contract. That first night, she'd maneuvered it so that she and Margaery would have tea with Sansa and Lady Nox. The latter of whom Olenna would've preferred not to have been present, but it did give her a chance to see just what about this former common girl had so captivate a man of the Sorcerer's caliber.

The evening had gone exactly as she'd hoped. Margaery and Sansa quickly formed a rapport as they gossiped like the girls they were and started sharing stories of their childhood. The Lady Nox had been more standoffish, but Olenna had not earned her reputation by backing down from a challenge. To her upmost surprise, Olenna quickly came to learn that the Lady Nox was more than just a pretty face and a bedwarmer. She had a mind, and she knew how to use it. No matter the bait that Olenna laid out for the Lady Nox during their talks, the woman managed to avoid falling into her traps as if she'd been trained how to play the game since birth. As the night progressed, the stories slowly shifted to tales of the Reach. Margaery took the lead here, telling tales of tourneys, other Houses, and the grandeur that was the Reach. Each of which Sansa seemed to cling too, asking question after question. All which Olenna and Margaery were quick to answer.

It wasn't until after the tea was completed and Olenna and her granddaughter were back in her room that Olenna realized her mistake. She'd been played. The girl and Lady Nox had followed their stories closely and asked questions that, while on the surface seemed innocent, were anything but. In one conversation, the two had managed to subtly learn of the different Houses of the Reach, who was aligned with whom, who had the most pull in the land and who were rising quickly through the ranks of the nobility in terms of standing. And while they'd managed to get all of that out of Olenna and Margaery, they had in turn given them nothing regarding the inner workings of Northern politics.

She'd been so surprised by the realization of what'd happened that she'd collapsed onto her bed. She'd been played. By a two-and-ten-year-old girl and a former common girl turned Lady through marriage! She would've been damn impressed if she wasn't so worried. If Sansa was already this skilled at the game at her age, how skilled would she be in four years when the marriage between her and Willas would take place? Olenna dearly loved all her grandchildren, but she wasn't blind to their faults. If Sansa was already truly as skilled as she thought, then by the time they wed her skills, not to mention her beauty, would be more than enough to wrap Willas around her finger and allow her to take complete control of the Reach for the North. And she would be powerless to do anything as she would either be dead, or in King's Landing helping Margaery take control of the crown. She needed to know if the girl's skill was genuine, or if that one instance had been a fluke.

Unfortunately, finding another opportunity was proving exceedingly difficult to obtain. The girl was, well she wouldn't say that Sansa was outright avoiding her, but she never seemed to have the time to sit and talk with her again. In a way, it was understandable. The girl was left in charge of Winterfell and the North, and even with the formidable Lady Nox aiding her, that was not an easy task to handle. And on top of dealing with the day to day running of the North, she also had to deal with the fact that there were members from three of the great noble families of Westeros within the walls of Winterfell. And even with all of that, the girl still managed to find time every day to train with her younger siblings in the way of the sword or their magic. Though how exactly they were practicing their magic without the oversight of the Sorcerer was a mystery to her. Perhaps Sansa was more advanced than she'd shown and was teaching the younger ones how to use their magic? It would make sense as the girl was the eldest. But that thought was also more than slightly unsettling as it meant that the power that the girl had showed them was just the beginning of it.

'But where I have failed, Margaery has succeeded,' Olenna thought, trying to console the fact that she had yet to truly get a firm hold of Sansa. Margaery had managed befriend Sansa in a relatively short period of time, and the two had even started to work together on a project Margaery had brought forward to try and improve the lives of the orphans here in the North. And much to her pleasure, her granddaughter's future handmaiden Mira Forrester had arrived in Winterfell just a day past along with another girl named Gwyn Whitehill, who was apparently going to marry Mira's brother here in Winterfell after Lord Stark returned. And ever since their arrival, the four girls, well five if Arianne decided to join them, had been near inseparable from each other.

'The girl is doing her part well,' Olenna thought with a smile. 'Building a good rapport now with arguably the hardest to please people in Westeros will go a long way once she has a crown on her head. But she's not pressing hard enough. I'll need to talk to her about pressing her ideas more and making sure that the people of this land know that it was her that brought about these changes and not just the Starks.'

As she was trying to figure out just how to further her granddaughter's name here in the North, she spotted something that caught her eye. A group of Stark men-at-arms were leading a few ill-kept men through the courtyard at a hurried pace. She was about to dismiss the sight, but something didn't let her. There was something about them that just demanded her attention. And it wasn't until they had disappeared into the great keep of Winterfell that she realized that the small folk had been carrying a chest of some sort, and the men-at-arms had not been walking as an escort, but rather they'd been arranged in such a fashion as to try and keep whatever it was they were carrying away from prying eyes.

'Well, well,' Olenna thought with a smirk as she found a new target for her inquiries. 'Sansa is currently with Margaery touring the glass gardens outside the walls of Winterfell… So, they are not going to her right now, but rather Nox's wife. Which means that whatever is in that chest is important to the Sorcerer. And if it's important to him, that means it's important to the North's continued advancement. Which means that I need to know just what is in that chest and if it is possible to steal away with at least a piece of whatever is inside.'


In all her admittedly short life, Nyra Nox had never once thought that the duties of the steward of Winterfell would be all that difficult or time consuming. But she was wrong. So very wrong. She worked from nearly sunup to sundown, helping to oversee the goings on of not just Winterfell, but Winter Town and the other small villages within the confines of the lands that belonged to the Starks. And if that wasn't hard enough, due to their position as Wardens of the North, the Starks, and by extension herself, were responsible for other disputes that stretched across the North. Thank the gods for delegation, or else Nyra was sure that she would never be able to catch even a wink of sleep. And as if her normal duties were not difficult enough, she now had to perform a delicate balancing act with the visiting nobles from not just one noble house, oh no, that would be way too simple. No, she had to manage guests from three Great Houses! To be sure, Sansa aided where she could, but the girl was still just that: a girl. 'Damn you, Alim…and you too, Lord Stark, for leaving me to deal with these people while you men go off and play negotiations with the wildlings.' Nyra cursed, placing her quill back in an ink pot and wringing her sore wrist out as she read over the document that she'd spent most of the morning working on.

'Mercifully, I haven't had to deal with any of our guests as of yet,' Nyra thought, setting the parchment aside and grabbing a new sheet. 'Though I suppose I am just being a little unfair to our guests. They truly haven't been a bother. They've been…helpful. And I wasn't expecting that. Though I shouldn't be all that surprised. Alim warned me that these people were experts in the game. And while their being helpful is useful, their actions were not out of the goodness of their hearts. They were trying to sway the Starks into allying with them. And proving themselves useful to the people is indeed the quickest way to prove their worth here in the North.'

Perhaps the most surprising of their guests was none other than the infamous 'Imp' of Casterly Rock, Lord Tyrion Lannister. His whoring and drinking were legendary, even here in the North which was saying something. And for the first few days the man stayed true to the tales, drinking whole bottles at a time, and spending more coin at the brothel then most men made in four years' time. But then something changed one day after Tyrion spoke with her husband. The Imp no longer frequented the brothel, and he had taken to aiding Lady Bethany in the teaching of the young folk of Winterfell. It was…confusing. At first, she thought that maybe the man had set his sights on either Bethany or her daughter. But after speaking with her, Bethany stated that was not the case. The man simply seemed to enjoy teaching the young students. Given Bethany's responsibilities, Nyra knew that the woman was certainly not going to complain about free extra help with the children.

Then there were the Tyrells, who were providing good coin and food to help shoulder the burden of their stay on Winterfell's coffers. While Nyra was extremely wary of Lady Olenna, especially now that she had had a chance to sit down and talk with the woman, she was fond of Margaery. The girl had a good head on her shoulders, easily befriending Sansa and Jayne, along with Myra Forrester and Gwyn Whitehill, both of whom had only just arrived in Winterfell a day prior with a small escort each. Along with her blossoming friendship with the northern girls, she had also offered a few suggestions that would in the long run benefit the smallfolk, particularly the children, around Winterfell and Winter Town. And it was a proposal that she intended to bring before Lord Stark personally once he returned from beyond the Wall.

The last of their guests were honestly the ones that were giving Nyra the most headaches, though not necessarily in a bad way. The Dornish were…interesting, to say the very least. The way they approached life was so different from the North. Yet, at the same time, there were underlying facets within how they lived that made them more Northern than anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms. But the one thing that was, well, unsettling about them was their flirtatious manner, which wasn't just limited to Prince Oberyn. The Princess had pretty much stuck by Jon's side and had been working on wrapping him around her finger ever since she arrived. The prince's daughters had also been flirting with more than a few of the men and women in Winterfell. Then there was Ellaria, the baseborn Lady who was Prince Oberyn's paramour. The woman was almost as flirtatious as her lover. While Nyra couldn't say that the idea of…maybe bedding her with Alim wasn't an unappealing thought… The idea that a Prince of Dorne and his paramour would have any interest in her was just… It was just something else. And if Alim were there with them…

"Mi'lady Nox," one of the guards standing watch outside her chambers called out, snapping her out of the rather heated daydream. "You have visitors. One of the surveyors Lord Stark sent out."

Immediately, Nyra banished whatever thoughts she had of sharing her bed. It was time for her to be the Lady Steward of Winterfell and Lord Nox's wife. "Send them in."

The guards immediately opened her door, allowing in a young man that Nyra instantly recognized from her youth. "Thomas," she smiled, rising from her desk and walking around towards the man while a few others brought in a chest and set it on the ground before quickly leaving the room.

"Mi'lady Nox," Thomas replied, his eyes downcast as if he was refusing to meet her eyes.

"Thomas, stop that," she said, forcing him to finally look up at her. "I'm still the same woman that you shyly asked to dance during the spring festivals back when we were still kids."

He was just as she remembered him from their youth, though he had certainly aged a bit. But he still had kind eyes and a shaggy mop of black hair that refused to cooperate no matter what you did to it. Except unlike back then when he was nervus about approaching her just because she was a girl, now he was clearly nervous for another reason entirely. "Umm, right, uh Lady Nox – I – I mean Nyra. Um, you, uh… You haven't told yer Lord husband bout me…have ya?"

Nyra nearly wanted to laugh aloud. No wonder he had never once tried to visit her in all these years, or even send her a written note. He feared her husband. "Oh, leave off it, Thomas," she said dismissively. "Alim is not the sort of man to get overly jealous of a man from my past. Believe me, he wouldn't care that we used to fancy one another back when we were children."

Unfortunately, Thomas didn't seem reassured by her words. "I – un, I'll take your word for it, Lady N – I mean, Nyra."

Sighing, Nyra shook her head. She knew that this was going to happen eventually, that the past she'd left behind would catch up to her and she would have to face the fact that things had changed. That she had changed. "Well, Thomas, I hear you were part of the surveying team that Lord Stark dispatched some time ago. I take it that you've found something of note seeing as how you've returned?"

Thomas nodded his head. "Aye, we did… But we just don't know what it is that we found."

Following him back to the chest, Nyra watched with bated breath as Thomas opened the chest and pulled out something wrapped in a grey cloth. She knew why Lord Stark and Alim had sent the surveyors out to those specific locations, and if they were able to find what her husband thought was there…then the North would truly be able to become a power unseen since the fall of Old Valyria. Holding up the wrapped item, Thomas slowly pulled back the cloth, revealing what looked like a chunk of pure silver the size of a grown man's head. But she knew that it wasn't that, based purely on the fact that Thomas was holding it in one hand with little effort.

Nyra knew, even without having to ask, that this was the metal that her husband was so anxious to find ever since he returned from the Greyjoy Rebellion with Red Rain to study. The metal that made the Valyrian Empire the ultimate power for centuries. "Valyrian steel…beskar," Nyra said softly, reaching out and taking the hunk of raw ore, surprising herself with just how light the metal felt in her hands.

"I don know about that, mi'lady," Thomas shrugged, his eyes never leaving the hunk of metal. "But…it's definitely somethin. We been working on the raw ore since the day after Lord Stark and Lord Nox left for da Wall. Master Mikken been helpin where he can but…but we ain't seen nothin like it before."

She nodded before turning towards the guards. "Go and inform Lady Sansa that I need to speak with her immediately. And then fetch Master Mikken and Gendry. I'll need to have words with both of them. And, for the love of the gods, do not cause a scene, no matter what you do. There are more than a few eyes in Winterfell that do not belong to the North. And while they may one day be tied to us, that day is not today."

The guards immediately saluted her and left the room, leaving her alone with Thomas and the hunk of silvery metal. But they were not left alone for long as within a relatively short period of time Sansa appeared, followed quickly by Master Mikken and the young boy Gendry, who looked more than slightly uncomfortable standing so close to Sansa.

"Lady Nox," Sansa greeted her cordially. By the old gods, this girl was going to turn into a force to be reckoned with once she came into her own. "I was told that you have something important to discuss with me?"

"Aye, I do," Nyra nodded, holding out the hunk of metal. "The surveyors your father sent out have returned. And they found veins of this metal at the locations provided to us by Lady Talisa from the Valyrian journals."

Sansa's eyes immediately widened as she stared down at the silvery lump with the same fascination as Nyra. "Master Mikken," the young Lady of Winterfell said, motioning for the two larger men to step closer. "What do you make of it?"

The Master smith of Winterfell shifted his weight from foot to foot, and odd sight considering the man towered head, shoulders, and chest over both Sansa and Nyra. "It's…It's unlike anything I've ever seen, mi'ladies." He shifted the metal about in his hands as he gave it an intense, calculating stare. "It looks like silver, but it is not. It's hard, harder than any other metal I've ever worked with before in me whole life. And not even the blast furnace can reach a heat to make it malleable. We left it in the furnace for half a day with the bellows working as hard as they could to produce as much heat as possible. It glowed just like any other metal, but the moment we took it away from the heat we managed only a single hammer strike before the metal cooled to the point where ya could almost touch it with bare skin. If we could get it hot enough form, or perhaps melt it down and pour it into a mold, I'm sure we could make the best weapons and armor in the world. But…we simply just can't get the fires hot enough and, to be blunt mi'ladies, I don't know of any flame in da world capable of melting it."

Frowning, Nyra returned to her examination of the metal now in Sansa's hands. As she did, she noticed that Gendry looked like he wanted to say something, but the lad was still clearly unused to his new position and didn't know how to speak up. Something she could understand, having gone through a similar transition after Alim began taking her under his wing. "Gendry," she called out to the young man, surprising him. "You have something to add?"

"Umm, aye, um, mi'lady," Gendry nodded, keeping his eyes downcast. "My former master in King's Landing, he…he used to work with Valyrian steel. Not often, and nothin more than daggers or knives, but he did reforge them."

"Tohbo Mott," Master Mikken said, naming Gendry's former master. "Aye, he is well known, even here in the North, for being one of the few men alive who can rework existing Valyrian steel."

"Aye, but he never forged it from raw steel, only ever reworked what was already forged…and he never let any of us apprentices watch him work while he did it," Gendry added, raising and lowering Nyra's hope that he might have an answer. "But…I – I think I might know how the Valyrians worked the raw metal."

"How?" Nyra pressed, excitement swelling within her at the prospect of having the secret before her husband returned home.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Gendry looked more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment as he found himself the center of attention. "Well…the dragon lords had something that could make fire hot enough to melt stone…dragons. What if they – What if they used the dragons to melt the raw ore, then mix it with somethin else so it could be forged into whatever they wanted?"

Nyra's hopes came crashing down as she realized the logic behind Gendry's words. It made sense, and it would also explain why no one else had been able to create new Valyrian steel since the fall of the Valyrian Empire. Not only did it require a very specific type of metal, but the process to smelt said metal required the usage of a dragon's fire to heat it enough so that it could be used in forging. "Well then, Gendry, it seems that you now have quite a task ahead of you."

"Me? Mi'lady?" the lad asked, pointing to himself and looking around as if he wasn't sure she was talking to him.

"Aye, unless either Lady Sansa or Master Mikken have suddenly decided to change their name to Gendry, which they haven't. So, yes, I'm referring to you, young man," Nyra said, fixing the lad with a gaze that had him frozen in place. "Ever since my husband took you away from King's Landing, you've been looking for a way to make your mark have you not? Well, here it is. You're going to figure out how to make a fire hot enough to match that of dragon's fire, without having an actual dragon. And you will then figure out how to forge this incredible metal into the best weapons and armaments this world has seen since the fall of the Valyrian Empire."

Gendry visibly shrunk as small beads of sweat started to form on his face despite the cool air of the North. "Um…Are…? I – I don't know, mi'lady, if –"

"My husband believes in you, Gendry," Nyra said, cutting the boy off. "Otherwise, he would not have bothered taking you away from King's Landing and placing you under his tutelage. I know he's already talked to you about how you've been unknowingly using the Force whenever you work in the forge. Well, now here's your chance to prove just how resourceful you can be. Figure this puzzle out, Gendry, and you will be known not only as just another acolyte of my husband's, but you will be known as the man who was able to solve the greatest riddle since the fall of the Valyrian Empire."

The young man's eyes shifted back and forth between herself and the lump of metal that was now being offered to him by Sansa. "I – I won't let ye down, mi'lady."

"Of course you won't," Nyra smiled, then shivered as she felt…something wash over her. 'Huh…? Must be a draft in here…but I swore I closed the shutters this morning… Just my imagination then?' "My husband brought you to the North for a reason, Gendry, and I do believe we just found out what that reason is."


Consciousness returned slowly, and painfully to Jon Stark of Winterfell as he tried to will his eyes to open, only to immediately shut them as even the slightest bit of light felt like he was getting speared through the eyes. 'By the old gods…what happened last night?' he groaned to himself, his body unwilling to even allow him to raise his head off whatever he was laying on.

He remembered the end of the battle and the cheers that'd followed as the few remaining wildlings that'd fought against them threw down their arms after the death of Alfyn Crowkiller. With the battle over, they began clearing the field, piling the dead wildlings into a large pile to be burned per Mance Rayder's request, while those that fought on their side were treated with proper funeral rights. While the field was being cleared, word was sent to the Sea Wolf of their victory. Shortly after that, Lord Willas had returned to the shore with the children and elderly Free Folk… And they brought along with them just about every cask of wine, ale, and northern liquor that was aboard the ship.

Things had…become a blur after that as Robb, who'd mostly recovered after blowing the horn, and Theon cornered him and convinced him to join them in some sort of drinking game that he honestly couldn't remember much of. And that was where the trouble truly began. It wasn't unusual for his father to allow them a drink, and even lately they were allowed to drink ale and wine that wasn't watered down, but he always kept them at only a cup or two at most and only at feasts. But last night their father didn't stop them. If anything, he encouraged them to drink their fill as he said something about it being another lesson for the boys. Though what lesson that could be Jon still didn't know.

Jon had no idea just how many drinks he'd had, but then the large Free Folk man, Tormund, had brought out several drinking horns filled with what he considered to be a 'true northern man's drink'. He'd given one horn to the three of them, and they only managed a single sip before spitting it out, much to the laughter of the Free Folk. Jon couldn't for the life of him remember what the drink was, but it was just as strong as the northern liquor…perhaps even more so. He'd been tempted to just set it aside, but then the red-haired Free Folk girl from the battle grabbed his horn and downed the entire thing in one go without even batting an eye. After she finished the horn, she shot him a grin and threw the horn back at him. It was a challenge. And in his state of mind, Jon wasn't about to deny it. So, he'd had the horn refilled and, despite the taste, downed it all. Then the two started going back and forth; drinking first the Free Folk drink, then ale, then northern liquor…and then he honestly couldn't remember much more as his memory went black. But he did know that despite not remembering exactly what happened, the two continued to drink more and more to the cheers of everyone around them.

Burrowing his head into the soft pillow he was laying on, Jon breathed deep. The pillow smelled…wild. Not like flowers or something like that. But more like…like the forest. It was a more than pleasant smell to awaken to. Especially when coupled with the soft warm object that he was wrapped around that was moving slightly beneath his arm—!

Eyes snapping open, Jon fought against the pain of the light as he took stock of just where he was. He was in a hut and laying on a bed under several furs. But neither was the source of Jon's warmth or the pleasant smell of the forest that was filling his nose. The source of that belonged to the mane of fiery red hair that was laying across his face. He nearly shook as he realized the warmth was coming from her flesh. Her warm flesh that was pressed firmly against his own. And…And there was no break in the warmth. He could feel every delicate and strong curve of her body pressed firmly against his own. And his hand, by the gods… His hand was resting upon her breast, his fingers acting of their own accord as he felt – "Hmm…That is a nice way to wake me."

Jon froze as her voice reached him. Turning his arms, Jon was greeted with the sight of Ygritte, completely devoid of clothes, just as he was. Both of them were… without clothes. And – And beneath his furs. And – And, dear gods, she – she was beautiful. Perfect. Wild and untamed. Strong, yet still delicate in all the right places. In this moment, the only thing he'd ever seen that was more perfect was the time in Sunspear when Arianne – oh gods! 'Arianne! She – She…Oh gods. What have I done?!'

"Well, Jon Stark?" Ygritte asked, grinning while one of her hands snaked between them and gripped his length, which was harder than he could ever remember. "Are ye finally gonna put this to use and finish what ye started? Or do ya need me to show ya where to put it?"


While pretty much everyone within the confines of Hardhome were nursing what were sure to be massive hangovers, Nox, Ned, Mance and Val were wide awake and meeting once more within the large hut that'd housed their first meeting the day prior. While the primary talks were occurring between Ned and Mance, Nox was present to act as an advisor and sort of intermediary as he did not have the centuries upon centuries of bad blood engrained into him. And Val was present because she was the one Mance had chosen to lead the Free Folk after they'd crossed the Wall. Their current talk was centered around the exact number of Free Folk Ned was willing to swear the oaths to the North and therefore head south immediately thereafter.

"Five thousand?!" Mance said, repeating the number Ned had just given him. "You promised safety beyond the Wall for any who are willing to swear allegiance to the North."

"And I hold to that, Mance," Ned countered. "However, we must also look at this logically. Settling the Free Folk into the North and getting them accustomed to our laws and expectations will take time. And the greater the number that cross the Wall at the onset, the greater the challenge will be. We start with five thousand. Then, once they have adjusted, more can cross and be guided by those who have already established themselves. Plus, as you have already stated, some of your clans may not even wish to cross until the last possible moment, the Thenns for example. Five thousand is more than enough to start. It is a not insignificant number for your people, yet it is small enough not to cause alarm amongst the people of the North."

The leader of the Free Folk turned and shared a look with Val. "I don't like it, but you make a good point. Several of them, in fact," Mance conceded. "And, in truth, I don't even know if we will be able to convince even that number to kneel. It will take us several days walking to reach where the majority of the Free Folk are camped, and I will send trusted runners out to begin spreading the word to see if we can garner some interest before we arrive. Where do you plan on sending my people, Stark?"

Ned remained stoic as he faced the two Free Folk leaders. "That still needs to be decided. For the interim, Lady Val and those who swear to the North will remain in Winter Town on the outskirts of Winterfell until I feel that Lady Val is ready to take up the mantle of a Lady of the Realm."

"I ain't no fancy southern lady, Lord wolf," Val countered with a little heat in her voice.

"You soon will be, Lady Val," Ned countered back almost immediately. "A Lady who will have more than just the Free Folk at whichever holdfast you take Ladyship of. You will have men and women whose families have called the North home for generations. And while I do not expect you to become a Lady of the South, nor would I want you to, there will still be certain expectations of you while you lead the people that call the land you hold home."

He could tell that, while she wasn't pleased with it, Val was accepting of her fate. "Fine," Val nearly growled. "But I warn ye Stark. Any fancy lordling of yours or their sons that think they can steal away into my bed just to take me lands and people will quickly find themselves without a cock."

There it was again, that strange turn of phrase that Nox had heard several times throughout the course of the battle and especially after. While any knowledge on the traditions of the wildings, or Free Folk, was scarce south of the Wall, he had a pretty good idea about what they meant by 'stealing'. Apparently, Ned was of a similar mindset as he was the first to bring it up.

"I heard that turn of phrase several times last night," Ned said, clearly just as curious as Nox was. "Unfortunately, my knowledge on the Free Folk is…limited, at best. I would appreciate being enlightened by this custom you speak of, though I have a feeling I might know what it entails."

Mance grew slightly uneasy, but still he nodded. "Aye, I suppose it's best to get any misunderstandings out of the way now rather than have them become a potential problem in the future. You see, amongst the Free Folk there is no such thing as a marriage between a man and a woman. Instead, how such couplings are decided is by—"

Before he could finish, they were interrupted by a frantic Jon Stark, who seemed to have only partially managed to pull on his coat whilst trying to finish the lacing up on his pants. The boy didn't even seem to notice where he was until he nearly ran into Ned, as his attention was kept firmly on the entrance he'd just used to barge in. "Father!" Jon nearly shouted, his voice cracking slightly as he let go of his pants, only to have them fall slightly, forcing him to quickly grab them with both hands and resume trying to tie them. "Lord Nox…your grace…my Lady….I—!"

Whatever explanation the boy had was lost as a clearly irate Free Folk woman with flaming red hair and a scowl on her face marched into the hut hot on Jon's heels. Her clothes were in a similar disarrayed fashion as Jon's, as if she too had hurried to dress. For her part, the Free Folk girl seemed to take the fact that she was still in the midst of getting dressed in perfect stride when compared to Jon. And as for the four adults in the hut, all of them simply stared back and forth between Jon and the Free Folk girl.

"Val, Rayder, Lord wolf…sorcerer," the young woman greeted each of them in turn as she finished smoothing down her furs.

"Ygritte," Mance greeted her back. "I take it there is a reason you are chasing young Stark here while both of you are trying to get dressed?"

'Ygritte…? The one who managed to inform us of the other wildlings impending attack yesterday,' Nox thought, placing the girl and giving her a once over. 'She's certainly wild, that is for sure. An embodiment of the Free Folk mentality and the place they call home. And…there is more to her than meets the eye. She's Force sensitive, but not like the Starks. Her powers have manifested differently, much in the same manner as Oberyn and Arianne. She can manipulate the Force to a degree, but it seems like it will be on a subconscious level. Yet, unlike Oberyn, she's still young. Perhaps there is a chance to fine tune her abilities? If so…Then perhaps she could become a melee warrior on par with any force sensitive battlemaster.'

"Not much to say, Rayder," Ygritte shrugged. "This one here stole me during the fight, plucked me right out from under a fucker that wanted to split me in half with his axe. I was just finishin what he started considerin he had far too much drink last night to do the deed properly."

"Stole you?" Jon questioned. "I – I mean I rescued you and we fought together. But…But what – what does that even mean to say that I 'stole you'?"

"I was just explaining this very thing to your father and the sorcerer, young Stark, so you might as well listen," Mance said, bringing the conversation back around to him. "The Free Folk do not have traditional marriage customs like south of the Wall. Instead, if a man or a woman takes an interest in another, they will attempt to steal them. Ideally from another tribe or from within their own. Usually a man will steal a woman, but it is not unusual for a woman to steal a man. The one who does the stealing demonstrates their strength and skill by managing to spirit their target away. And the one who is being stolen is expected to put up a fight to see if the one trying to steal them is worth their attention. I have heard well your ill-ease towards the topic of rape sorcerer, so I must stress that while this system does incur such an action on occasion, in most cases by the time it comes to consummating their union, both parties are in full agreement with the act."

Nox could already see where this was leading and, judging by the slight amusement he felt trickling off his friend, Ned knew it as well. 'This will prove most interesting once we return to Winterfell and a certain raven-haired young woman.'

"I see," Ned nodded, struggling to keep a straight face as he pointedly ignored Jon, who was clearly still trying to wrap his head around what was going on. "This tradition will either have to be stopped or changed once your people are in the North. Such an act will not be received kindly, nor understood, by the people of the North."

Mance merely nodded. "Aye, I expected that to be the case. I think for the first of our people to head south it would be best if we allow only those who have already stolen one another, and therefore are not tempted to steal sons or daughters from those who do not understand our ways."

"Wait," Jon cut in, holding up his hand. "Forgive me, father…your grace. But…But what does all of this have to do with Ygritte and I?"

Amusement flowed through the room as all eyes turned on Jon. "You're a smart lad, Jon," Nox said, just barely able to contain his mirth. "Haven't you figured it out yet?"

Jon's attention flickered back and forth between Ygritte and the others in the room. "Ummm…"

"You stole Ygritte during the battle," Mance said, a full-blown smile on his face. "And she has accepted that fact. Which means by the traditions of the Free Folk, she's your woman. Or, as you southerners call it, your wife."

Jon's reaction was just about what Nox expected of his young and inexperienced Apprentice. His eyes went wide, and his face drained of all color as his jaw dropped. And all that he could manage in response was a single, strangled "WHAT?!"


Standing on one of the many overlooks of the Red Keep that looked out over Blackwater Bay, Petyr Baelish, member of the Small Council and the Master of Coin, idly sat in his office while swirling a glass of Arbor gold around in his hand. For the longest time, he had had a set goal in mind. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how he was going to obtain it. But now? Now that goal was shattered. Part of it could still be salvaged, but the most important piece to his future, the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world, was now gone. And no amount of power, gold, or pleasure would ever be able to fill the void left by the loss. But he wouldn't be like Robert. No, he wouldn't lose himself in sorrow and self-pity just because what he wanted was ripped away from him. No. He would just have to modify his plan to ensure that he was not the only one who felt this pain. He would make all those responsible for his pain suffer. He would have his chaos. He would have his vengeance. And he would start today.

Hearing two sets of heavy footfalls and a third lighter set, Petyr resisted the urge to smile as he set his glass of wine down. 'Right on time. Not that I expected less given what I am offering those two fools.' Turning his back on the bay, Petyr walked back into the keep and right into the path of the three that were coming his way. Making a show of being startled, Petyr gave an extravagant bow to the smaller figure of the three. "Your grace," he said, bowing low of the clearly surprised Prince Joffrey, "forgive me, I did not mean to cause you a fright. I was merely just taking a moment to admire the view."

The crown Prince quickly recovered from his surprise as his face went back to its normal sneering look before Petyr could even right himself. "A Prince does not get a fright. Only women and weaklings do."

Petyr fought the urge to smirk. 'Yes, Joffrey will work perfectly.' "Of course, your grace, I apologize. I did not mean to imply that you are either, your grace. Only a fool would think of such a thing."

"Good," Joffrey replied shortly. "Now, out of my way."

"Of course," he smiled, moving aside to give the crown prince a wide breadth. "But, before you go, your grace, I offer you my deepest condolences regarding your magnificent beast. Truly, such a creature did not deserve such a fate, especially for only doing what the strong do: devour the weak."

Joffrey stilled, then turned and looked at Petyr. "That's – That's what I said. A lion is strength…and that fawn…It was weak. But nobody understood. Not father…Not even mother. They all just babied Tommen because he started to cry. And Pride was the one to die…It wasn't fair!"

Allowing himself the smallest of smirks, Petyr shared a look with the two red cloaks that were shadowing the young prince. Both men gave him the slightest of nods before taking a step back away from them, ensuring the two have a moment of privacy. 'It cost me the service of four of my best whores for a day, but such is the cost when one wishes to speak with royalty in the middle of the Red Keep with any manner of secrecy.'

"If I may be so bold, your grace," Petyr said, putting as much as a friendly tone as he could into each word. "While a man of my position has no business prying into the private affairs of the royal family, I can see that you are suffering, and I wish to help. But…you see…your father did not kill Pride because of your brother. He did it because he is afraid of you, your grace. Or rather, he is afraid of the great man you are shaping up to becoming."

Joffrey was clearly taken aback, which was good. He needed the boy to be shaken to mold him into what was needed. "My father is – He's not afraid of me. He's not afraid of anyone! He brought down the dragons! He caved in the chest of Rhaegar like it was a melon!"

"Yes, he did," Petyr nodded. "But that is not the type of fear I am referring to, your grace. Your father, the King, has indeed done great things and will no doubt be remembered. But he fears that, with the way you are growing, your grace, that you will overshadow him one day soon, and that all his accomplishments will mean nothing in the face of your own. That he will be forgotten. That is what he fears. And he is not alone in this fear your grace. Your mother fears it as well, which was why she has done nothing. And even your grandfather, the great Tywin Lannister, clearly fears what you will become as evidence by the fact that, despite Pride being his gift to you, he has done nothing in the wake of its death."

Joffrey was clearly thinking over everything Petyr was saying, which again forced Petyr to keep a tight rein on his emotions. He'd known this boy for years, so he knew exactly what he needed to say and do. "I – But, that –"

"Tell me, your grace," Petyr pressed on, not wanting the boy to think too much on it just yet. "Have you heard much of King Aenys Targaryen, son of Aegon the Conqueror?"

Joffrey blinked, clearly thinking on what he asked before shaking his head. "No."

"Not surprising, your grace. He is often left by the wayside in favor of his father who tore down dynasties and forged a new reign." Petyr explained, stressing the connection between the actions of the Conqueror and Robert, which thankfully Joffrey seemed to pick up on. "Like all dragons, Aegon was prideful. He'd done something that no one else could do, and he would not stand for anyone, not even his own son, outshining him. So, he kept his son and heir at arm's length, preventing his son's greatness from flourishing and being known across the land. And the moment Aegon passed from this life, pockets of rebellion rose up across the land. Because Aenys's greatness had been suppressed by his father and family his entire life in fear that he would outshine them all, he was unprepared to handle the situation. But eventually he did. The rebellions were crushed, and the people started to recognize the king for his greatness. Aegon may have united the realm, but it was Aenys, the son, that truly held the land together."

Joffrey seemed enraptured by his story, which was good. "And what happened to Aenys?"

Smirking, Petyr sighed dramatically. "He died. Only five years into his reign. His death was…not natural but no one could truly prove how he did. However, the last person to see to him personally was the Conqueror's widowed sister-wife, Visenya Targaryen. And now, it is widely accepted by those that study history that the Dowager Queen Visenya had the king assassinated because she feared that his deeds, his greatest, would one day soon outshine everything she, her sister and their brother-husband had accomplished. And now, poor King Aenys is little more than a short footnote in the annuals of history."

Walking up beside the boy, Petyr took a risk and set his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I tell you this story, your grace, not because I wish to cause you distress, but rather because I want you to succeed. I see greatness within you, your grace. And it would be a shame to see it get smothered just because there are those who want to be remembered over you."

It was a sign that he was getting to the boy that he didn't shake his hand off immediately. "And what do you get out of my greatness?"

'Good, he isn't a complete fool.' "Remembrance, your grace," Petyr explained, drawing a confused look from Joffrey. "I have risen as high as a man of my station can. And now I wish what all men wish, to be remembered. But I will not be remembered under your father's reign as his time of greatness has already come and gone. But you, your grace? Your greatness is only just beginning."

Joffrey stood up straighter as he smirked, the same smirk the boy always seemed to be wearing when he thought he was better than those around him, which was most of the time. "So, you wish to ride my coattails to greatness then?"

Petyr smiled and spread his hands in a shrugging motion. "That is the unfortunate limitations of a man of my station, your grace. But, unlike most, I accept the fact that I can only achieve greatness by attaching myself to a great man. And you, Prince Joffrey despite your young age, have the makings of the greatest man the Seven Kingdoms have ever seen. And my only wish is to serve a great man like yourself as an advisor."

Joffrey's chest had puffed out slightly, his back straight and his head high. "Then start now. What advice would you give your future king?"

"Patience, your grace," Petyr answered. "Right now, your father, mother, and grandfather are all on edge and watching you carefully for any sign that you might one day soon outshine them. So, I would advise patience. Let them think that you are cowed by them. And once they relax and cease watching your every move, then start building your base of power for the day your father leaves this world and you ascend to your rightful place on the Iron Throne. And, if I may be so bold, your grace…I do believe that there are a number of people that I can…discreetly introduce you to that will be more than anxious to help a great man like yourself secure your place in the annuals of history."

Joffrey's smile was so condescendingly self-assured that Petyr had to almost prevent himself physically from smacking it off the boy's face. 'The endgame, Petyr! Think only of the endgame.' "I will…heed your advice for now, Baelish," Joffrey said, making to move on, only to stop. "Continue to prove yourself with useful advice, Baelish…and I might just allow you to ride my coattails to glory and greatness."

Smiling, Petyr bowed deeply. "That is all I can hope for, your grace. Until that day, I remain your faithful servant. Should you require anything, and I mean anything, your grace…. Even if it might seem…unsightly to some. You need only to ask, and I will see that your every desire is fulfilled to the fullest."

Receiving a dismissive wave from the boy, Petyr moved off to the side and allowed the young prince to pass him by with his two guards who were now rushing to catch up with their charge. 'The board is out…and now my first piece is down.' Petyr smirked, watching Joffrey, one of the keys to his long-term goals, turn the corner and disappear. 'And one day soon…my vengeance will be at hand.'


After the battle against the splintered wildlings, things took a turn for the, quite frankly, boring for Nox as they're next task was to make the march south away from Hardhome in order to meet up with the rest of Mance Rayder's army and discuss the terms that'd been reached with the rest of his people and try and see if they could meet the quota that Ned had set on the number of people that were to be allowed south of the Wall. Normally, Nox didn't mind traveling as it gave him a chance to study new people and cultures. But this time they were traveling by foot. Without roads. And across a landscape that could make Hoth seem hospitable. The lords from the North at least seemed to acclimate to the weather and traveling conditions quickly enough, but the same could not be said of those who were not from the North.

Ned had recommended that the Lords of the south head back to the Wall on the Sea Wolf. However, none of their guests would hear about it. They were clearly anxious to show their strength not only to House Stark and the North, but also to their new allies as well. And so, despite the multitude of warnings they received from the Northern lords and the Free Folk, the members of House Tyrell, Martell, and Lannister all grabbed their warmest clothing, finalizing their decision to follow House Stark back to the Wall on foot. It was a decision that, even after a single day, Nox could tell all of them severely regretted making. Despite their bravado, after leaving the relative protection of Hardhome Oberyn and Obara had taken to donning as many furs as they could while still maintain their freedom of movement. And the Tyrells were no better, though honestly Nox was surprised that Garlan had insisted on keeping his armor on, though thankfully Garlan had been talked out of the notion of wearing his full plate armor all the way back to the Wall. The man moved slower than a slug in the suit and considering the weather the man was more than likely to die from exposure to the cold in his armor than he was from an attack. The only one from south of the Neck who seemed to be the most well adapted to the cold was Gerion Lannister, and even saying that was a stretch as he was simply wearing the least amount of furs out of the group.

The only other entertainment outside of the southerners' attempts to stay warm during their trip was provided by his Apprentice Jon and the young Free Folk woman Ygritte who had attached herself to him. The young woman was…tenacious in her pursuit of Jon. Something that seemed to both baffle and unsettle his young Apprentice as, outside of Arianne, he'd never had a woman chase after him. Of course, just about everyone seemed to be getting a good laugh out of watching Jon trying to keep the woman at arm's distance. Especially during the night when they laid their heads to rest as she had taken to sneaking between his furs while he slept, which of course resulted in Jon all but forcing Ghost to sleep next to him so that she couldn't sneak into his bed. And to Jon's utmost confusion, the ones who seemed to find the situation the funniest were the Dornish, and Prince Oberyn especially. The Prince of Dorne had been the first to find the two, pressed firmly against one another for warmth on the second day's morning after the Battle of Hardhome. Jon had scrambled to his feet, all but throwing Ygritte away from his person. But to the boy's surprise, Oberyn had merely smiled and told him that his niece would have to step up her game before leaving the two of them alone to ready themselves for the day ahead.

'Jon will have to start asserting himself soon,' he thought as his sight passed over Jon and Ygritte, who were walking close together. 'He has a tendency of drawing strong willed women to his side. And if he's to keep up with them both, then he will need to be just as strong willed.'

But there was far more to this young woman than just her strong will or tenacity. There was something about her that reminded Nox greatly of Oberyn and even Arianne. And he didn't mean her general demeaner, which almost seemed right at home amongst the Dornish. The girl had a presence about her that made Nox curious. She wasn't Force sensitive like Jon or any of his other Acolytes. But she wasn't a stranger to the Force. She was much like Oberyn in that regard, using the Force subconsciously to enhance her own natural physical abilities. A theory which he had been able to confirm after Theon, for Force only knew what reason, challenged the girl to an archery contest. Theon was a good shot there was no denying that. But Ygritte was on another level when compared to him. The ease with which she wielded her bow was astonishing. And every shot Theon made, no matter how difficult it might seem, Ygritte was able to make. Their little contest eventually came to an end when Theon failed to hit the mark he'd set, a small brand on a tree several hundred meters away from where they were standing. Ygritte had not only hit the mark, but she had done it after walking away from him with her eyes closed.

And it was that shot that cemented his thoughts on the girl and her abilities. She was using the Force subconsciously to guide her arrows. Her affinity wasn't necessarily great enough to make her an Acolyte like the others, but if she'd been born in the Empire there was no doubt in his mind that she would've undoubtedly been one of, if not the, most sought-after sharpshooter in the galaxy. The revelation about her abilities answered why she reminded him of Oberyn when he'd felt her out, but there was still the curiosity as to why she also reminded him of Arianne. It was something that he was going to have to investigate, and thankfully it appeared as he would have plenty of time to do so as Ygritte, despite Jon's rather pitiful attempts to keep her at arm's length or further, seemingly had no intention of leaving Jon's side anytime soon. 'It seems like I'm going to have to revisit my lessons on not throwing away potential assets with Jon. Especially an asset as skilled as this young woman.'

The rest of the ride and walk south he spent his time trying to learn as much as he could about the Free Folk. Mother Mole had been a wealth of information for him, and she was also an interesting individual to talk too as her precognitive ability matched that of even Jedi and Sith who considered themselves experts in the field. But unfortunately, the old woman lacked the ability to properly explain how she was able to receive her visions. To her, it was just a normal thing, like breathing. She didn't know how she did it, nor could she explain it. To her, it was simply a fact of her life that she had come to accept and incorporate into her daily life.

After several days of riding and walking, they finally reached the large Free Folk encampment and began their next task, actually convincing a group of Free Folk to take them up on the offer of shelter south of the Wall. Predictably, the initial reaction after Mance had presented the offer to those who were not at Hardhome had been poor at best, and almost violent at worst. But the protests were quickly put down by not only Mance, but also by the other chieftains who were there at Hardhome and had already agreed to the decision. It took almost a full two days, but eventually Mance was able to gather a group of nearly five thousand of his people, most of whom were younger individuals or young families, to follow them south under the leadership of Val and Karsi, the latter of whom had decided to move her entire small clan south of the Wall. During this time, the few giants, including their leader Mag, disappeared from the Free Folk encampment. And while their disappearance didn't seem to necessarily surprise the Free Folk, as the giants apparently came and when as they pleased, it was a major disappointment to Nox. The giants were a force of nature. One that he had begun formulating several plans around the moment he'd first heard of them. But for any of those plans to come to fruition, he needed them south of the Wall.

Once the Free Folk that would be traveling with them gathered their things and said their goodbyes to those they would be leaving behind, Ned turned them west heading towards the Antler River, whereupon reaching they would turn south and head directly towards Castle Black. It wasn't an ideal choice, as bringing this many Free Folk through the home of the Night's Watch was almost begging for trouble, but they really didn't have another good location to cross the Wall. Eastwatch would've been a faster choice for crossing, however Castle Black had something that Eastwatch did not. And that was a large weirwood tree on the north side of the Wall just opposite from Castle Black. And it was there that Ned planned on having the Free Folk swear their allegiance to the soon to be Lady Val and the North as a whole.

For two days, their journey passed in relative peace. That was until this morning when they drew close to a plot of land that the Free Folk had no intention of even getting close to. When Ned had asked Val why the Free Folk wanted to deviate around the land, adding perhaps half a day to their journey, Val responded by spitting on the ground. "This path will lead us close to the fiend Craster and his cursed lot," Val spat. "Best we just go around and avoid him altogether. No Free Folk will step foot near his keep."

Calling for a stop, Ned turned his attention to Val. "Who is this Craster? I've heard the name, but only in the context that he is a leader north of the Wall."

Repulsion so thick it almost made Nox gag, rolled off Val as she quickly shook her head. "That fiend ain't no chieftain. His father was a Crow who forced himself upon a spearwife and got her with child before running back across the Wall to hide." Jon and Robb both paled and looked appalled at what she was saying. "He wasn't the first to be born like that, nor will he be the last as long as the Crows still exist. He may have once been able to overcome his birth, but Craster never cared for the laws of the gods. He steals women, gets them with child and then steals the child after she bleeds for the first time. He's cursed by the gods…and none amongst the Free Folk will have anything to do with him or his ilk."

"He – He takes his…his daughters?" Jon asked. Both he and Robb looked completely appalled by the notion and were looking almost physically ill when Val nodded. "Why – Why hasn't the Watch done anything about him?"

One of Val's brows rose as she regarded his young Apprentice. "And who do you believe it is that gives Craster aid boy? Who do you think trades with him? Gives him food and weapons in exchange for coin or information? No. The Crows won't do anything about him because they be friends with the fiend."

He could tell without even having to do a pass over the boys that Robb, Jon, and even Theon were all about two seconds away from bringing Northern justice down on the man's head. And in truth, Nox wasn't very far behind them. There was a lot of darkness and 'evil' acts that Nox was willing to put up with. But this Craster, if what Val was telling them was true and he had no reason to believe that she was lying, he was seriously edging close to the line that would force Nox to take action. Ned, however, was quick to put an end to any such thoughts from the boys. "We will be making camp here," the Lord of Winterfell said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And you boys, nor anyone else here under my command, will take one step towards this Craster. Is that clear?"

None of the boys seemed pleased, but they all nodded their consent under the hard look from Lord Stark. After the boys had moved away to help setting up the camp, Ned then turned towards him. "Nox?"

"I won't start anything," Nox answered, waving off the question. "But that doesn't mean something else won't start something."

"What do you mean?" Ned asked.

He didn't answer immediately, preferring instead to let his senses flow out from him trying to sense what was out there. But the land proved to still be just as inhospitable to him as it'd been ever since they'd set foot in Hardhome. The thick sludge that coated his vision, bogged down the Force and prevented him from getting a sense of what was out there. But while he couldn't truly see, or feel, beyond the confines of the large group they were escorting towards the Wall, he could sense something out there. Something that was watching them. Something that had been with them ever since he'd stretched his powers at Hardhome. But the presence was slippery. A speck of dust in the corner of one's eye that never seemed to go away. It was…irritating, to say the least. Whoever, or whatever, was watching their progress was extremely skilled, almost annoyingly so. And it was utilizing the darkness that blanketed the Force to hide itself and its movements well.

"I don't know," Nox answered honestly.

The simple statement took his friend back. "I don't know whether that's bad or terrifying."

Shrugging Nox made to go and set up his own tent for the night. "We'll find out soon enough, my friend. Though, for the sake of caution…I would highly suggest you sleep with your hand on Ice tonight. I have a feeling you're going to need it."


Rolling over in his small tent, Garlan Tyrell groaned as he found yet another root, or maybe a rock this time, stabbing him in the back. Sighing, he resolved himself to yet another night without sleep. He wasn't a stranger to traveling long distances or having to make camp on the side of the road. But in those instances, he had always been traveling with at least a dozen others, along with several beasts of burden to carry their supplies. So, while he would frequently make camp and sleep in a tent, it was always within a tent that he could stand up in along with a cot that, while not as comfortable as a feathered bed, was certainly better than sleeping on the ground. But that was neither here nor there. They had no beasts of burden or extra horses to carry such 'frivolous' supplies, as Karsi called them. Anything he wanted to bring, he had to carry himself. Which was why he was currently laying down in a tent that just barely fit him, and not even tall enough that he could sit up in without hitting his head on the top.

'At least I'm not cold, though,' he thought with a slight grin as he felt the warmth, and reason why he had even less room in the tent, move against him.

The wild – Free Folk woman—Karsi had been a frequent guest of his tent ever since the Battle of Hardhome and the subsequent celebration that night, which resulted in him somehow finding his way into her bed, or furs as the Free Folk preferred to call it. Being with her had been…strangely refreshing. She was perhaps the only woman he'd met so far that saw him first instead of just his family name. To her, the fact that he was Tyrell meant little more than horse shit. And it was the same with her daughters, both of whom were an absolute delight. And not to mention her skills in bed, by the Seven, the woman was just about enough to make him foreswear his House and live with her and her two young girls.

'But I cannot forsake my family so easily,' he thought morosely. 'The curse of nobility they call it. And they are right to do so. We have privilege that most can only dream of. But, at the same time, we are cursed so that we can rarely follow what our hearts want. And Karsi won't go further south than the Neck. She's already told me as such. She's not some fancy southern lady. She's a chieftain. A spearwife. We both have responsibilities to our people.'

Knowing that sleeping would elude him once again, Garlan carefully disentangled himself from Karsi and her daughters, making sure not to wake any of them as he crawled his way out of the tent, grabbing his sword as he did so. Outside of the confines of the tent, Garlan immediately regretted his decision to leave Karsi's warmth as the cold air pierced right through his fur and leathers as if they were little more than threadbare linens. 'By the gods…if nothing else, my time north of the Wall has given me a new appreciation for the men of the Night's Watch and the Free Folk who make their home in this land.'

Knowing that standing still would only make the cold worse, Garlan gripped his sword hilt tightly as he made his way towards the edges of the camp, being careful to avoid the Free Folk who did not have a tent and were instead covered head to toe in furs and leathers and pressed against one another for warmth. Reaching the point where he knew the watchmen would be waiting, Garlan was surprised to find Oberyn sitting on a fallen tree, his valyrian steel spear resting against his shoulder as the Prince of Dorne stared out into the darkened wood surrounding them.

"Oberyn," he called out, drawing the attention of the man. "I didn't think this was your shift to take watch."

"It isn't," Oberyn answered with a shrug. "But the cold has decided that I shall not find rest tonight. And what of you? Surely, Karsi is more than enough to keep you warm throughout the night."

Shaking his head, Garlan brushed the snow off the log next to Oberyn before taking the spot. "I'm a knight and a gentleman, Oberyn. I don't discuss such activities."

"Oh, come now," Oberyn smirked. "What's the point of getting a Free Folk chieftain into your bed if you won't even brag about it afterwards? She's certainly not shy about speaking of what happens between you two. I think there are at least five other spearwives who are looking to see if you'll steal them after Karsi's tales of your prowess beneath her furs."

"And what of you, Oberyn?" Garlan asked quickly, trying desperately to change the subject. "Why have you not 'stolen' a spearwife? I know you've been approached by more than one woman ever since Hardhome."

"Who says I haven't already?" Oberyn asked, grinning like a cat who caught a mouse. "As you no doubt know, these women are veracious when they find something they want. And they're not shy to express their desires and wants. They're much like the Dornish in that manner. But I have not partaken myself just yet."

"Really?" Garlan gaped, not entirely sure he believed the Prince of Dorne or not.

Chuckling, Oberyn stood from the log and brushed the light snow off his fur before twisting his back. "Contrary to what the dowager lady of House Tyrell believes, I do not go around fucking everything that is moving and has an orifice. I do have some measure of self-control when it comes to the pleasures of the flesh. And while the thought of stealing one, or more, of these spearwives is appealing, I will not do so until I can partake in them with my paramour."

"The famous Red Viper of Dorne showing restraint…Seven…now I have officially seen and heard everything," Garlan laughed good naturedly, though his mirth slowly faded as he noticed that only was Oberyn not laughing along with him, but the Red Viper was staring intently off into the distance. "You're tempted, aren't you?"

"Are you not?" Oberyn asked back, shooting Garlan a pointed look. "Far be it from me to judge a man or woman by their particular tastes. But there are some tastes that go beyond the line…and if what Lady Val and the other Free Folk have told us is true, then this Craster is so far beyond the line he wouldn't even know how to find it again."

"I am of a similar mind," Garlan nodded, his fist tightening on his hilt. "My vows as a knight demand that I take this fiend's head immediately for the good of the people. But at the same time…if this Craster is indeed an ally to the Watch…Then it is understandable why Lord Stark does not wish to act. Bringing this many through the Wall is without a doubt going to cause problems throughout the Black Brothers, and it's best if he doesn't do anything else to worsen that relationship."

Oberyn nodded before shifting his stance and squinting his eyes off into the distance. "Well…isn't this interesting."

Blinking, Garlan turned int the direction Oberyn was facing. At first, he didn't see anything. But just as he was about to turn back around and ask what Oberyn saw, he noticed it. A shifting in the shadows that was moving away from the camp. "Is that…Nox?"

"Yes, it is," Oberyn grinned, hefting his spear so that it was resting across his shoulder. "If there is one thing I've learned during my time with the man, if you want to be entertained, stay by his side at all times. And considering he's all but sneaking away from the camp and heading west… Well, this is no doubt going to be entertaining. So, you coming as well?"

Looking over his shoulder, Garlan glanced at the tent he was sharing with Karsi and her daughters. "Might as well," Garlan nodded. "Not like I'm going to be getting much sleep in this cold…even with a good woman's warmth at my side."

"I'll make a Dornishman out of you yet, Ser Garlan the Gallant," Oberyn chuckled before heading off after Nox. "We'll have to be quick. Nox is far faster than he appears to be. Especially in the dark."

The Prince of Dorne had not been lying. Nox moved like a ghost, silent and fast. It was all the two of them could do to even keep him within eyesight through the thick forest as they trudged through the ankle deep, and sometimes knee deep, snow covering the ground. The two had even tried calling out to the sorcerer after they'd left the camp, but he'd made no sign of having heard them as he just kept on moving deeper and deeper into the woods. But then, just as Garlan was sure that they were managing to catch up to the sorcerer, he simply disappeared. His tracks in the snow disappearing along with his person.

"Well…shit," Oberyn remarked eloquently as they reached the spot where Nox's tracks simply vanished.

"Yeah," Garlan nodded as he looked around, squinting into the darkness to try and find any sign of the sorcerer. "How in the Seven hells did he just…disappear like that? Did he know we were following him?"

"I don't know," Oberyn answered, clearly unhappy at having lost the sorcerer. "One thing I know about Nox, though, is that if he doesn't want to be found, he won't be. Come, let's get back to the camp and find some…Wait… Do you hear that?"

Frowning, Garlan turned in the direction Oberyn was facing and strained his hearing, trying to hear what it was the Red Viper heard. It was faint, and the wind made it incredibly difficult. But there was no mistaking the shrill crying coming from the darkness ahead of them. "By the gods…" Garlan breathed as he recognized the noise for what it was. "Is that…Is that a child?"

Oberyn didn't answer as he took off, leaving Garlan rushing to keep pace with him. The further they went, the louder and louder the crying of the child became. 'It's impossible that Lord Nox hasn't heard this,' he thought as the trees started to clear, revealing a clearing with a stump in the center. 'But then…why isn't he here? Doesn't he care about a child an… Wait…Why don't I – I don't see anyone. But the crying is definitely coming from that stump up ahead.'

"Alright…This has officially become strange," Garlan noted as he and Oberyn began to slowly make their way through the small clearing towards the stump in the center.

Oberyn didn't say anything as he kept his spear pointed ahead of him, both hands spaced equally across the shaft and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Drawing his own sword, Garlan kept one eye on the stump and another on the woods around them as they drew closer and closer to the source of the crying. And just as he thought, and feared, laying in the center of the stump wrapped in furs was a child. A newborn child. "By the gods," he breathed, sheathing his sword as he immediately reached out to pick up the child.

"A boy," Oberyn said after giving the child in Garlan's arm's a single glance.

Frowning, Garlan shifted his hold on the child so that Oberyn could take him. " How do you know?"

Oberyn merely gave him a pointed look as he took the boy from him. "I have eight daughters. Trust me, I would know a newborn girl the moment I laid eyes on her. And this one here is no girl, therefor that leaves only one option left."

Garlan conceded the point. "Boy or girl aside…what kind of fiend leaves a child out in the wild like this?"

"I think we both know the answer to that question," Oberyn stated, smiling down at the child, and rocking him slightly to calm it down and warm him. "The better question is not whom, but rather why?"

The question made Garlan think. Why would one leave a child out in the middle of the woods like this? To avoid being a kinslayer by having the child be killed by the elements instead of by one's own hand? Possibly. But why here? Why place it on this stump in the middle of a small clearing when all one had to do to achieve such a death would be to place the babe behind the nearest tree and leave? "We'll bring the child back to camp and… What the…? Did – Did it just get colder?"

Beside him, Oberyn held the child closer to his chest, even going as far as using what furs he could to help shield the child from the cold that'd settled over them. But it was more than just the sudden cold. There was a tightness in Garlan's chest. One he recognized, yet one he had not felt for sometime. Fear. Dread. Drawing his sword clear of its sheath once again, Garlan turned his attention to the woods. Within a single pass he saw it. Something moving between the trees.

"Sorcerer!" he called out as he saw the shape move once more, this time far closer to the edge of the tree line. "Sorcerer! Announce yourself if that's you!"

The shadow moved again, this time right at the edge of the tree line. He could just barely make out the figure as belonging to that of a man, and a skinny one at that. But with the only light being that of the moon, it was hard to make out anything else while it stayed in the shadows. "Show yourself!" he shouted, pointing his sword towards the figure, and positioning himself so that he stood between Oberyn and the whatever was out there.

As the figure moved out from the shadows and into the moonlight, Garlan felt his grip on his sword slacken as fear, fear unlike any he had ever experienced, race through him like a rush of water breaking free from a dam. The man, if it could even be called that, was…withered. Withered like a corpse that'd been left to rot in the sun for days on end. Its skin was also a pale white that almost matched the snow, and the only clothes it had on were a pair of tattered pants and a tattered fur coat, yet it seemed completely unaffected by the cold surrounding them all. But the one thing that he noticed most of all about the figure was its eyes. They were bluer than any eyes than he had ever seen before. Blue almost to the point where they were glowing in the shadows.

"Seven protect me," Garlan muttered as it took everything in his power to keep his sword steady and not run as the creature stepped further out from the tree line towards them.

"I don't think the Seven can hear you right now," Oberyn said, coming up beside him with his spear in one hand and the child in the other.

Swallowing, Garlan kept a steady eye on the creature as it came to within a dozen paces of them before stopping, seemingly for no reason at all. "N–Name yourself, creature!" he shouted.

The creature, for he couldn't bring himself to call what was before them a man, just stared silently at them. Its unnatural blue eyes moving first to Garlan, then to Oberyn, before settling on the child and staying there. "I think we now know 'why' the child was left out here," Oberyn commented, anger lacing through each word he spoke. "And it doesn't look like it's in the mood for answering any of your questions, Garlan…and I'm not even sure it's even capable of answering in the first place."

The creature raised its hands and brought them together at chest height. Slowly, the creature's hands spread apart, a stake of ice forming between its hands. Its left hand dropped after it past its shoulder width, leaving the icicle in its right hand. All the while, its gaze never left the child now hidden beneath Oberyn's fur coat. 'Is that…supposed to be a sword? Seems like any sort of negotiation is out of the question. Guess there's only one thing left to do.' "Oberyn. Get the child out of here. Find Nox wherever he is…or get to the camp. I'll hold this…thing off until you get back with help."

"You do know what this thing is, don't you?" Oberyn asked, and while Garlan couldn't see behind him, he could tell from the noise that Oberyn was setting the child back down on the stump they'd found it on. "That's most certainly one of Nox's Others…a White Walker. Do you really think you can take it on alone? Or that I would even let you for that matter?"

"Suit yourself," Garlan said, fighting down the fear that'd been swelling within him, that he was now positive was somehow being caused by this creature before them. "Just don't get in my way."

"Funny," Oberyn remarked, no doubt smirking as the man's spear whistled through the air as he spun it in tight circles around his body. "I was just about to say the same to you."

Shifting his feet forward, Garlan carefully and slowly approached the creature of legend with his sword held in a mid-guard while Oberyn did the same. The creature didn't move, didn't raise its weapon into a guard. It just stood there, watching the two of them approach with those unnerving blue eyes as if they were not even worth its time to consider. The instant Garlan was close enough he lunged, his thrust aimed directly at the base of the creature's throat at the top of its chest. The creature didn't dodge. It didn't block. Garlan's aim struck true as the tip of his sword found its mark…and did absolutely nothing besides vibrate in Garlan's hand so violently that he could've sworn he'd struck a hunk of stone rather than a man. The creature just stood there, Garlan's sword pressed firmly against his throat like it was nothing. Then it smirked. A sickly, twisted sight that sent a new wave of fear through Garlan.

What happened next passed in a blur. The creature moved its arm, a flash of blue-ice and his sword was knocked away with such force that it was all Garlan could do to even hold onto the hilt! Then pain blossomed in his chest as he suddenly found himself feeling weightless, like he was swimming in the ocean. The sensation ended as his back impacted the ground and he found himself rolling through the snow. Managing to stop himself, Garlan looked up, his chest aching like a blacksmith had just taken his heaviest hammer to his chest. 'What the–?! How far did it–?! Oh shit!'

In the time it'd taken him to right himself, the creature had crossed the distance between them, its sword raised above its head ready to end him. Bringing his sword up, Garlan caught the blade made of ice against his own, the shock of the impact making his arms shake. 'This is impossible!' Garlan wanted to scream as he strained against the ice-blade. 'The creature's only using one hand!'

The creature's smirk ended as it again defied all laws of sense as it moved like water, dodging the spear thrust that should've taken it in the back of the head. Thankful for the reprieve, Garlan clutched at his aching chest with his left hand as he watched Oberyn dance around the snow, his spear moving like a blur. But despite the speed and skill of the Red Viper of Dorne, the creature was just simply faster as it dodged or swatted away every attack Oberyn sent its way. 'I need to help him!' Garlan groaned, fighting against the pain as he forced himself to his feet. Looking down at his sword, he frowned as he noticed what looked like…ice on his blade. Bringing his gloved hand towards the ice, he touched the surface of his blade and frowned. 'It's cold. How…How could the steel be so cold? I – No! Stop thinking about it! Oberyn needs my help!'

Forcing himself to move, Garlan sprinted across the clearing while the creature's back was turned towards him. Normally his honor as a knight would be disgusted at the thought of attacking anyone while their back was turned. But this was not a normal situation. Not by a long shot. A fact which was proven as the creature daftly knocked Oberyn aside and turned just as Garlan's blade was about to kiss its flesh. Quicker than his eye could follow, the creature lashed out with his hand and – and caught his sword with its bare hand. He tried to pull on it, but the creature was impossibly strong as it just stood there, holding his sword in its hand, and not moving. Then, to Garlan's horror, the cold returned. And starting at where the creature had a hold of his sword, the blade started turning ice white. Within two blinks of an eye, the entirety of his sword blade was white, like it'd been frozen. There was a swoosh of air as the creature brought its ice-sword up…and shattered Garlan's sword with a single stroke.

The sudden breaking of his blade threw Garlan even further off than he already was. It was only because of sheer luck that he was able to duck away from the creature's follow up strike that nearly took his head. 'It…It froze and broke my sword…how? This is the best steel coin can by! Forged by Tohbo Mot himself! How! How can this be happening!'

Now without a blade, it was all Garlan could do to avoid the seemingly endless onslaught of slashes the creature was sending his way. He was so focused on his opponent that he began neglecting his surroundings, and that proved to be his downfall as his heel caught on a root and tripped him. Now on the ground and without a weapon, Garlan was helpless to do anything but watch as the creature, its smirk still in place, brought its blade up to run him through. 'Seven…Is this…Is this where it ends? Grandmother…brothers…sister…Karsi…I–'

A flash in the moonlight brought his salvation as Oberyn suddenly appeared, his spear lashing out like a snake and catching the creature across the face. The creature screamed, an unholy sound of pure agony as it retreated away from Garlan and Oberyn, the latter of whom had placed himself in the path of the creature with his spear at the ready. "You still alive, Garlan?"

"Seven only know how," Garlan muttered, his heart hammering in his chest as he got to his feet. Frowning, he stared down at the useless hilt in his hands before looking at Oberyn's spear, which appeared none the worse for wear despite having impacted both the creature and its sword far more frequently than his sword had. As he took the brief respite to think about it with the creature still thrashing about in pain while it clutched at its face, the creature hadn't bothered to dodge Garlan at all, but had been doing everything it could to avoid Oberyn's spear. And even now, he could see those unnatural blue eyes glaring hatefully at the spear. "What's with your spear?"

"Valyrian steel," Oberyn answered out of the corner of his mouth. "Makes sense…I guess. Valyrians were masters of fire magic…and this creature seems to be one with the cold. Either way, you're out of the fight Garlan. Stay back and—"

The creature threw its head back and let out an ungodly scream. A scream so foul that Garlan instinctively fell to his knees and brought his hands to his ears to protect them. Pain and fear raced through him as he tried to fight against the noise ringing through his head. But fighting against the fear and pain was like trying to swim against the current of the Trident while wearing full plate armor. Beside him, Oberyn had also fallen to his knees, his hands pressed against his ears and clearly in the same type of pain as he.

But then, without warning, the pain and fear stopped. The scream was still ongoing and ungodly but the pain and fear it brought was…simply gone without a trace. The creature seemed to realize that whatever it'd been doing was no longer working as it ceased its scream and suddenly turned its back on the two of them. Looking past the creature, Garlan let out a sigh of relief and a quick prayer of thanks to the Seven. Standing just before the tree line of the clearing, his black cloak billowing behind him and blood-red blade drawn was the sorcerer himself.

"A neat trick…white walker, using a Force Scream to instill fear and pain. But it was sloppy, untrained, and weak," the sorcerer stated, walking out into the clearing, cloth covered face focused on the creature. "Oberyn, Garlan. You two alright?"

"A few cracked bones," Oberyn answered loudly. His spear lowered as he stepped back so that he was standing alongside Garlan. "And I don't think either of us will be hearing well for a few days. But was it really necessary for you to just sit back and watch this thing kick our asses and nearly kill us before you stepped in?"

Blinking, Garlan rubbed at his ears. He…He couldn't have heard that right. The sorcerer was just…sitting back and watching them fight against this creature? And–And doing nothing?!

"Neither of you were ever in mortal danger," Nox replied dismissively as the creature snarled at him. "Besides, now I have a gauge of this creature's capabilities. And you two now have a better understanding of just what we are facing."

"Oh…fuck you Nox," Oberyn scoffed. "I understand why…but still…fuck you!"

Even from across the small clearing, he could see the sorcerer chuckle. How in the Seven hells could the man laugh in this situation? "I think you'd enjoy that far too much, Oberyn. Now then…time for your little secret to be out in the open, white walker."

The creature snarled and screamed, the same type of scream that'd let loose before that sent Garlan and Oberyn to their knees. But unlike before, there was no pain. No fear. It was just…noise. Then, the sorcerer moved. There was no logical explanation behind his movement. One moment, he was standing a dozen paces away from the creature. The next, he was past it with the creature hollering in agony and clutching at its arm. Or at least the stump where its arm had once been attached. Nox then turned and swiped low, removing both creature's legs, felling it as easily as if he were felling a tree. 'By the gods,' Garlan marveled as he watched just how effortlessly Nox had taken down a creature that had been so easily handling both himself and Oberyn. 'I knew that Nox was powerful…and skilled with a blade. I mean I'd heard the tales…but still…by the gods.'

Standing above the creature, Nox leveled his glowing red sword at the creature's face. "Here I was thinking that I was going to have to trudge across the entirety of the land north of the Wall in order to find one of you in order to prove your existence to the people south of the Wall. But it appears that the Force has favored me today by delivering one of you right into my lap."

Holding onto his chest and fighting against the pain that raced through him with each step he took, Garlan made his way up beside Nox with Oberyn. The unnatural blue eyes of the creature glared hatefully at all three of them. A low sound came from within its throat, and Garlan flinched, preparing for another scream. Except it wasn't a scream. It was something that was arguably more terrifying. The creature was…was laughing at them. Glancing towards the other two men, he could see that Oberyn was unnerved by the sound. And Nox, even though it was hard to tell what he was thinking with that cloth covering most of his face, seemed put off as well.

"And what is so amusing, walker?" the sorcerer asked.

Garlan had no idea what happened next. One moment the creature was laying legless and without an arm on the ground, and the next some sort of blue glowing symbol appeared on its chest. And the next moment the creature froze like a block of ice before shattering into thousands of pieces, leaving the three of them staring dumbly at the spot where it once was.

"Well… That was…unexpected," Oberyn said, catching Garlan's eye before motioning him to take a step back.

Garlan made to move back, but before he could he was hit with another wave of cold. And fear. It was…similar to what he felt when facing against that creature. But this time it was…different. The cold and fear were accompanied by a–a darkness. That was the only word he could use to describe it. A darkness so thick and deep that it felt like no light, not even the light of the Seven, could pierce through its depths.

"AAAAHHHHH! FUCK!"

Garlan couldn't help but jump clear off the ground as he heard the sorcerer's anger fueled scream. The sorcerer threw his arms out as if he were swinging at some invisible object around him, and in response five trees nearby were reduced to splinters as they shattered. Not snapped or toppled. Shattered in a flurry of splinters. 'By the gods!' Garlan thought, his heart thundering in his chest as the fear and darkness pressed down on him while he watched the sorcerer reduce trees wider than men to splinters with mere waves of his hand.

Then, as quick as the fear and darkness came, so too did they disappear. And with their disappearance, so too did Nox's raging. "Oberyn," Nox called out, his voice surprisingly calm considering the rage he'd just displayed.

"Nox?" While he looked calm on the outside, Garlan could hear the nervousness in the voice of the Prince of Dorne, even with just a single word.

"Our absence did not go unnoticed. Stark and the others will be here soon." Nox stated, turning on his heel and facing west. "Wait here for them with the child and explain what happened."

"And where will you be going?" Oberyn asked. His voice sounding slightly surer of itself as Nox began making his way west.

"To get answers," Nox answered simply before disappearing into the trees.

As soon as he was gone from his sight, Garlan felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. "Gods," he muttered, turning around, and limping towards where they had left the child on the stump. "Have you ever seen the sorcerer so…?"

"Angry? No." Oberyn replied, shaking his head as they reached the stump and spotted the child, still wrapped in furs and mercifully asleep. "I don't even know if I could consider that anger. More like…frustration. And if that's the case, I can only imagine what he was like after the attempted assassination of his wife and the Starks at his wedding feast."

The thought made Garlan shutter. If that, that feeling was only the sorcerer being frustrated… Then he never wanted to be around the man when he was angry. Picking up the child, he grinned slightly as a slight bit of joy went through him as he watched the child shift and get comfortable. "Where do you think he's going?" he asked, turning around and sitting down on the stump.

"Where do you think?" Oberyn asked, using his spear as a crutch to help lower himself so he too could sit down next to Garlan. "There's only one other settlement out here. From the stories we've heard of the man, it wouldn't surprise me to learn that he was the one who left the child out here for those…things. While I'd love to see Nox's brand of justice…I doubt either of us are in any condition to keep up with him. And besides…it looks like our presence was noted far sooner than we thought."

True to his word, Garlan began seeing torches dancing between the darkened trees of the forest. "Lord Garlan! Prince Oberyn! Nox!"

"Over here, Lord Stark!" Garlan yelled back, an act he instantly regretted as his ribs gave him a painful reminder that they were still broken.

The first face he could make out was Lord Stark, the older man running at a pace that almost seemed to defy his age. Behind him, almost right on his heels were his two sons, along with Val and, to his dismay, Karsi. It wasn't that he was upset to see her, far from it. But from the look on her face, he knew that he was not going to be having an easy time with her. His brother was only half a pace behind the others, his face set with worry.

"What happened here?" Lord Stark demanded, his gaze passing over the path of destruction the sorcerer had left in his wake.

"That happened," Garlan replied, pointing towards the frozen pile of bones and flesh on the ground.

Cautiously, Val approached the pile, using the tip of her spear to shift through the frozen remains. "What–? By the gods…Was this…?"

"It was, indeed, my fine lady," Oberyn answered, rising to his feet with only a slight groan. "One of your 'white walkers'."

Val immediately jumped back, her legs bent and spear at the ready as if she were afraid the shattered ice would reform itself and attack her. And she wasn't the only one. Karsi, and the other few Free Folk that'd followed Stark out from the camp, reacted similarly while those from south of the Wall just stared in shock.

"A white walker?" Lord Umber muttered, walking up to where the pile of ice was and staring down at it. "Are…? This… Fuck."

Garlan hadn't known the boisterous Lord Umber for long, but his reputation proceeded him. And the fact that he was now struck speechless spoke on the seriousness of the situation. "It–It was a white walker," Garlan nodded, words which he never, not even in his wildest of dreams, thought he would be uttering. Getting to his feet, he hefted the small child in his arms, making the child cry slightly at being disturbed. "It came for this one. Oberyn and I fought against it but…fuck. If it wasn't for the sorcerer, we would both be dead. It shattered my sword like it was nothing."

"A child?" Lord Stark questioned, stepping close and peering down at the quickly calming child. "Where did it come from?"

"Where do you think, Stark?" Oberyn asked with a raised brow. "Outside of our Free Folk friends here, there is only one other settlement that is known to be in the area. A settlement that is very well known by both the Night's Watch and the Free Folk."

Stark quickly put it together as recognition dawned in his eyes. "Where is Nox?"

"Getting answers. And knowing our friend, delivering his own brand of justice," Oberyn answered.

Garlan shivered as he felt…cold. The same type of cold that he felt around Nox and the white walker, only this time it was…weaker. Not as heavy and dark, but certainly present. "Are you two capable of following us to Craster's Keep?" Lord Stark asked, the cold and darkness not receding in the least.

"To see what Nox is going to do to that fool…? Right now, I'd be willing to run from the Wall to Dorne to see it," Oberyn nodded. Garlan didn't answer with words, he merely nodded, his own desire to seeing justice done rushing through him.

"Then let's move," Lord Stark commanded. "To Craster's Keep!"

The pace Stark set wasn't a run, but it certainly wasn't a leisurely stroll either. The man's long legs made it easy for him to traverse the ankle, and sometimes knee deep, snow as if he were just walking through a field of wheat. He also, somehow, seemed to know exactly where he was going, as once he set them on a path, he did not veer from it at all as they made their way through the woods. He knew that they were close to the keep when he heard a scream of agony pierce through the still night. Moving faster, they quickly came upon an earthen dike that'd been raised with a single gate that look as if it'd been torn to shreds by a pack of wild animals. The actual 'keep' itself was just a single building sitting atop a hill, but that was not what immediately drew Garlan's attention as soon as they passed the gates. No, his attention was immediately drawn to the dozen or so women and girls that were holding onto one another outside the building, and an old man that was screaming and crawling through the mud and snow. Standing above the man looking like the Stranger himself was Nox, lightning dancing across his fingers as he stalked after the crawling man.

Turning over, the old man held up his hands in a pleading manner as Nox descended upon him. "I – I swear I don – ahh!" Lightning arched off of Nox's hand, cutting through the air like a sword and striking the old man. Garlan didn't even know it was possible for a man to make such a noise as the old man screamed in agony as his back arched off the ground.

"Nox!" Stark's voice boomed across the keep, bringing an immediate end to the torrent of lightning that was flying from Nox's fingertips.

"Stark," Nox responded, his voice completely flat. "You're just in time. This pathetic piece of shit here was just about to tell me why he has been leaving his male children out in the middle of the forest for the white walkers to claim as their own."

"My son!"

Garlan blinked as one of the girls from the huddle of women broke free from the others and rushed towards him. She was…young. Impossibly young. Perhaps barely a year or so older than his own sister! Yet this girl…this child…was claiming the child in his arms as her own? The girl rushed past Nox and the whimpering Craster before coming to a stop before him, her eyes fixated only on the small bundle in his arms.

"Please," the girl pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "Please…I–I tried to hide him, but–but me father…My son's father…He found him. I tried to stay awake and keep him away – but–but he took him from me and–and please…please…give him back."

The girl had tears running down her face freely by the time she finished. Part of Garlan didn't want to give the child back. But he couldn't deny the girl her child. So, albeit with great reluctance, he handed the small newborn boy back over to his mother. The girl instantly started crying more, thanking him again and again as she cooed at the small child in her arms while rocking him back and forth.

"What's your name, girl?" he asked, as he watched the girl cuddle her child.

The young girl flinched and kept her eyes downcast. "Gilly, mi'lord."

Nodding, he tried keeping his voice as warm as possible. "He may be a babe, but he's a strong lad. He'll be a force to be reckoned with when he comes of age. I'm sure of it."

Turning his attention away from the girl, he focused back in on Craster, who was now staring up fearfully at both Nox and Lord Stark, who were both looming over him. The dark cold was back, stronger than ever. Even the wolves of the Starks were snarling and snapping at the old man as if they wanted to tear him limb from limb. "Craster," Ned's voice was pure iron and ice…and it was a tone that Garlan never wanted directed towards him. "You have one chance before I leave you at the mercy of Lord Nox. What connection do you have with the white walkers? And why have you been sacrificing your children to them?"

Garlan, along with everyone else, stared silently at the whimpering man on the ground as they waited for his answer. But as time dragged on, the only thing that left his mouth was whimpering. Whimpering that began to pick up pace and soon turned into laughter. "You–You think you stand a chance against them?!" Craster yelled, his maniacal laughter filling the air. "I know! I know the truth! They are the old gods of the north! The gods of the First Men! I have not sacrificed my sons to them! I have given them my sons so that they too may become gods! And when my time comes! I shall stand at the right hand of the gods as they bring winter to all the land!"

"…You honestly believe that," was Lord Stark's response to the outburst before he turned his back on the man and began to walk away. "Nox. He is yours to deal with as you wish. Make sure he understands the full gravity of his delusions."

Garlan wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what Lord Stark meant by that, but he was sure that he was about to find out as the sorcerer stood over Craster, his hand outstretched and lightning dancing between his fingers. Craster tried to put on a brave front, but everyone could see the old man was shaking in fear. And by the smell… Well, it wasn't just his shaking that gave away his fear. "The gods – and my sons! Will avenge me!" Craster yelled out. "They will drag you to the hells and ensure your suffering is a thing of legend! And I will not betray them! So, you might as well end me now, sorcerer! And maybe they will take mercy on you when they come!"

"The gods? Your sons?" Nox shook his head as he squatted down next to the man. "They are mere worms masquerading as dragons. The one sent to collect the child died with hardly any effort on my part. And as for killing you…no. That would be far too quick. You and I are going to be spending some quality time together before I let you die. And I can guarantee you, within minutes you will be telling me everything you know about the white walkers and their ilk. So…shall we begin? You all may want to take the younger ones somewhere sheltered. What I'm about to do to this sack of shit is not something that should be witnessed by children."

Craster's shaking, which had increased with each word Nox spoke, reached a feverous pitch as Nox held his hand above the man. But before Nox could even start, Craster let out another blood curdling scream of agony. It was brief, and if he hadn't been so focused on the man he would've missed it, but Garlan could've sworn he saw something on the man's chest glow blue under his shirt. And then – and then it was just like with the white walker in the forest. His entire body froze solid in an instant before fracturing and breaking into dozens of pieces.

The entirety of the keep went silent as everyone stared at what used to be Craster. A low rumbling started coming from Nox's chest, and Garlan began bracing himself for the inevitable destruction that he was sure was about to come. Only…it didn't. Instead of lashing out in anger as he expected, Nox threw his head back and laughed. In a way, the man's laughter was far more frightening than his anger.

"Something…amusing about this, Nox?" Lord Stark asked.

"In a twisted sort of way, yes." Nox replied, his laughter dying down as he purposefully turned his back on the pile of flesh and ice. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave the rest of this to you. This night has given me much to think on…and I'd rather get started immediately."

No one made to get in the sorcerer's way as he swept out from the keep, his overcoat billowing behind him in the wind as he left them all to deal with the women still alive in the keep. Lord Stark did not necessarily look pleased, but he turned towards the women that were still huddled together, the only one not with the others was the young girl that'd come and grabbed her baby from Garlan. "Who speaks for you?"

An old woman, as old as Craster, shakily rose to her feet. "I – I do…mi'lord. I be Ferny."

Stark walked up to the woman, and Garlan found himself grateful that he was not on the receiving end of the look from the Warden of the North. Garlan, having been born and raised in a noble family, knew well the importance of one's presence. His father, while he loved him dearly, could command a room just by entering, but he was not the best at it. That honor, at least in the Reach, belonged to Lord Tarly. But Lord Stark… Just being in his mere presence at this moment unnerved him in a manner he had never experienced before. It was almost like…he wanted to tell Lord Stark whatever the man wanted to know. And he wasn't even the object of his attention!

"I will give you one chance, woman," Lord Stark said flatly, his voice once again pure ice and iron. "Did you—Did any of you—know what Craster was up to with the children?"

The woman hesitated and began shaking as she met Lord Stark's eyes. "No…Not–Not entirely, mi'lord," the woman stuttered, unable to keep eye contact with Lord Stark. "Craster, he…if we give birth to a girl, he keeps em. A boy he – he would bring them out to da woods an–and we wouldn't see em again. We–We never thought he was–was given 'em to…to them."

Lord Stark's gaze hardened even further. "Regardless of whether you knew what he was doing to the boys, the fact remains, by your own admission, that you at least suspected that he was killing any boy that was born. Yet you did nothing."

"And what could we do, mi'lord?!" the woman shouted, or at least tried to as her voice cracked, and she was unable to stand up to Lord Stark for long before cowering in on herself. "Craster, he–he was–"

"One man," Lord Stark countered. "One man. And I count nineteen of you. Granted, some of you are mere girls, but them aside, there were still more than enough of you to stop this from happening. Yet you did not."

"Ye would 'ave us be kinslayer, kneeler?" another of the elder women shouted.

"No," Stark replied. "But there are options beyond kinslaying that you could've resorted too. Yet you chose not to. Because of your inactions, your daughters here were forced to endure that man. You had to watch as he would take your sons away as offerings to the white walkers. Their fates are as much on your hands as they are on Craster's."

The women were struck silent as the weight of Lord Stark's words settled on their shoulders. "Wha–What happens to us now…Lord Stark?" the eldest woman asked tentatively, clearly afraid of the answer.

"Now?" Lord Stark responded. "Now you live your lives as you deem fit. Live with the fact that your inactions are what led to the deaths of your sons and the sufferings of your daughters."

"Wait!" the old woman near shouted as Lord Stark began turning his back on her. "The girls…The young ones. They–They are innocent in this. They tried to protest but we…we couldn't. Please…We've heard you are taking Free Folk south of the Wall. Please…Take them with you." Lord Stark turned back towards the old woman, fixing her with a hard look before he shifted to look at the young women and girls huddled behind her.

"The Free Folk are not coming south of the Wall on a whim," Robb Stark spoke up, stepping up beside his father. "They are swearing oaths to the North and House Stark in return for sanctuary. Should you—any of you—wish to do the same, then you may travel with us. And I will personally ensure that those who do find a place in Winter Town to start a new life…free from the sins of your father."

Lord Stark turned towards his son with a blank look. "My son speaks true," he said, glancing back to the women. "The younger ones, those who are willing to swear oaths to the North and kneel. They are welcome to join us under my son's protection. But you must decide now. For we will not linger in this place."

A few of the young girls jumped at the chance to get away, including the young girl Gilly and her baby they rescued. While the other few young ones had to be convinced to leave by the elders. In the end, seven of Craster's daughter-wives left with them, leaving behind their sister's and mothers to find a new life south of the Wall. 'Gods…Just when I think man cannot get any more depraved, I'm proven wrong,' Garlan thought, giving one last passing glance at the shattered remains of Craster. 'The sooner we leave this wretched place, the better. I'm in desperate need of rest and warmth…Hopefully, Karsi isn't too upset that I left her behind. I need her warmth more than ever right now.'