All Things Must Change

Or

The Song of Humanity

A raven flaps its wings as it follows down the trail it believes will lead the Will towards what it wants. Following along the small river, the raven spots a small cave. Very small, out of the way, and hard to get to, but the raven would have no issue venturing into it. The Will pushes, expands, demands something. It moves it closer, there's something it wants to see.

The raven flies down into the cave, therein it stops and rests its wings. The Will pushes again, the raven moves its head around. The dark cave is half flooded with water as it is, but there is enough light for the raven to make out its surroundings. Dark stone surrounds it, the Will seems disappointed. The raven goes continues to look around. It sees a small cavern within the cave, maybe five or six men wide. The Will pushes it near there, and then a surge of excitement can be felt through the bond.

The raven sees more rock, this type though has a certain shine within it. Flecks of something yellow can be seen on the surface. The Will pushes it away from the rock, urges it again to take flight. Soaring into the sky, high, high, high, higher than it should ever reach. The Will pushes for it to hover over this area for a minute. The Will was taking note of something, it seemed. Then, all at once the connection is cut off. The raven is free again to go about its business without any interruptions.

"Another letter came for you," Catelyn told Ned as she moved closer to him in their bed.

"Another demand for payment of the services of those 'mayors' as Jon calls them," she shared the annoying news.

Ever since Jon and Robb installed the town leadership in Wolfhold, Eddarton, Jon's Outlook, Robb's Clearing, and Volstown, the fathers of those lesser sons had been demanding a tax share of the towns for the clear help that their House had given to the establishment of new towns and future cities. It was extortionate, really. The Houses would have more happily thrown their sons away for next to nothing and kept them in keeps instead of used them as Jon and Robb were doing, but now they saw an opportunity for gain. Greedy urchins, all of them, Ned thought.

"Aye," he said as he rolled over and moved into a hugging embrace with his wife, "I'll handle it. Jon and Robb didn't think of the fallout this would have, but the burden falls to our House to ensure our honor is upheld."

Catelyn huffed in irritation, "honestly, Ned, you'd be better off telling them to leave well enough alone. You, Jon, and Robb are doing a good work here. You don't need greedy lords to be the stumbling block to your progress."

Ned was torn. His first reaction was to do exactly that, but his honor dictated that he give some payment for their involvement. That the involvement was very minimal, went without saying.

"Would that I could, my love," he said as he leaned closer and kissed the crown of her head. His hands roamed down until they landed on her hips. He leaned closer, letting the embrace become more intimate. Ned tired of these talks of duty and work to be done even in his bedchambers.

"I'll take care of it. If they think the Starks to be taken for fools, they'll be sorely mistaken. They'll have some compensation, but not what they ask after." His hand drifted further south.

"Now," Eddard said as he kissed her neck. "Would you rather we spend our time tonight talking of duty, or would you prefer to pursue… other things?"

Catelyn giggled in that way she only ever did around him at times like these.

"My Lord," she said coquettishly, "I would be remiss if I didn't join you in pursuit of a more… marital activity."

The night soon turned to an intimate expression of love betwixt the two. For a moment, Ned and Catelyn drowned all of their worries away. The talks of greedy houses, duties that must be seen to, future plans, and any other thought except their love for each other was put aside for the night.

It was with a flurry of excitement that Jon awoke in the morning. For weeks, he had spent every night warging into animals to try and look for a gold vein along the Acorn Water. He had nearly given up hope in his scouring of the river until just yesterday he made amazing progress. At dusk he had inhabited the raven he had been flying through, and he found at last a small cave within Cerwyn lands. Within was a small gold vein, nothing breathtakingly massive, but it was big enough that it would be prudent to explore if there was more within the flooded cave.

His mind was alight with possibilities on how to get the gold. The cave was large enough for a small boat to be able to get in and out, but what if there was gold under the water? He doubted there was any easy way he could pursue underwater gold mining. Panning the river suddenly became a necessity.

With this, another large issue would be off his plate and he could spend his time at night pursuing other matters he had been neglecting. For one, he needed to introduce mass production of soaps, and he needed to do it quickly. With rising population centers in the North, a steady influx of sanitary aids would be necessary in keeping disease at a minimum. He gave serious thought into setting up a guild of doctors, but he doubted there were enough learned men to pursue such a thing.

No, his first goal was to continue training the townsfolk his age and turn his group of 300 that he took in during the siege as his corps of engineers. They would be his researchers, his teachers for other castles, and everything in between. As much as he wanted to make a guild for nearly every profession, he knew that the engineers would come first. This would be the first major step towards a North that could innovate on its own.

The idea of dedicated researchers that thought through the scientific process and with critical thinking was enough to make Jon salivate at the possibilities that would be open to him. Mass production of goods was just around the corner, and he could taste it.

As the amount of workers grew in Wintertown and in the cities he had created, Jon truly began to show everyone where his true abilities were. His skills as an engineer, while broad enough that he had confidence with enough tinkering and time he could re-manufacture most things, were more focused in operations and placement of personnel. His specialty was finally coming to the forefront: the placement of workers to achieve the quickest and best result.

Who should have what job was barely a question for him. He knew what needed to be done, which jobs were vacant, and where the best placement was because he was always thinking about it. It was likely a product of his brain chemistry being thrown off kilter by having a man in a child's body, but he could never stop thinking. He took to repeating his plans and setting up contingencies for project failings in any moment where he had a break. It was therapeutic, in a way.

His only breaks from this were when he was with his family or training in the yard. He was better than all the boys his age, though that wasn't saying much. Swordplay, he found, was an art he enjoyed. It was instinctive, in a way. Everything in life had always been about angles. Everything he saw could be described mathematically in some fashion, and swords were no different. Knowing when to use other attacks than just the sword was not as easy of a lesson, though, he figured with enough time and study he could analyze that in a statistical sense one day.

When he was sparring, he simply chose the winning angles by reading and reacting to the opponent. It was simplistic beauty, and while he assumed it would grow harder with time when he had more difficult opponents, he couldn't see himself losing in a game of angles as long as he was conditioned enough.

Which he was. In fact, he would say he was putting himself through more conditioning than most. He wanted his engineers to all be great fighters, so if he wasn't strong enough to show them how to fight and condition themselves, then he couldn't expect his engineers to impact a battlefield.

All of this progress felt good, and it made him feel like he really could turn the North into something resembling "modern" within his lifetime. It would take too long to make electronics, he figured. But steam powered equipment, maybe even cars? Well, he wouldn't say it's a guarantee, but with the training he was putting his new corps through it may just be possible.

Of course, this was all done on his own. Robb, Lord Stark, even Maester Luwin helped, yes, but they were taking up more and more of the administrative tasks. Robb took to seeing to the agreements Jon made (though Maester Luwin would be close by so Robb didn't make any egregious errors) and Lord Stark had been occupied more and more with smoothing things over once a new practice was institutionalized. The North didn't like change, but they were beginning to see the merit of all this.

Many Houses had begun to implement the same building plans that Jon had created for Wintertown and the New Cities, as he had taken to naming them collectively. Every town in the North began to burst with new activity, and Lord Stark had taken to hiring more tax collectors and administrators to oversee the new influx of people. For the first time in a long time, immigration into the North was more than negligeable. Jon had suggested a census, but Ned had told him only the King could call for such a thing. Instead, they hired more administrators in each town to keep track of the growing populace. It was less accurate, but their numbers showed that already the North had received a new influx of 20,000 people to the already existing towns. Adding this to the amount of vols that came North gave them a sudden new population of 32,000 immigrants who had taken up residence and were filling jobs in towns across the North.

It was the beginning of something grand, Jon could sense. Within years, each town could be a city, and the combined industrial strength would continue to rise. The only issue, then, was ensuring there were enough jobs present to cause immigration to be sustained at its current level.

It was a hard task that would take years to really come to a sustainable solution, but growth spurts to the population would be beneficial even if immigration was sporadic. In the meantime, he focused on simultaneously training his engineers and finding new industries to introduce. The distillery had done wonderfully already with rum and vodka, and the many barrels of other various alcohols he asked to be set aside for ageing would net a high price in the years to come. Even in the new towns, distilleries were popping up. While a worthy venture for coin, it would take some time to fully mature into a powerful economic arm of the Northern business ventures.

Thus, Jon decided to turn to another practice he wished to be implemented: a trading caravan, or better put, a shipping company. This caravan would circle through the entire North with its goods and then head South to sell the specialty goods made in the North. All of the alcohols would begin flooding the market in the South and the caravan would become instant monopoly on overland trade. Being the only ones to really pursue this venture, it would be easy to maintain that monopoly for some time. After all, what other kingdoms would have the capacity to create goods like the North would be doing at that point?

So, Jon brought this idea up to Luwin and Lord Stark. A plan was set in motion and would begin fully in a few years time when the alcohols were fermented and aged. Lord Stark and Luwin both thought it an interesting business venture, and Lord Stark agreed to pursue the idea with the alcohols first. The caravan, sponsored and owned by Jon and the rest of House Stark, would then be required to carry other goods south when the time came, and the first overland shipping company could take hold in Westeros. If someone wanted a good, the caravan could fill the order at a higher price than the local one in the North and bring the goods south on their next trip. Once the company had a good amount of capital, Jon would push for a deal with the Manderlys to create several ships for the creation of a then global shipping company.

Other specialty goods that Jon planned to pursue were things such as iceboxes and the ice trade, luxury furs from the hunting lodges he had pioneered, metalworks that would be useful for farming and other purposes, books, pulped paper, and anything else he could add to the production line. A large part of Jon's vision for a better Westeros relied on an educated populace, and a populace needed plenty of educational material to be taught skills. So, he endeavored to create a printing press. Rather, he endeavored to push his corps of engineers to make one with a sketching he gave them.

Already having them work on projects was seeing fruits in his side projects. And while it may take a while to have a fully functioning Gutenberg Press, he knew it would only be a matter of time. Progress, Jon thought once more, felt good.

After finishing his morning ruminations, Jon got ready for his morning training in the yard with Robb and Ser Rodrik. Falling into his routine, it didn't take long for him to finish with most of his daily duties and arrive at dinner time. The days continued to feel too short to him. There was so much to do, and so little time.

As he sat between Arya and Robb, he thought of the last time he spent quality time with his siblings. Robb and he had taken to playing some games here and there with Arya and Sansa as they were both old enough to, now. Come into My Castle, acting out scenes of the heroes of old, playing pranks on them, it was a fun bonding experience. Gods, Jon thought. It had been weeks since he had taken the time to really just be with his family.

He purposed in his heart that he would spend more time with them. Work was good, progress was necessary, but what worth did it have if he didn't nurture the bonds he had with those closest to him? Death was a close companion in this world as mortality rates were so high. How would he feel if little Arya fell ill suddenly and she didn't know just how much she meant to him? Or Robb, Sansa, Bran, Little Rickon, Lord Stark, even Lady Catelyn for that matter, they all meant much to him.

Suddenly, he felt a little foolish. His father was right, in a way, he did think himself above most people, and he did have failings when it came to really understanding others. He'd be better, though. He had to be. This family was important to him.

"Arya," Jon said as the little girl whipped her head towards him. She was always so eager to please him. He let her do whatever she wished, whether it was playing with him, answering her questions about the many strange things he did with money and planning, taking her all over the castle to see what she wanted whenever she wanted, teaching her sword fighting, and much more. Jon suspected that Arya knew that he was practically wrapped around her finger. But he had been absent from her daily routine for some time, due to the defense of Winterfell and the work he had afterwards. He could see her eagerness to just be with him for a while.

"Why don't we go do something that you want tomorrow? Sansa and Robb can join us if they wish."

Arya vibrated in her seat in equal parts happiness and anticipation. The poor girl, Jon thought, she probably hadn't had much of anyone to play with during the invasion and the work he had been doing after that. She nodded her head frantically.

"Yes! We can play Come into My Castle, and I'll be Nymeria while Sansa can be-" and she went on and on, planning every moment of tomorrow's free time for him. He smiled and nodded along to each of her demands. Sansa and Robb both enthusiastically said they'd join. It was nice.

It was Sansa, though, who brought up a daunting thought the next day.

"No!" Sansa said as she violently stomped her foot in rejection of Robb's suggestion for the next round of Come into My Castle. "You can't choose bad people, Robb! Why would you want to be Daemon Blackfyre!? He killed so many people!"

"It was a jest!" Robb said as he laughed at her outburst.

"Lots of heroes killed lots of people too, you know," little Arya said as she pointed out the double standard.

Sansa's palms dug into her skirts as she raised her nose at them in a huff of annoyance.

Jon shook his head in amusement. He doubted Daemon Blackfyre was really so bad as she made him out to be. He rebelled, sure, and his actions killed many people, but his motives weren't entirely wrong. Though, he did choose incredibly violent methods to pursue his goal.

Jon was quick to step in when he saw Sansa about to begin one of her tirades. So young, and yet already so opinionated. Gods help whoever wanted to quieten her down in the future. She would have a tongue of acid one day, he was sure.

"Why don't we pick someone else, for now?" He said with a placid smile on his face. "Sansa, who would you like to be?"

She took a moment to think. She had already been many of the people she loved to hear stories of, Jonquil, Rhaenys, Danys, and many more. She thought for a while until her eyes brightened once more. It wasn't exactly a look Jon liked when she smiled up at him hardly able to keep in her girlish giggles.

"I think I will be the beautiful Lady Margaery," and at that her little smile became a full blown grin at the sign of discomfort on her brother's face. Too soon, Jon thought, too soon. He hadn't even gotten used to the fact that this girl he didn't know was coming North even now to meet him. Would she grow into a beautiful woman, would she be ugly, would she be intellectually stimulating, would she be this or that? Every question one could have about the future mother of their children, Jon was now placing on her.

He frowned as he thought of the unfairness of the situation. In a perfect world, he would have liked to fallen in love and then marry whoever he wished. In this world, that was not possible. He doubted the girl (and Gods, she was such a young girl in comparison to him) wanted this either. It didn't fill him with any fuzzy feelings that the King had essentially foisted her onto him and ordered him to impregnate her when they married.

In fact, it was quite the opposite. Who was Robert Baratheon to order Jon Snow, now Stark after the King legitimized him, to get a girl pregnant before she even left her teens? Who was Robert Baratheon to essentially force a man in a boy's body to do such an awful thing to a young girl? A young, innocent girl who had no part in all of this. Gods, she would be less than half his true age.

The answer was obvious. Robert Baratheon was the King. Jon had to play along, for now. He doubted he could get out of the marriage, but he'd be damned if he let someone else dictate what happened when it came to sexual intercourse between him and a child. He'd wait. He'd never have sex if he had to. But he was not, under any circumstances, performing what he considered to be rape.

If they thought him impotent, then so be it. Better to have your own conscience be relatively clean than to do an evil act out of ease. What was the adage? He that knows what is right and does not do it, to him it is sin. Or something like that.

Yes, there were many feelings Jon felt about this upcoming marriage that he didn't like. He hoped it could be manageable, even hoped for love to one day come of it, but he doubted any immediate feelings would be present. He doubted they would even be there for many years. Jon would manage, though. He'd have to.

He also hoped he would be enough for the young girl. He'd treat her the best he could for the circumstances she would be placed in, shower her with gifts, and give her the most comfortable life possible. She'd live as a queen for the injustice served to her.

He hoped he would be enough to make it up to her.

"Oh?" Jon said as he finally responded to his sister after a long awkward silence in which her grin dropped from her face and became something more of a pout.

"And who should I be then?"

Sansa looked at him queerly, as if he were an idiot for asking a stupid question.

"You'll be you, silly." She laughed at his slightly bemused and puzzled look.

"That's enough for anyone."

Her smile was such a tender and sweet thing that it made him love her all the more as he felt his heart burn in his chest. The hug she bestowed on him made his heart feel a size larger. He hugged her back tightly, whispering a very quiet thank you into her hair.

"You're always enough," she said into his chest. Arya and Robb soon joined in on the hug. The youngest of them seemed to have little idea of what was actually going on, but her enthusiasm for a group hug was soon felt by all of them.

Wisdom out of the mouths of children, it seemed. Gods, he loved his family.

Everything was scary and new to young Theon when he arrived where the King demanded he be placed. Lannisport was still being reconstructed, and the hatred for him was a foreign feeling only closely resembling the disdain his father showed him whenever he failed in a lesson of some sort. Lord Tywin's coldness kept him always on edge.

The Lord had surprised everyone in offering to host the Greyjoy after Lord Stark vehemently refused. Tywin Lannister, the executor of the Rains of Castemere, had been so gracious to look beyond petty revenge and hatred for the attacks the Greyjoys had carried out against his people. He was such an example of what a Westerlander was all about, the people in the host cheered, so kind to offer a Greyjoy residence in the Westerlands, so pragmatic to be able to put aside his obvious disdain.

He was a liar, Theon quickly found. The best liar he had ever known. People's first impression of him being a ruthless pragmatist was correct. But it was more correct to simply say he was ruthless.

Every lesson Theon failed, he would be set right harshly by Lord Tywin. It was the first time Theon had ever been flogged. He never gave anything but 110% effort after that. He suspected, secretly, that the Lord inflicted the pain on him because he took perverse enjoyment from it. Theon wondered if the lessons were intentionally made harder to give Lord Tywin a reason to punish him often.

When Theon spoke of a woman once, he was met with a harsh calculating look from Tywin. There was no disapproval, but there was no approval either. Theon wondered, though, if he even knew what an approving Tywin Lannister looked like.

The Imp found it funny, welcome discourse even to talk of women. But he warned against ever telling Lord Tywin that he may fancy anyone. A Greyjoy bastard in the Westerlands, the Imp said, would be just another tool for his father to use.

The little thing was a welcome companion to Theon, for a time. Not because he liked the Imp, but because the only thing Tywin seemed to hate more than Theon was Tyrion Lannister. The feelings were mutual between father and son, it seemed. So, having the half man with him made him feel a measure of security that the Lord Lannister wouldn't target him first.

Tyrion stuck close to Theon as well, willingly. When asked why, the Imp simply said they were nearly the same person but in different bodies. They both wished for approval from a father that would never give it, and thus they'd be wanting for something they would never have.

It laid the coals of a hot anger in Theon's belly, but he knew he couldn't do anything. For as much as Tywin hated Tyrion, if anyone who wasn't a Lannister hurt him then they would likely die. So, Theon's hatred for Lannisters was stoked deeply.

It was even worse when he had spent a little time in Jaime Lannister's company. The acerbic, arrogant tone of the man left Theon wondering if every Lannister's main talent was making people hate them. Kevan Lannister was little better than Tywin only because Theon had barely talked with the man, but the one time he did was less than pleasant. The man obviously hated him.

The Imp later told him that Lord Kevan's wife had died in the sacking of Lannisport. Gods, was he just meant to be surrounded by those that hated him so fiercely? Even the Queen, Theon heard frequently from Tyrion, was a terribly awful woman. What the hells was wrong with these Lannisters?

Theon hated it here, and he found that he very well hated the Lannisters too. He wondered, often, of what his sister's life was like. Life under Stannis Baratheon surely must've been better than this.

Oh, Theon wasn't an imbecile. He knew what the King wanted. Replacing him in the line of succession with his sister would only be a matter of time. Send her off to learn intimately of the oceans while he suffers under the cruel hand of Tywin Lannister.

He wished his sister well. She'd be married off to someone else to keep the Iron Isles in check before she knew it, and Theon would likely spend the rest of his days on this gaudy Rock.

If only his father had never rebelled.

If only the honorable Lord Stark had taken him instead.

If only he had died during the battle as well. Would that have been a better option for him?

He thought so.

With a tired and pained sigh, he rose and went to the only place where he found any type of release from this awful place: the brothel. There was a young girl who had taken to him quite viciously. It was endearing, in a way. He'd hoped to go once more with the woman who made a man of him, but apparently she had quit the whore's life and moved out of Lannisport. He had no idea where she went, but this new girl, the pretty blue eyed blonde named Lynn, she was an amazing lover. He didn't know people could be so passionate. If he were honest with himself, she set his heart aflame. Truly, she was the only one to ever do that. His light in this dark, dreary place.

He snorted at that last thought. Really, a whore being the only solace he had here, it was pitiful. Such was his life now, though. Pitiful Theon stuck in the cold castle of Casterly Rock. Despicable.

He knew what Tyrion had said, but he honestly couldn't bring himself to care. If one of the whores got pregnant, then they got pregnant. What could Tywin Lannister do with a bastard Greyjoy anyway? The Iron Islanders cared for strength, not heritage.

"No," Theon thought, "my needs come first."

So off he went, to seek company from the only woman who seemed to care for him, in a city that hated him, to later come home to a household that loathed him.

Gods, he really missed Pyke.

In the cold winters North of the Wall, a creature of blue stalked through his Kingdom. The thing was hunting, looking for new additions to his army. This world, this cycle would at last be ended and be reborn in a world of endless ice. A little while, and they would see him. A little while, and they would join him.

He had come to this Planetos in a blaze when the comet first appeared. The birth of his kind created by the dark magics of the other-worlders. Even now he saw the flashes of their faces, so full of curiosity for what the endless cycle of this planet would bring. He knew that answer, now. He had always known that answer.

It was simple, really, this world was his and any who opposed him would learn that resistance was futile. All would die, and with a wave of his arms his will would dominate the dead. He was inevitable, immeasurable, indomitable, he was the Night King.

But, he had to admit one thing. Something had changed. The cycle, he felt, was ending. The reappearance of the comet told him something new was coming. At last, he felt that he would crush humanity under his heel and ascend to take his place amongst those eternals like he knew was always his destiny.

They were watching. He knew they were. Those beings these disgusting humans worshipped. The Drowned One, the Red One, the Many Faced One, the Old Ones, even the Seven, all had fooled these pathetic beings. Humanity thought these ancient beings, these "gods," cared for them, that they watched the events of Planetos with a benevolent gaze. They were wrong. They were fools.

The Gods had placed the First Men, the Rhoynar, the Valyrians, and the rest of the races of this planet here. They were trapped, like him. In a way, the King of Ice almost pitied them. They were doomed to cycle again, and again, and again. They had never won in their struggle against him, and they never would.

The key was that he only almost pitied these pathetic creatures. The humans quarreled with each other nonstop, fighting over land and their view of power. What did they know of true power? What did they know of imposing their will on others like he had done to their kind for millennia?

Every cycle, he marched South and fought their people, killing them to the last man. Then he took his newer, larger army back beyond the Wall. Really, it never kept him out. It was such an easy thing to traverse, but after the first twelve cycles he thought it would be more fun to make the humans amass to face him somewhere. So, he built the Wall. Then he recorded it in some scrolls in their precious places of learning that it was a man who had built it. He replaced those scrolls often when he tore those buildings down cycle after cycle. What would these humans think if they knew they manned the very wall that he built to make their slaughter that much easier? Such pathetic, idiotic creatures they were.

With every win that the Night King had, the Ancient Ones would replenish the earth with humans. He had watched with a speculative eye time and again as reality rewove itself and a new civilization was implanted nigh overnight. He let the humans grow every time, populate themselves, even find peace between the other kingdoms for a while, then he rode in and crushed them again. At first it was fun to see them struggle, then it all became a bore as he did it again, and again, and again.

He grew exceptionally bored of it after his 100th cycle. He could see clearly now. The Ancient Ones broke the laws of the world to create this cycle, to watch, to analyze. They were looking for something. What it was, he did not know. But they were not a help to him at all. If anything, they were the ringmasters of this world who forced it to be destroyed over and over and over again just to rebuild it all every time. What good was a creation if it was built to be destroyed? What good was a creation if it was meant to fizzle into nothingness with only a whimper and less than a footnote on the annals of History?

Though, history itself was a moot point. There was no civilization that had lasted longer than a couple thousand years. That was the first one. The rest were always extinguished by him within a century. Really, it was easy. His army, which he could safely control at a maximum 1 million soldiers at a time through his lieutenants he created and his own practiced control, was unstoppable.

He knew that this anomaly, whatever had caused the cycle to wane, would lead to something different. For the first time in 1000 cycles, the Night King felt giddy with excitement. When was the last time something new had happened? It was the same routine for the last 10000 years. Some Stark or Targaryen would claim to be a hero of legend, and then they would die by his blade. Sure, they always had some counters to his army in their dragons or valyrian steel, but it was never enough. If only the dragons wouldn't dissolve like ice every time their master was added to his army. He thought it would be quite enjoyable to ride a dragon into battle every cycle.

The Night King shook his head of these thoughts as he spotted his prey. A young redhaired woman, pretty by human standards. Her and the men she was with would make a fine addition to his army.

Raising his arm, he let his creatures of the night stalk forward towards the group of humans, 30 of them in total. He relished their look of alarm as his minions stalked towards them. In all but a moment the humans fled the scene as a flood of undead pursued them.

The chase was on, and not even the Gods could save his prey.

Travel, Olenna felt, was not growing any easier for her. She was getting up in age, and her bones grew tired more easily. She knew, though, that she was still needed. Her son was a useless oaf more often than not. He was so easily manipulated by ally and enemy alike that she knew her political acumen was necessary for her family to survive let alone thrive.

Looking upon her granddaughter, her only granddaughter, gaze out the windows of their carriage into the frozen, desolate North. Well, that was what she thought it was. It seemed that, as they drew closer to Winterfell, it was not near as desolate as they thought. Houses lined the streets, workstations, warehouses, a booming market, storehouses, buildings she had no clue what their use was, and newly paved roads stretching for miles in directions she thought had never had paved roads before.

The amount of coin to do all of this would leave even the Tyrells as beggars. How had the Starks and the Northern Lords afforded it? It was inconceivable, impossible, indubitably out of their reach. But done it they had.

Something was afoot, she knew. She would get to the bottom of it. The rapid mobilization she'd heard of during the war, the new practices they were implementing, the different crops growing in different fields (like they did in the Reach but where they did their best to keep the advanced understanding of which crops to rotate throughout the year out of the grasp of other Kingdoms) and the vast amounts of building projects lead her to believe something had stirred the nest here. Was Stark building an army for the Baratheon King? Did he expect another rebellion so soon?

She couldn't know, but she worried for what it would mean for her granddaughter. Oh, her granddaughter was such a sweet girl. Margaery was years beyond her age in wisdom but also so caring towards her family and any friends she had gained in her young life. It took much for her to lash out, and if not for the times she had witnessed her elder brothers needle her for hours on end about the unnatural interest she took in administrative endeavors at her young age and Margaery's harsh dressing down of them, she would've believed her to be the Mother in human form. Her patience was long, but her way with words was where she truly shined.

She was still a child, but Olenna felt that Margaery was more a woman than any girl her age or a few years older than her. It gave her hope that she'd survive whatever was coming from the North in the future. This whole situation, though, had saddened the Matriarch of the Tyrell Family deeply.

She could see the distance that was beginning to grow between Margaery and the others. Her father barely looked at her, her mother had locked herself away from the family for a while and couldn't be around Margaery long lest she break into fits of deep sadness, her brother Willas spoke with her fondly but even he threw himself into his duties, Garlan chased after women to busy himself when he wasn't watching Margaery with a pitying look, and Loras spent all the more time training. It was a bad sign of things to come in her family.

Her granddaughter would be in this land with no family, and the family she did have were barely able to look upon her. Her son was a coward, he made his bed and refused to sleep in it. Her daughter by law was little better, and her grandsons couldn't handle unpleasant change. Was this the embodiment of their pledge to grow strong? All she saw was weakness in every one of them except herself and her granddaughter. She prayed her family would either stay out of conflict or do as their House words insisted they do. Olenna felt, though, that Westeros would not be kind to the Tyrells for much longer. A feeling in her bones of weariness, of apprehension, of suspicion, that's all it was. At least, that's all that Olenna hoped it was.

As they drew closer and closer to Winterfell, she felt equal parts dread and hope. Hope that the Starks would treat her little Rose well, and dread that something that would doom her family was brewing. Time would tell, she knew, but she prayed that she and her own would weather this storm well. She didn't pray to avoid it for Olenna knew that was impossible. She only prayed that the Gods gave her family strength to make it through the trials that were ahead.

Gods, sometimes the Game was simply too dangerous. Now that they were, for all intents and purposes, out of the Game for this generation, she thought it could be good to grow strong in other ways. The North was growing, changing swiftly. Perhaps therein lay salvation and growth that the Tyrells had always strove for?

She prayed that it was so, but she knew her prayers were often futile. Sometimes, women had to take the bull by the horns and create their own destiny. She knew this, and in a way she felt that Margaery knew this as well. The child was smarter than any child she'd ever known of, but her political acumen and quick wit would only take her so far. It was once her hope that she would grow strong as queen. That was not to be. She was to be married to a bastard. A bastard that was loved, by all accounts, and who seemed to have honor and courage. He was still an unknown, but already Jon Stark's name was known by many. Olenna comforted herself in that her daughter would at least have someone who would likely be capable one day if he was not already competent like she believed.

She would have to speak with Margaery and teach her how to pull the boy over to her side. Margaery should not suffer anything if she were to be forced to be in this marriage. No, if this were to go through then Margaery deserved all of the boy's love, and Olenna would do her best to manipulate that into existence.

By word or by threat, that boy would treat her well. Margaery may never be queen, but she would live like one, enjoy life like one, and be worshipped in her marriage as one. She was of better quality, this was true, and that boy, Jon Stark, would be reminded of that every day.

Margaery, Olenna Tyrell swore to herself, would become his heart, his conscience, he would place her on the pedestal that she deserved to be placed on. She swore this upon her family name, under the watch of the Seven. It was a promise she made every day since the news came that Margaery would marry this boy. It was a promise that would come true.

No matter the cost.

The trek to Winterfell continued, and within its walls the men and women prepared to greet a family that would soon be tied to their own. Stark and Tyrell would be intertwined, though it was through no wish of either family. Still, bound together they would be through simple chance. A new change that had never been seen in any of the old cycles, a change that seemed perhaps insignificant to most, but it was enough to unite a duo who could change the world forever.

Very few knew of who Jon and Margaery truly were, for their minds had broken through the veil that rendered this world so obsolete on nothing more than a chance so small that the odds might as well have been 0. Two anomalies in one castle, a boy and a girl who could very well rise above everything if the circumstances were kind to them. In another life, the boy could have been successful at the Wall, perhaps even King. In another life, the girl was Queen and had more power than any other woman. In another life, this was not enough. Neither had any idea what horrors lay in wait for them, nor did they understand the salvation that they would bring each other. Pain and happiness, both in equal measure were the destinies of these two. There would be balance, at last, in this pitiful world. It would be perfectly balanced, as all things should be.

To whom much is given, much is required, and both Jon and Margaery had been gifted with more knowledge than most people would ever have. This fight would not be an easy one, but Jon and Margaery's bond was the beginning of a song, a song of finality. It was a promise that this was the end and yet the beginning. For their old lives would end when they met, yet a newer, different, and incredible life full of danger and glory lay ahead.

This is the song of change, the song of progress, the song of humanity. Though it may be fragile and weak at times, it is beautiful in its resiliency. To lose everything only to continue on, to find hope in the darkest of times, to never give up in the face of insurmountable odds and to rise above in the direst of circumstances, this is the will of humanity. This was the will that lived on, even now, after thousands of iterations of this world had failed to end the Long Night and puncture the veil to reach a different reality.

This cycle was different, this cycle would be the last. There was a new song, not the song of Ice and Fire which had failed so many times when the Targaryens and Starks would fail to carry out their righteous purpose of saving humanity. No, the time has come for that song to be put to rest. Let the people hear the new Song forevermore: The Song of Revelation, the End.

AN:

A lot to unpack here, obviously. I had always planned to take a twist on the mythos of Westeros. Don't expect this to be a stereotypical "Stark = good, Stark's fight Night King and win = everyone happy" type of thing. There's something rotten in Westeros, and right now only the Night King realizes this. Try as he might, no amount of innovation will be enough for the North to break through on their own. The world is in for a rude awakening, and this is really where the story truly begins. In the end, will any of this innovation even matter? What even is the cycle? Those are probably questions that you have, and you'll find the answer in future chapters. I really don't plan to go for longer than 200,000 words, so you'll probably get those sooner than you think too.

That being said, it's safe to assume this isn't just an SI story. It simply doesn't make sense for a person to be isekaied into a new world, it doesn't make sense for another person to remember their death. The fact is, from the beginning these anomolies, as the supreme beings of Westeros calls them, have been a foreshadowing for you to know that something is up. The end of the cycle is an obvious answer, but there are multiple factors that play into all of this. The cycle ending could be good or bad, but again, that will be shown to you in the future.

The world building will continue in terms of innovation and progress, but with dedicated researchers pursuing the research that Jon knows will bear fruit, well, Westeros is going to change. A lot. Hold on to your horses, because it's definitely going to get wild from here on out.

Also, if you can find the Epic Rap Battles shoutout then you're cool.

Peace, and until next time.

YaboiNateDawg