Am I my Brother's Keeper, Yes I Am

by Alperez16

A different choice after the Battle of the Bastards brings another Stark back from the dead. Together with his brother how does Rickon Stark's living change the Game and what do another King in the North and his bastard brother mean in regards to the return of House Targaryen. An idea suggested by my good friend and co-writer Leilani972 that I just couldn't resist jumping on board

22. Different Roads Same Castle

Winterfell 304 AC.

Sansa.

It had been hard to see Jon and the others leave, to worry about them and what they were going to face, and know you weren't truly a part of that fight. So Sansa did what she needed to not let those worries overwhelm her or those who stayed behind in Winterfell. Her first thought, as always, was for her family. Both Arya and Rickon had been annoyed and upset with their brother, but mainly she knew that they, like her, were fearful for him.

She'd sought to be there for them both, yet had found that just as she threw herself into doing all she could to put Jon out of her mind, for now, they too had sought to do the same. Arya had thrown herself into helping with the defenses and had spent her time with the Dornish Princess or even with their uncle surprisingly. Rickon when he wasn't acting as their king, speaking to people, letting them see him, and listening to their concerns, would disappear to the Gods knew where with Lord Reed. The two of them could be seen together more often than not and at times Sansa wondered both what they got up to and where they'd slink off to, yet she never asked.

As for Bran. Her feelings toward the thing that had once been her brother were ones that she felt she should be shamed for. She didn't see him as she did Rickon, Arya, and Jon. No longer when she looked at him did she see that smiling boy who wished to climb higher than any. Now he never smiled, he never climbed and how he looked at you when you passed him by was the least of the annoyances he brought to her. She, Arya, and Rickon had spoken long and hard about Bran and found out much and more that caused them to be angry with him. Rickon though probably named him truest of all.

"Meera said our brother died in that cave beyond the Wall, I know that's true. He told us all from the start, that he's no longer our brother and once the Night King and his army is beaten, he's no longer welcome in our home."

It was a harsh thing, but a true one. For there was no way she could believe that their true brother would wish to see them suffer so. To see her almost be….to have her and Arya almost…no, she could not think that the Bran she had known and loved could ever do the things the Three-Eyed Raven had done since he arrived in Winterfell. Putting such thoughts aside, she moved through the keep with Sandor guarding her back. Not that she was in any danger here and now, but she welcomed his company and things between them had been much better once she'd explained her reasoning for not killing Littlefinger earlier.

From a nearby window, she could see Theon move across the courtyard and a part of her wished to wave to him, something which brought a smirk to her face as she thought of what her mother would have thought of her doing such a thing. She made her way to the Great Hall to find that she was the only Stark in the keep and so she was faced with being the Stark in Winterfell for the next few hours. Men, women, Lord, Ladies, and Knight all coming to her with their needs and requests, and Sansa sitting in Rickon's stead and doing her very best to see them addressed.

The last of those traveling south would be leaving in the next day or so and so once she'd dealt with the many requests, it was outside and to see to them that her footsteps took her. Sansa sought and soon found Lord Davos who acted as both the Hand of the King and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands at the same time. Using whichever authority that whoever he was speaking to needed him to do so they'd listen. It was as she walked to him that it happened. The sky darkened and night fell far too early and around her people began to panic.

"Torches, light the torches!." she called out and yet in the panic, her voice went unheard.

"YOU ALL FUCKING HEARD HER, LIGHT THE DAMN TORCHES!" Sandor shouted loudly and soon enough people rushed to do as she and he had said.

Once they were lit, order began to be restored and Davos moved toward her. The Lord bore a look that no doubt matched her own and yet he had kept his head mayhap even more than she. She felt his comforting hand on her shoulder and though she didn't hear his words, his expression was more than enough to tell her what he was saying. So with a nod, she turned and moved back into the keep, hurrying but not rushing back to the Great Hall. She relaxed even more upon seeing Arya running her way, her sister wearing a look of concern that was soon alleviated once she saw her and it made Sansa's heart soar somewhat. They were truer sisters now than they had been mayhap ever, all it had taken was for them nearly to seek the other's end and the world to face its own.

"Why are you laughing?" Arya asked when she reached her.

"No reason, truly. Rickon?"

"I've not seen him though he had Ghost by his side earlier when he was with Lord Reed."

"Then our brother is safe and well, come, others will be far less calm than you and I are," she said and Arya nodded as she followed her into the Great Hall.

"Do you think that Jon…"

"Our brother is well capable of handling the dark of night, Arya, besides he has a dragon to light the sky up should he need it to."

"And he'd want us to see to those here and leave him to worry with those with him," Arya said and Sansa looked at her and smiled, hoping she took it as the reassurance that she meant it as.

By the time they got to the Great Hall, people were once again on the verge of panic. She saw Princess Sarella and her sister do their best to calm some of the Dornish and be ignored by Lord Royce and her uncle. Missandei looked worried and yet when she heard the words the young woman spoke, they were calm and collected. She and Arya moved to the Throne of Winter and between them managed to get people to quiet down enough to listen. Sansa then smiled for true when Rickon, Lord Reed, and Ghost made their way into the hall and her brother moved to stand with them.

"The Long Night has fallen, but we have naught to fear from the darkness." Rickon said, his voice carrying in the quietened room "This only means that the fight that my brother and Goodsister have led their army to face is upon them. I have no doubt that they will be victorious in that fight, yet we too have our own parts to play. Night falling changes nothing other than the need for torches." Rickon said and she was stunned to hear his chuckle "See to those you command or seek to lead and bring them comfort and light where you can and let us continue our preparations as we've been doing thus far."

"You heard our king, those who are ready to leave must continue to do so, those whose job it is to see to the defenses of the keep and its preparation, you know what you must do," she said when Rickon looked at her.

"I seek some men to ride and ride hard, those who've already left to go south will no doubt be wondering what this means, just as we all did, do I have some volunteers?" Rickon asked and then after whispering in Arya's ear, their sister walked off with some men to ready them to ride, she thankfully however would not be joining them.

She turned to see Lord Reed whisper in Rickon's ear and then her brother called the Free Folk guards to him and sent them to speak to some of the lords and ladies, both from the North and the South. Feeling his hand in hers, she looked down and then at her brother who motioned with his head for her to follow him.

"I've sent word for a meeting in my solar. We need to speak to the lords and ladies and the princess in private, Sansa. Make sure that they understand that this is as I said it is."

"You're sure it is?" she asked worriedly.

"I spoke to Jon, through Ghost, the battle is soon to be upon them, the Wall has proved no barrier to the dead," Rickon said, sending a shudder down her spine.

"How the fuck did they cross the Wall?" Sandor asked and Rickon shook his head.

"Does it really matter? They're past it and the fight heads our brother's way. It's one he'll win, one I know he'll win." Rickon said assuredly and Sansa squeezed his hand in order to show that she believed him as much as he needed her to.

It was an hour later that they gathered in Rickon's solar. The room was almost full to capacity and there was no room for anyone but her brother to sit. Even Ghost had to wait outside in the corridor while the meeting was held. The Northern Council, her uncle Edmure, Lord Royce, Princess Sarella, and her sister, Missandei, and Davos all were present. As was Bran though she liked it not. Rickon both addressed and dismissed him most quickly.

"Do you have anything you can add to this meeting, Bran?" Rickon asked.

"No. You know what's happened as well as I. The fight is upon us now, the king and queen and their dragons have taken to the sky and the dead will soon face the flames."

"You see no more than this?" Lord Reed asked and Bran shook his head.

"Then mayhap it's for the best if you seek answers at the Heart Tree," Rickon said and before Bran even had a chance to answer, two men of the Free Folk arrived and wheeled him from the room.

Her brother waited for a few moments to ensure Bran was gone and then began to speak, his voice and composure not that of the young boy he may look still, but the king he had become over time. It made her so very proud of him and she hoped that their mother and father could see him now.

"Before my brother left, we spoke together with Queen Daenerys and Lady Melisandre. We spoke about the legends of the Long Night and what may or may not happen in the fight to come. Lord Reed and I spoke much on this since my brother left and it was he who seemed to know more about the Long Night than even my brother or Lady Melisandre did." Rickon said looking to the man beside him who he was actually larger than.

"The old ways are still strong in the Neck, the old tales are still spoken and when I was but a boy, I was told tales of the Long Night. Of how its darkness covered the entire North and the Others rose and swept over all who were unlucky enough to face them. The Last Hero managed to make it to the Children of the Forest and together they drove the others back to the Lands of Always Winter, or so the tales told."

"Children's tales, old wives tales, this is what you'd have us listen to, your grace?" Lord Royce asked with a snort.

"Look out the window, Lord Royce, tell us why the sky is dark and the sun shines no more when it's the middle of the fucking day before you name these as children's tales." Lyanna Mormont sneered.

"Lady Melisandre told a tale of a Prince that was Promised, of Azor Ahai being reborn…." Rickon began only for Davos to interrupt him.

"She named Stannis as such, your grace, her words are not to be trusted. I have as much faith in your brother as any man, yet…"

"My brother was believed to be a bastard, Lord Davos. A lie we all held to as the truth. Lady Melisandre may have been mistaken in what she believed Stannis Baratheon to be, but we were all mistaken in what we believed my brother to be as well." she said, knowing now what Rickon was leading them to.

"Lady Melisandre named my brother Azor Ahai, as the Prince that was Promised. Missandei of Naath will tell you that Queen Daenerys was named as the Princess that was Promised by another red priestess." Rickon said looking to the woman for confirmation of his words.

"By Lady Kinvara, The Flame of Truth of the Red Temple in Volantis."

"You're saying that the king and queen are some hero and heroine from myth and legend?" Edmure said incredulously.

"I'm saying that I believe my brother to be the Last Hero of Lord Reed's tale, to be the Prince and Azor Ahai's of Lady Melisandre's. That right now he and my Goodsister are bringing the fight to the dead as they said they would and that we need to play our part as much as they. We can't show fear, doubt, or even express our worries and concerns to any but those in this room. We must be seen to have none of those things, to be confident, calm, and to be unsurprised by the unexpected. For if we falter in our tasks then what happens far from here won't be what leads to our ends, but what happens here." Rickon's words seemed to almost hold in the air, they resonated and she saw the Northern Council look on approvingly and Lyanna Mormont almost dreamily to her eyes.

"We have much work to do, King Rickon, I'll see that Dorne is ready." Princess Sarella said as she and her sister moved to the door.

"As will I to the men of the Riverlands, nephew."

After a few moments, it was only her, Arya, Rickon, Davos, Missandei, Lord Reed, and Lyanna Mormont left in the solar. She almost chuckled at the sigh that came from Rickon when he took his seat; she and the others soon did likewise.

"I almost believed half the horseshit you said there, your grace." Lyanna Mormont said with a chuckle.

"Half of it was the truth, so I pray it was the right half you listened to."

"You really think that Jon is some hero from the tales?" Arya asked and Rickon shook his head.

Her brother looked to the door and Davos moved to open it, Ghost and Nymeria both walking into the room and laying down at Rickon and Arya's feet.

"No, I know he is," Rickon said as he brushed his hand through Ghost's white fur.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Tyrion.

He had not expected to arrive to find an army having already departed. Truth be told, he truly didn't believe that there was a need for them to do so and was almost sure that Jon Snow was over-exaggerating the threat they faced. While he'd seen the Wight and feared it, he didn't believe there were as many of them out there as he'd been told. Nor that they posed a threat to the entire realm of Westeros as had been said.

True enough it had not fallen as easily as he'd believed it would. But Fire would bring it and any others of its ilk to an end and Dragonfire was a sight to behold. 'As was wildfire' he thought with a wry smile. Yet he arrived at Winterfell to find a much smaller army holding the keep and one that contained very few if any, friends of his. He'd been welcomed without ceremony, greeted with no reverence or acknowledgment of his station, and felt even lesser than when he'd last visited the dull grey keep.

At least then they'd kept their contempt for his presence to themselves. From the moment he'd arrived, it was made clear to him that this was how they truly felt about him. Rickon Stark, the boy king of North, had spoken to him not once. He and Ghost, who had snarled at him and almost made him piss his pants, had taken one look at him, before turning and walking away. From that moment on, he'd felt eyes upon him and was sure that he'd been followed by guards and spies.

Arya Stark was little better and given the things he'd heard about her since he'd arrived, he was most relieved she showed no interest in him. More so that she blamed him not for the sins of his father and sister. The thoughts of being served to his brother in a pie were not ones that he wished to ponder too long on. So he avoided the girl whenever he could and spoke little in her presence when he could not. How she'd look at him when he did speak was enough to make him watch his words even more carefully.

Sansa had at least offered him a smile and some words of welcome. She'd apologized for leaving him to take the blame for Joffrey's death and he'd waved it off, though he forgave her not. He still found her as beautiful as ever, tall and willowy with her lustrous red hair and bright piercing blue eyes. To his eye, she'd grown into the beautiful woman he always knew she would, and yet there was something different about her too. Something that took him some time to find out the reason behind and when he did, he'd needed to speak to her to confirm it to be true.

"You killed Littlefinger?" he asked as they broke their fast.

"He left me with no choice," she said challengingly.

"I'm sure he did not and I mourn the man, not at all," he said, relaxing her. "He really tried to…."

"I'd rather not speak on it. But aye, he tried to force himself upon me, and no man, no man will ever do so again." Sansa said, rising to her feet and leaving her meal uneaten.

Had someone asked him a few years ago if she was capable of such a thing, he'd have shaken his head and laughed at them. The Hound, who followed after her as if she was a queen and not a lady, had once named her a delicate little bird. To Tyrion's mind, she was as much a flower as Margaery Tyrell was named to be. A rose by any other name and one who smelled just as sweet. She had been a flower that he'd have taken great delight in plucking had she but given him the chance. So he'd not have thought he was capable of killing a man, any man. That she was, made her someone he now looked at much differently.

The rest of those who remained at Winterfell offered him little and less. Missandei had spoken to him only once before she had left him so that she could make ready to head south and had suggested he do likewise. She'd made it clear that his presence was not welcomed by her and would not be by the King and Queen. Her naming of Jon Snow as the former bristled and annoyed him greatly. Not the naming in itself, as that was inevitable, but how happy she seemed to be that he had been named so. Tyrion had tried to explain that he'd come because of what happened in King's Landing, that the queen may need his help and advice, but his words had fallen on deaf ears.

"For why would my queen need counsel from you, Lord Tyrion? Has she not told you herself that she believes you not?"

"Given what happened…."

"Which both my queen and king are well aware of and have taken steps already to make the best of," Missandei said firmly.

"But with Lady Olenna and the rest of the council passed…"

"Then my queen is lucky to have her king by her side is she not. Your counsel is not needed, nor will it be appreciated. I would suggest you return to your lands and take up the position my queen rewarded you with and be thankful that she seeks not the return of said reward."

At what point the translator and he had fallen out, he couldn't be certain. Mayhap it was when he'd tried to do the deal with the Masters in Meereen. Or it could have been when his counsel began to lead to losses for Daenerys. A small part of him felt it had been when he'd suggested that Grey Worm take the Unsullied to Casterly Rock, while a larger part had felt it had been as with Daenerys herself, from when Jon Snow arrived on Dragonstone. Regardless of the when of it, the fact of it was as clear as day and he was actually relieved she was setting off with the last of those heading south to relative safety. Relatively compared to his own, though he felt no danger from an army of dead men, instead, it was the living that made him fearful and the Dornish in particular.

They had made no secret of their hatred of him and Tyrion had even taken to swapping plates of food with the men who sat next to him or drinking only from jugs that others drank from. Poison had been the weapon of choice for the Red Viper and he believed that it would be the same for his daughters too. Though given that one of them was sleeping with Bronn, she had another weapon to call upon to bring about his end, should she so desire it. As for the man himself, they'd spoken only once and it had not gone well.

"I had hoped you'd have killed him by now," he said as they stood on the parapets.

"I was made a better offer," Bronn said simply.

"And should I expect that my head is the cost of said offer?"

"While I'd sell you out in the blink of an eye, it was your brother I spoke to and no one else." Bronn sneered and Tyrion breathed relieved.

"And what did my brother pay you for such sterling work?"

"He confirmed something I'd been told. It matters not. I'll warn you the once for the times we spent together, the Starks are not the same as they once were and they know things that none of us do. I may not have told them your intent with Jon Snow, but I do not doubt that at least one of them knows it." Bronn said and Tyrion held his breath "The creepy little fuck knows far too much about everything not to. I'd crawl back to the Rock, Tyrion, a little fucker like you may be able to hide there."

He'd be a liar if he said that he'd not considered it. Yet in the end, he could not. If the truth of what he'd done, or sought done, was truly known then he'd be dead already. So either Bronn was lying or there was something else going on and it was the latter of these two thoughts that he spent most of his day pondering. That and keeping well away from those who may actually seek his end. Such as the two Sand Snakes who mourned their mother and may seek his head in their grief.

Why it took him so much time to make his way to Bran Stark, he knew not. Other than that he had spent a lot of time trying to get the lay of the land. Judging who could and could not be trusted. Weighing up who was and who was not completely behind Daenerys and Jon Snow. The Knights of the Vale and Lord Yohn Royce were reluctant allies at best. While Edmure Tully supported his kin more than either the self-proclaimed king or queen. Dorne was fully behind Daenerys and Jon Snow too, Tyrion needing some time to find out the reason behind that and he was stunned when he did so.

"Rhaegar and Lyanna's son?" he said, shaking his head.

"Aye, told us all in this very hall he did. Spoke words that showed him to be true and to be the man we all knew he was and not who he was named as."

"And his words were accepted?" he asked as he poured the man another ale.

"Aye. Why would they not be? He may not be Lord Stark's son but he carries his blood in his veins, that were what my lady said and if the She-Bear accepts it, then who am I to argue."

It was not so much that which had brought Dorne's support, unsurprisingly given how they'd see Lyanna Stark. More it was the words that Jon Snow, no, Baelon Targaryen had spoken and how he'd spoken them. Tyrion almost wondered if he'd have been as moved as some were by the passionate way Jon Snow had spoken about his past and what had led him to his present. Would he too have looked at him differently once he'd heard him speak of dead Northmen, Kingsguard, and a brother, sister, and stepmother? Or would he have, as he was almost certain he would, ignored the words and the man who spoke them and changed his mind not a jot?

As he walked into the Godswood and saw the boy in the wheeled chair, he bid his guards do their best to keep them from being disturbed and moved closer to Bran Stark. The turn of the boy's head caught him by surprise and he took a step back out of shock. Before he steadied himself and moved so that he was standing in front of him. He swore he saw the briefest smirk on the young boy's face but was then looking at someone whose emotions were even more schooled than his father's had been. A boy who looked at him with no curiosity or surprise and who, to Tyrion's mind had expected him. Something his words confirmed not more than a moment later.

"Right on time." Bran Stark said sending a shiver down his spine "There is much we need to discuss Lord Tyrion, though mayhap the return of your pin is what you wish to speak most on."

"The return of my pin?" he asked, momentarily not understanding.

"You wish to be Hand once more, as I wish it too. So let's speak on how best to make that so, shall we?"

"We shall," he said excitedly as he took a seat on the tree trunk and listened to Bran Stark speak words of treason and plot.

Winterfell 304 AC.

The Three-Eyed Raven.

With the war almost upon them, he'd been given more leeway and freedom. While still guarded and not allowed to go anywhere without one, he was not as guarded as he'd been before their army marched north. There were ways to get around his guards too and as diligent as they tried to be, long hours by him by the Weirwood took their toll. Men would seek warmth where he did not, food where he did not, and rest where he did not.

Not that he needed much freedom to do as he needed to anyway. Not at first. Instead, most of what he needed to do was with his eyes closed and through both his warging and his seeking out answers to questions that vexed him. He looked South, saw the devastation that Tyrion Lannister had wrought upon King's Landing, and did his best not to laugh when it was the Imp's sister that was blamed. Bran found he still enjoyed Jaime Lannister's pained reaction to that most of all. The Kingslayer pushing him from the broken tower may have set him on his path, but it was not a path he'd wished to travel and so he blamed him still.

In time he'd get what was coming to him. What he was owed. Though it would no longer be in the arms of the sister he had once loved, he'd meet his end. No, Jaime Lannister's death would be far more painful than that and the news of his sister's perceived actions had broken his heart somewhat. Bran sought out Cersei's fate and could find it not, her path had changed and she was far from his sight, Essos he imagined given he couldn't see her. The magic's he possessed worked not in those lands for some reason that was unknown to him.

As for Tyrion, his fate was linked to his own and the Imp was not as clever as he believed himself to be. The words that he'd use to gift Bran a crown had changed and yet not, but they were still his words and not those of the Demon Monkey. He'd already planted the seed for those words in Tyrion's head and set him on his new path. It was one that always led to the same end and as he looked at it now, he smiled a smile that none would see.

"You, it was you?" Tyrion coughed.

"It was me," he replied.

"Why?"

"Because I deserve a crown, not Jon, not Daenerys, and certainly not any member of your House. I deserved it and so I've taken the realm for mine own."

"But I thought…."

"That what? That I desired naught? That I sought no glory or power? That I was the right choice?"

He moved past the last moments of the Imp's life, as he'd seen them more than once. Why each time he felt the need to tell him, he could only put it down to hubris. To having someone know just how easily he'd won the game of thrones by simply making it look as if he'd not been playing it. Who expects a crippled boy to be the most dangerous player of the game after all? Who looks at such a man and fears him?

'Only his brother' the small voice that had once been that of a much different Brandon Stark called out.

That was the truth of it. While Jon suspected him and trusted him not, he didn't truly understand what he was capable of. Sansa, Arya, and others too looked at him differently than they once had and at times he cursed himself for not tailoring his words to what would gain him their favor more than he had. Yet it was Rickon who truly seemed to have taken his measure. His brother, who he feared as much as he did the thing that marched to Winterfell to end him. More so even, as the Night King would need to beat Jon to do so, while Rickon would need only to unlock the power inside of himself to bring about Bran's end.

It was why he'd left him behind all those years ago. That and jealousy and doubt. His brother had two legs and could walk, he'd seen things before Bran had, though had been too young to understand them. Faced with a choice between him and Rickon, he feared the Raven would pick his brother over him and so he'd left him behind to die. He'd told himself that he'd not, that he'd only known later on that was to be Rickon's fate. But that was a lie, he'd known, he'd always known. Their words had told him the truth of it even before the vision of his brother's death had proved it so.

"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives," he said softly.

It was the truth of things. They'd all found it out for themselves, had they not? His father and brother had been lone wolves and it had cost them their lives. Arya had to become No One or she too would have fallen long before now and Sansa was far more a fish than she'd been a wolf when she set out for the South. He'd been a raven far more than he was a wolf and as for Jon, his cousin had always been a dragon though he knew it not. Rickon though, Rickon was a true wolf. He's always been so, Shaggydog's ferocity had been clear enough evidence of that. And he too had fallen, he too had been alone, or so Bran had thought.

"He was supposed to be dead!" he said far too loudly.

Turning in his wheeled chair, he was happy to see that the guard was nowhere in sight. The man had left him alone to find something to warm his cold bones. As guarded as he was with his emotions, thoughts of his brother or being face to face with him were still the one thing that almost caused him to give himself away. From the moment he'd come back to Winterfell, it had been so and so it still was.

'Fear has a way of showing you the truth of yourself' the small voice said.

With that in mind, he looked north to his cousin and put thoughts of his brother aside for now. The battle was about to commence, or what Jon believed was the battle anyway and he watched it eagerly. It surprised him to see how well they managed to bring the full might of their forces to bear. His cousin showed a mind for battle that many said that his brother had shown too. In the end, it had mattered not with Robb, as his brother had won every battle and lost the war. With Jon it was only one more battle he needed him to win, one more foe he needed him to vanquish and so when the battle ended and the charge to Winterfell began, Bran felt relieved.

Opening his eyes, the thought came to him that what he'd seen may not have actually occurred yet and so he was soon looking not through the eyes of the Three-Eyed Raven, but the warged ones of a far smaller bird. The army marched still and the fight had not yet happened and Bran cursed himself for getting lost in the rivers of time once more. No matter how many times he sailed them, he'd not yet learned to navigate them properly. Past, present, and future would get jumbled up in his head and things he'd wish to see, would at times trump things he needed to see.

"It's beautiful beneath the sea, but if you stay too long, you'll drown."

Bloodraven had known, he'd warned him and Bran had sought the power so keenly that he'd ignored that warning. If he'd had more time, then mayhap. Though he knew that was a lie he told himself. It had never been about time, but impatience. He sought it because he felt he deserved it, he didn't wish to earn it, he wanted to be gifted it. It was what had led to the deaths of Hodor, Summer, Bloodraven, and the Children of the Forest, and he knew now for certain that had he brought Rickon with him, then it would have been him and not Bran who was chosen.

Closing his eyes once more, he went searching for his brother. Finding him not and being greatly angered by it. He'd catch glimpses of him, see him with Ghost or their sisters. Then he'd disappear from his view. Warging into a raven, he let the bird fly over the grounds of Winterfell, while he sought a mouse and sent it scurrying towards his brother's room and other places within the keep. How long he searched for him, he knew not, yet he found no sign and was just about to give up when he saw him walk out from the crypts with Howland Reed by his side.

Panic overtook him. It forced him from both the raven and the mouse at the same time. Bran glared at the Weirwood and only that his guard had returned from getting a warm meal, he'd have shouted his frustration loud enough for the Old Gods to hear him. He knew what was happening and he liked it not. Not even the knowledge that there was no way that Howland knew as much about the powers that both he and his brother possessed as Bloodraven had, was enough to calm him. That fear he'd had all those years earlier about being replaced by his more able-bodied brother, was now all that he could concentrate on for now.

He's training him.

They're training him.

They seek to replace you.

He seeks to replace you.

He'll take it from you.

He'll be better than you.

He is better than you.

The words were jumbled in his mind. His fear of those words and the truth they contained was very much not. Bran was unsure of what to do, of how to see his brother fall and though he knew about the Faceless Man that walked their halls, he had no confidence that he could send him to bring about Rickon's end. He had no allies other than Tyrion Lannister. Yet the Imp was powerless too. Was he actually Hand of the King and not only soon to be so again, then he could arrange for Rickon to suffer an accident.

It would only take words about how much it would pain Jon to see Rickon fall to see it so. Yet not even Bronn was in Tyrion's service any longer. The guards he had with him wouldn't make it past Ghost nor the Free Folk that watched his brother's back. He set his mind to the task, seeking a way to remove what he was sure now was the biggest threat to his plans. Thinking over and discarding plans almost as soon as they came to him and ending up even more frustrated when the time came to be brought back to the keep.

At dinner that night, he swore he felt his brother's eyes upon him. He certainly felt Howland Reed's and Ghost's. Both the Cranngoman and the white wolf stared at him with looks that sent a shiver down his spine and he cursed the former when he whispered in his brother's ear. Once the meal was over, he was led to his room and placed in his bed, Bran sought more answers and played things over in his mind once more. He followed the river and took many different turns. Ones that put him in more danger each time, yet ones that almost led him to the goal he sought, almost but not quite.

It would not be the Night King who'd see his brother in the ground. Should he make it to Winterfell and should Bran intervene to see it so, then it would be he and not Rickon who'd fall to his blade and so that was not the answer to his dilemma. He saw it then and breathed in relief. The path he needed to walk and the end he needed to bring about. It would cost him even more than his brother, more of his kin, yet in truth, he wasn't sure he even saw them as so anymore.

While for the longest time they'd not been wolves, they were again. They had become a pack as they had once been and he was not welcomed as one of them. He was an outcast, alone and unwanted. Outside his window, the snow fell and the white winds blew. Yet the words had gotten it as wrong as they'd gotten it right. The pack wouldn't survive, nor would the lone wolf. No, it would be the Three-Eyed Raven who'd win this game, who'd see the morrow and all the days to come. It would be he who was named king, he who ruled and so what if it cost him some wolves to see it done.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Jaqen H'ghar.

Night falling should have given him an easier path to the girl, as should the face he wore, yet neither did. All the potential he'd seen in her those many years ago, was still very apparent as she moved around the keep. Without even trying to, she'd give him the slip and he'd spend hours seeking her out. Rarely did he find her alone and even then it was not to be as thus far he'd not found an opportunity to bring her the gift.

It both impressed and annoyed him in equal measure. Yet it gave him time to consider more about others who owed much to the God of Death. The Boy King had stolen a life from the Many-Faced God, his own. So as his frustrations over not being able to bring Arya Stark of Winterfell the gift grew, more and more Jaqen looked to Rickon Stark and considered whether or not he should make an offering of him before and not after he did so for his sister. Here too though he found himself frustrated. For while Arya Stark had the grey wolf close by on some occasions, the white one was always close to the Boy King.

Only a fool wouldn't see that the white wolf had been a gift from the Old Gods. His coloring alone would be enough to name that so. Though it was his quietness that truly proved it to Jaqen. They may name the white wolf a mute, but that didn't explain why it made no sound as it moved. If anything it was the other name that was truer in that regard, Ghost. Jaqen knew though it was more than that. The Direwolves had been sent to the Starks by the Old Gods and Ghost had been sent to Jon Snow just as the Green Dragon had been sent to Baelon Targaryen, to protect a god's chosen. Be it the Old Gods in regards to Ghost or R'hllor for the Green Dragon. Ghost though was not by his chosen's side, instead, it was the Boy King he protected and not even a Faceless Man such as he felt brave enough to go up against such a protector.

So it was annoyance and frustrating that his time was filled with. He'd walked almost every inch of the grounds of this keep, and had found hiding places that he was sure that no one other than he knew. He'd faced scorn and risked a beating or two because of the face he wore, yet had found no other that would serve him better. Jaqen cursing that he'd not taken the smith's face for his own and even now, he oft considered riding to the army that was some distance from here and rectifying that mistake. Had he not feared it would lead him to his own death, then he may do it still.

He ate, broke his fast, and spent another day following after Arya Stark and cursing the grey wolf that walked by her side. Each moment he spent looking at her and not giving her the gift was one that made him remember just how fondly he'd thought of her. From when he'd been sent to Westeros all those years ago, to the travels they'd shared on the way to Harrenhal, to seeing her again in Braavos at the House of Black and White, he'd felt a kinship with her that he'd not with any other acolyte. Now as he followed her, he remembered the reason for that kinship.

"A girl must learn to see without her eyes, to hear that which goes unsaid."

"That makes no sense," Arya replied annoyed.

"A girl seeks sense where there is none. A girl must learn or fail."

"A girl will learn."

Learn she had, quicker and more astutely than the Waif who'd spent years at the House of Black and White and yet had never learned as much. That was why when he sent her to bring the gift to Arya Stark at the Kindly Man's behest, he knew the outcome was inevitable. Arya Stark of Winterfell had learned to see without seeing, to hear without listening, while the Waif had learned little. When she'd fallen and Arya Stark had returned to the House of Black and White, it had brought a smile to Jaqen's face. A true smile that he'd not worn in many a year. Yet it was a sad one too. For he knew the words that she would speak before she did so.

"You told her to kill me." the girl said.

"Yes, but here you are…and there she is." he said as he moved towards her "Finally a girl is No One."

"A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell, and I am going home!"

Was he able to see his face as the memory washed over him, then he'd have noticed he wore the same smile now as he did then. He even nodded as he had, though he knew it not. When he looked to where Arya Stark of Winterfell was, it was to find that just as she had so often, she'd once again managed to slip away from him unnoticed. Jaqen's smile grew larger of its own accord and because of the face he wore, it brought him unwanted attention.

He moved from the men before they could speak their words or use their fists. Soon he found himself in a place he wished not to be in and facing someone that he had no desire to speak to. While with the Boy King and Baelon Targaryen, Jaqen could sense the hands of gods that were not his own, with Bran Stark he could sense no such thing. What came off the boy in the wheeled chair was something he'd not be able to name had he not seen the dead thing that came from beyond the Wall. It wasn't quite the same, not the taint of death, but darkness and malevolence that he liked not.

The boy seemed to sense him too, though he'd said nothing and it had been the same no matter which face he wore. So it had not been that he wore this one worse than the others, or that his god's magic was lesser because of it. He wondered why he'd not spoken to those he named as kin about his presence here, as he wondered too if he knew his intent. Something which was to his surprise about to be answered.

"A strange choice, I had thought you'd have picked Gendry instead." Bran Stark said and Jaqen found his hand moving to one of his small blades "I'd not if I were you." the boy added and it was only then that he noticed the birds in the tree.

"A man felt this to be an apt choice given all he's done," he said as he moved his hand from his knife and felt no need for more mummery.

"It will not be, not unless you have help to see your god's work is done." Bran Stark said Jaqen so wished to play the Game of Faces, just to see if he could discern the motives of the thing in front of him.

"A man will see his god's work done, what care does a boy have for such?"

"To help."

There were few times in his life that he'd found himself shocked or surprised. Given all he'd seen and done, it was not something that he expected and yet for once, he truly was.

"A boy knows what a man's god seeks?" he asked after a few moments and Bran Stark nodded "And still he seeks to help?"

"He does."

"A man would trust a boy, why?" he asked curiously.

"A boy seeks a different death. One that a man's actions can help bring about. In this we are allies are we not?"

He nodded and then walked away, keen to be away from the thing in the chair, and that night as he ate alone, he found himself wondering even more if he was doing the right thing. Looking to the High Table he saw the Boy King, Arya Stark of Winterfell, and the girl she named as a sister and he saw the boy in the wheeled chair. Three of them looked like what they were, kin, while the other very much did not. When the boy looked at him, Jaqen saw the nod of his head and offered him one of his own. They were allies, after all.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Missandei.

When the sun stopped shining she had feared the worst. It had been hard enough to get used to the cold and greys of the North as it was, as well as the shorter days, yet at least they had been days. To walk around in perpetual night was soul-sapping. It hit at the very core of her, as the memories she had both from her childhood on the Summer Isles and the days in Essos, all seemed to be so far from the reality she now faced.

While others around her worried, it was to the queen's own people that her thoughts and concerns went. To the Dothraki women and children and the few Unsullied that made up her personal guard and so over fires and with torches lighting, Missandei had done her best to reassure them. She'd told them that their queen and new king, their Khalessi and Khal would Bring the Dawn. That this was only temporary and that she feared not the night, for the moon still shone and the sun would rise again.

As mummeries go, it was a decent one and one she was most happy to perform. Worried though she was, it allowed her to concentrate her thoughts on other things than the worst of her fears. For her queen, her king, and her love, she could and would be strong. Only when she lay down and was alone in her room did she allow her tears to fall and her worries to take hold. In her dreams, she watched helplessly as the worst came to pass. Then when she woke the mornings after them, it took her some time to ready herself for the day without the light that lay ahead of her.

Mayhap that was why she began to look forward to leaving with the rest of those who were heading further south. Or mayhap it was because of the woman who had nursed the man who made her queen so happy that was the reason she began to feel somewhat better. Wylla took the time to speak to her, to offer her words of wisdom, and to help her faith in her queen and king be restored. The older woman's own was unyielding after all.

"My prince will Bring the Dawn and we will see the sun again, Missandei of Naath."

"You fear not for him?" she asked to a smile and a shake of the older woman's head.

"I feared more for Baelon when I was far from his side in Dorne than I do for him now. Not even knowing what it is he is to face makes me fear for him nor does this…" Wylla said waving her hands at the darkness around them "So-called Long Night, for I have no doubt he'll be victorious."

"How can you be so assured in your belief?" she asked shakily.

"Death itself couldn't take him from this world, Missandei. His uncle's wishes that he never know the truth of himself and all he did to see it so wasn't enough to stop his truth from outing. The life that his mother and father wished for him, the crown he wears on his head, and the woman he loves by his side, that was what Eddard Stark tried to deny him and yet the Gods of his mother would not see it come to pass." Wylla said almost reverently "Do you believe that they allowed for all of that, for my wish to see him and hold him in my arms once more, do you believe they did all of that just so he would lose?"

"No," she said, almost whispering the words.

"No. He and the Queen will win and in time you and I will laugh and smile as we watch their children grow." Wylla said and despite her fears, Missandei felt a smile come to her face.

There were others who offered her comfort and gave her the strength to at least look as if she feared not for those who were not there. The two Stark girls were as different from each other as could be and yet both had gone out of their way to make sure that she had all she needed. Both for her people while they were still in Winterfell and for them when the time came to head further South. While she rarely saw the young king, she did see Lord Davos and he too went out of his way to make sure she had all she needed.

As the time drew closer, her resolve grew and then her anger did. She'd not expected to ever see Tyrion Lannister again and had no wish to do so. So to see him arrive and listen to him tell a tale of how he lived when others did not had angered her greatly. As it did with how he would look her way and almost seem to be gloating somewhat. More than once she'd thought of bringing about his end. For some reason he now reminded her of the Masters and how they'd look at people and so she'd considered having one of the Unsullied, see to his death. Only to decide that it was not for her to sit in judgment over him.

A part of her worried that she was angered by him being safe while those she cared about were not. Another that it was simply that he had lived while far better people than him had lost their lives. The largest part, though, felt there was something wrong about him being here. The reason he was here did not bode well for her queen or her king. He had not forgiven Baelon for showing his counsel in such a bad light and for ostensibly taking his place, no matter what honeyed words he'd spoken to the Starks or others that suggested he bore the king no ill will.

She'd set Black Flea and others to shadow his movements and had been surprised to find he'd spent so much time with Brandon Stark. Few people did so and even his kin avoided the strange boy in the wheeled chair and yet Tyrion seemed to enjoy his company far more than most. None of those she'd sent to spy on him had been able to get close enough to hear what words were spoken, but Missandei was certain they were not ones her queen or king would welcome. So on the night before she was to leave, she set out to speak to Rickon Stark and to offer him some words of warning regarding Tyrion Lannister. To her surprise, it was to the crypts she was taken and she felt the cold and unwelcome feeling of the place as she made her way to speak to the King in the North. Only Ghost's presence by her side gave her the will to walk deeper into the crypts.

"You wished to speak to me, Lady Missandei," Rickon said and she looked around at the open space they were in, the large cave feeling more welcoming to her than the crypts themselves had.

"I will be leaving on the morrow, King Rickon. Me and the last of those heading further south."

"You have all you need, my lady?" the boy king asked and she smiled as she nodded that she had.

"Have you heard word from their graces?" she asked to a shake of his head.

"I know they are well, my lady, but only because of my connection through Ghost."

As he spoke the words she looked at the white wolf who moved toward her and licked her hand which made her giggle a little. The feel of his tongue somehow brought a feeling of calm over her that she'd not felt since Torgho Nudho, her queen, and her king had left some weeks earlier.

"Tyrion Lannister, King Rickon," she said a few moments later.

"I'm well aware of him, my lady. I know his true feelings towards my brother." Rickon said, almost snarling "He is well watched."

"He has spent much time with your other brother, Brandon," she said and the snarl only seemed to grow larger and louder.

"Aye, I know." Rickon said before seeming to take a breath and calming himself somewhat before he spoke again "You trust him not?"

"Only a fool would trust him," she said and Rickon chuckled, surprising her.

"And it's more than clear you are no fool, my lady." he said which brought another smile to her face "I shall double my efforts in seeing him watched, should he give me pause or reason, then I'll have no qualms in seeing Lannister blood spilled. For they spilled far enough of my family's and owe us much of their own. You know what they say about Lannisters, my lady?" Rickon asked and she shook her head "They always pay their debts."

It was enough, more than enough and she made her way back to the keep and slept a peaceful night's sleep. When she woke the next day, she broke her fast and they were saying their goodbyes less than a few hours later. Again her eyes were drawn to Tyrion Lannister and again she liked his expression not. Something that Wylla picked up on and before she knew it, the older woman was whispering in her ear.

"My prince will see that half-man in the ground one day, this I know," Wylla whispered, and mayhap if she'd not wished for the same outcome she may have asked her why that was. Instead, she did not and soon enough she was on her horse and riding out of the gates of Winterfell heading south.

There were some ladies of the North and some lords to guard them, men, women, and children and carts carrying supplies. When they'd return none of them knew and yet she felt that she'd return, she believed she would. She'd see her queen again, her king, and more than anything she was sure she'd see her love again too. The smile came unbidden to her face as she looked south, the light from the moon illuminated their path and yet all she could think was that when next she saw Torgho Nudho, it would be in the light of the sun once more.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Princess Sarella Martell.

The first thing that struck her was that the defenses were basic. They relied on catapults, scorpions, archers, and men at arms and were out of date to her eyes. When she had studied in the Citadel, one of the links she'd formed had been on Warcraft, and while she'd left the iron link behind upon her return to Dorne, she'd not forgotten what she'd learned. Something she was most relieved about now as it was clear that compared to those around her, she had learned far more than they.

With Ser Daemon by her side, Sarella walked the grounds of Winterfell. She strolled along the walls and was given odd looks by the men of the Riverlands and North that defended them. Yet they bothered her not, as for years while studying in the Citadel and performing a mummery as Alleras, she was well used to strange and odd looks. After she was satisfied with the knowledge she'd gained from the inside of the walls, it was to the outside that she next made her way. Ser Daemon had horses readied and her sister Tyene along with the foul-mouthed sellsword that she was sleeping with, both joined her on her ride.

Again it was around the walls she looked first, then it was to the grounds and the lands surrounding Winterfell itself and she smiled at some of the sights she saw. Trees were aplenty, so wood would not be a problem. While she'd have liked to dig pits and trenches to slow the dead should they manage to get past the army led by Baelon Targaryen, the ground she feared was too hard for such. Instead, it would be above ground and covered in oil that she'd set obstacles in the dead men's paths. For the briefest of moments she wished she had some wildfire, the thought quickly being forced away from her as her mother's fate was not something she wished to ponder too long on.

"You saw her dead?" she angrily asked Tyrion Lannister.

"I did not, my princess, though I saw the devastation my sister wrought upon King's Landing and I fear few if any survived." the Imp replied.

Feeling the tears threaten to fall, she steadied herself and concentrated again on what she'd ridden out here to see. She stopped her horse by a stream to allow it to drink and as she dismounted, she took note of the distance between the trees and the keep. Bidding Tyene, Ser Daemon, and Bronn join her, she began to ask them questions and to see if they thought as she did.

"Should the army manage to make it past our own, how would you prepare this ground for them?" she asked.

"Were it anywhere but here, I'd use trenches and fire pits." Ser Daemon said.

"Aye, your knight has the right of it, Princess. The weather here is too cold for such though. I'd pile wood stacks, cover them with oil and use the best of the archers to set them alight. It wouldn't stop many, but if we were lucky it'd be enough, and even more than that it would let us fucking see the cunts in this endless night."

"We could set markers too, set them alight so we'd be able to judge the distance and ready ourselves." Tyene added to what Bronn had just said."

"We need to ready the keep better, I have some ideas, but it'll take many of our men to see it done." she said to relieved looks from Tyene and Ser Daemon.

"Speak to the Starks, Princess. The young king is a fierce fucking wolf and I'm sure he'll welcome your suggestions." Ser Daemon said and she resolved to do so as she moved back to her horse.

After riding back to the keep, it wasn't to the Starks that she went, though, instead it was to the smiths. She saw box upon box of broken Dragonglass. Smaller pieces that had shattered when trying to work them into spear tips, axheads, or arrowheads. Picking up a handful of them she smiled when one cut her hand slightly.

From the smiths, it was to the builders that she next went. Sarella sighed when she saw them badly make catapults and scorpion bolts that weren't tipped with Dragonglass. Taking note of the materials that were on hand and more importantly what they lacked, she turned and headed to the keep and to her rooms. She ate her dinner alone in her room that night, surrounded by pages of parchment, and at one point she even ran out of ink and had to send for some. By the time she was finished, it was morning, or what passed for morning now that the sun shined no longer.

Though she wished to get to work on what she'd come up with right away, she was tired and so it was to her bed that she went. Her dreams soon came to her and she saw Obara, Nymeria, her mother, and her father in them. They seemed happy to her, they were together and she swore that when she asked to join them they shook their heads. When she woke up it was with a phrase in her head that she swore she'd heard her father say to her, though she couldn't be certain it was not just something she remembered from the day she'd left to go to the Citadel.

"You are the cleverest of all my children, little snake. Prove that to them all and know your father is proud of you."

Sarella broke her fast with her sister and Bronn. The two of them looked as if they'd spent the night exhausting themselves with each other and she, while not liking the man, thanked him for the smile her sister wore these days. When news had come about their mother's death, Tyene had taken it even harder than she had. It hadn't been her who'd comforted her and gotten her through it either, that job falling to Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and so that and the smile her cousin now wore, had earned him some of her favor.

"The king?" she asked as she ate her meal.

"Hasn't arrived as of yet. I saw the white wolf head towards the crypts so…" Tyene said but she interrupted.

"The Lannister?" she said almost sneering.

"Left before you arrived, cousin."

"You really hate the little fucker don't ya." Bronn chuckled.

"Were it not for him then my father would be here leading us this day," she responded angrily as she rose to her feet.

It wasn't the king nor the Starks that she got to speak to that day. Both Stark girls were busy elsewhere and there was no sight nor sound of the king even when luncheon was held. Instead, it was with the new Lord of the Stormlands and Hand of the King that she was granted an audience. Lord Davos Seaworth was no doubt expecting anything but what it was she spoke to him about.

"You can build these, Princess?" the older man asked as he looked over her drawings.

"With the right men and enough of them I can."

"And you truly believe you can do so quickly?" he asked and she felt her breath hitch as she worried that he'd heard the news from the King and Queen.

"Has something…"

"What? Oh, gods no. Not that I'm aware of, it was simply a question, Princess." Davos said apologetically.

"I think we may need them built quickly, Lord Davos. Best we do so just in case regardless," she said to a nod of his head.

"And this is all you need in the way of materials?" he asked and she nodded.

"I'll see it done at once, Princess. See that men and materials are yours to use as you see fit and then I'll pray to the Seven that none of this will be needed." Davos said with a small chuckle.

"As will I, Lord Davos."

For the next few days, she spent as much time in the yard as she did in her rooms. Her own men pitched in but it was men of the North and some of the Free Folk who did most of the heavy lifting. As they worked on making the scorpions, catapults, and balls of pitch to her design, more and more people spent time looking at them doing so. The two Stark girls, Lords of the North and Riverlands, and finally the king himself came to see what it was they were working on. Rickon Stark even walked right to her and asked her about the works, thanking her profusely when she told him the truth about them.

"I believe my brother and Goodsister will be enough to hold the army of the dead back, Princess Sarella, yet I'm glad that you're with us in case they do not."

"I find myself hoping for it not to be needed, King Rickon."

"As do we all, Princess."

Within a week of her starting it, it was done. The scorpions had been adapted to fire bolts with Dragonglass tips, the catapults to fire nets that would open and shower any below them with piercing pieces of Dragonglass. She'd placed spikes along the top of the walls that were made with broken Dragonglass so that if the dead sought to climb, then they'd find their hands pierced by the blackened material.

Two large scythes had been made to drop from the walls, their edges covered in the sharpest Dragonglass she could find. That she had to admit had been an idea she'd stolen from Baelon Targaryen who'd told them all of the defenses of the Wall before he'd marched there. Balls of pitch, wooden piles soaked in oil, small pits within Winterfell itself that were spiked with spears tipped with Dragonglass and could be used to allow defenders to stand behind. She'd done so much in a week that she wondered what she could have accomplished in a moon or more.

She even sent riders after those who'd headed south to safety, letting them know of some small ways they could defend their camps should the worst come to pass. It wouldn't be enough to save them, more's the pity, but it may buy them some time, enough for some of them to escape. The truth was that it was the army led by the king and queen that was their best chance of victory. Should the dead beat them and add them to their ranks, then all she'd done here was for naught.

Sarella's biggest fear when she would take to her bed was thoughts of the dragons being under the Night King's control. Should he manage to beat Baelon and Daenerys Targaryen, to beat their army, then their fate was already sealed. Yet in her dreams, those fears would be washed away when she saw her father, mother, and sisters. She'd laugh with them, jape with them, listen to them speak and to her mother's soft lullaby when she sang her to sleep. When she'd wake the next morning it would be refreshed and ready for the day ahead and so it went day after day until the day it did not.

"You sent for me, your grace?" she asked as she stood in the King's Solar with the king, his sisters, Lord Davos and Lord Edmure, and some Lords of the North.

"The army marches our way, Princess, the war comes to our door." Rickon Stark said and Sarella shivered as the images swept over her once again, images of dragons and dead men and of bright blue eyes.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Rickon Stark.

He used to hate going into the crypts.

Firstly, it reminded him of the horrors he had seen after Theon betrayed them. Of the losses he personally witnessed, Rodrik, Luwin, and those he imagined, Beth Nan, Gage, and the rest of the household. It upset him to think of a time he felt helpless and was fighting for his life, with people no longer here to protect him, while people like Theon Greyjoy were given a second chance.

Then it reminded him of his own demise. The feeling of intense sadness that had washed over him as he felt his life leave him while he was so close to getting his family back. The sepulcher for him was still there, between his father's and Robb, opened to remind him that his place was here to rest, and it scared him to no end.

When he found out the truth about Jon's parentage, it reminded him of the secrets and lies his family had buried with them and which had caused their downfall. The statues of his father, aunt, uncle, and grandfather were dressed and clad in silence when there was so much to say. angered Rickon and he wouldn't have gone there if not for Jon spending his time with his mother.

He had no idea that soon, thanks to Howland Reed, he would start liking the crypts again.

"For the last time, Lord Reed, you can call me Rickon when we're alone," he grumbled as they settled and walked there, just after Jon and the army's departure to the Wall.

"Aye, Rickon..." the old man smiled. "Now try to concentrate. The Old Gods have sent you a message in your dreams, more than once, hadn't they?"

"I... I dreamt of a lot of things, my Lord. I've written all I thought were important."

"And did all of them come to pass?"

"All but two," he admitted shyly.

"Can I see your notes, Rickon?"

The King in the North nodded and gave the Lord of Greywater Watch the journal he had made, watching him look at the pages with apprehension. Some of his written dreams came vividly to his mind and the added notes showed how much he had tried to study them.

The grey wolf with no face and the needle in its fur finds it back as it stares at Winterfell. Shaggydog is happy to see it.

The Needle is Needle, the grey wolf is Arya. Sansa may think she is not but I know she is the real one.

Shaggy said so and I can feel it in my heart.

A white wolf was surrounded by dragons made of stone and laid down to make a nest while a green dragon flew over its head.

I don't like it. The white wolf is obviously Jon. Why would he make a nest somewhere other than Winterfell?

I understand now. The place is Dragonstone. I have seen it. Was Bran right? Will Jon leave us and make a new family? Are we no longer, am I no longer his family?

Jon would never do that. This dream is a lie.

Shaggydog is in the crypts. Near my tomb. I don't want to go there.

A mockingbird with a giant shadow tries to whisper into a wolf's and bear's ears, but neither wants to hear it and the white wolf chases it until it disappears. The red wolf will rejoin the pack and Shaggy seems happy.

I haven't seen what would happen to Sansa. Only that Littlefinger would disappear.

Why couldn't I predict what he would do to my sister?

Is it because it wasn't supposed to happen this way?

A man looking like ice with eyes bluer than I have ever seen tells me I don't belong here and I have to come with him before it's too late. I'm so cold now.

The Night King? A White Walker?

Why would they call me? Is it because I am dead?

Shaggy is back, he wants me to go back to the crypts. near Aunt Lyanna's statue. He is digging under it.

Beware of the wolf in disguise. Do not trust it.

Who is the wolf in disguise? Bran? Sansa?

Shaggy wants me to go back there now. It's too dark, I can't see where I am.

The White Wolf gets pushed by someone with no face, falls into the water, and rises as a green dragon.

Jon is in danger. the Faceless Men are after him.

This is the third time I have had this dream. Now that I know what I know, it makes more sense.

Jon will know soon too, but what about the Faceless Men?

Shaggy tells me to go to the Heart Tree, but is it really Shaggy? After what Bran did I'm scared that he's the one getting into my dreams.

A green wave surrounds the city with the red castle and topples it to the ground while a green dragon cries as it flies over it and a lion rejoices.

How could I dream about King's Landing a fortnight before it happened?

Could I have prevented it by saying something?

The Night King, I know it's him now. The Night King is coming and tells me to come with him, but Shaggy comes and brings me to the crypts. I don't like it here, but it has magic in it. I feel safe.

"Who is Shaggy?" Howland asked and he stopped reading and turned to him while frowning.

"My Direwolf. The Umbers killed him but he appears a lot in my dreams." Rickon replied sadly, he missed his wolf terribly and had he not had Ghost by his side then he would have suffered even more than he had.

"It seems that he wants to show you something in the crypts," Howland said, taking him from his thoughts.

"I think he wants me here because that's where I was the safest in Winterfell when we were hiding with your children to save our lives."

Howland seemed to ponder Rickon's explanation before shaking his head.

"There's more to that. You can feel his emotions, you wrote that he was happy when Arya came back, that he confirmed it was Arya. I think he is your guide and the fact that he is insisting on you going to the crypts is not something to dismiss so easily. There's something there for you to find.``

"I… I'd rather not stay. I really don't like it here…" Rickon admitted, gulping in shame.

"I know and I understand, Rickon. I will not let you go there alone. I'll be with you. Whatever you decide, I will follow, my king."

Rickon let out a deep sigh, feeling the exhaustion of the previous days come to him. The overwhelming emotions, Jon's departure, his fear of losing him and of the Army of the Dead, and the responsibilities he has toward the North as its King were too much at this instant.

"Maybe another time? Today has been eventful, and you deserve some rest." Howland said, patting his back, and Rickon felt grateful for the man's thoughtfulness.

He went back to his room and collapsed onto his bed, letting the fatigue he'd felt submerge him and welcoming the darkness as slumber came for him.

He woke up in front of the crypts, the door was slightly ajar and he could hear his name being called as the wind carried the sound to his ear.

Come to us!

Become what you were always meant to be.

Come, Rickon Stark. Do not be scared.

He shook his head and stepped back, only to be stopped by a mass behind him. He gasped as he turned to see Shaggydog, his companion's bright eyes and welcoming lick on his face making him giggle.

"I suppose you want me to go, right?" he asked to another lick. "I am scared, Shaggy. What if I end up like Bran? What if it's a trap? Maybe I'm not brave enough to do the things I have to do…"

Shaggydog huffed, looking affronted.

"I know you would not bring me to harm, but you're not here with me except in my dreams," he said and Shaggy turned his head to make him look near him, the movement made Rickon jolt awake.

He shouldn't have been surprised to see Ghost there, watching over him, yet his heart clenched as he realized that everything had been put in place to make him safe. Shaggy would never leave him alone and that was why Ghost stayed with him instead of going with Jon.

"I'm an idiot…" he chuckled, as the Direwolf proceeded to lick his face gently. "I should have known from the start. You'll stay by my side, right? Then go get lord Reed. We're going down there."

His hand never left Ghost's fur as he progressed into the crypts. They walked past his father's statue and he could smell the winter roses surrounding his Aunt Lyanna's, the fragrance calming him somewhat and giving him the strength to go forward.

He remembered the names of the statues he crossed paths with, as Bran had told him about them when they were hidden there back in a time when he still looked up to his brother. Edwyle Stark, his great grandfather. Lord Willam and his brother Artos the Implacable. Lords Donnor, Beron, and Rodwell. One-eyed Lord Jonne, Lord Barth, Lord Brandon, and Lord Cregan Stark, the Wolf of the North.

He stopped in front of the statue, feeling chills all over his body. This was the farthest he had gone and even with the torch in his hand, the lack of light made it seem inhospitable. Yet the statue was turned towards the darkness, as were the others, and Rickon knew he had no choice but to walk some more.

"This is King Torrhen Stark..." he heard Howland's voice laced in wonder in front of him. "The King Who Knelt. The last King of Winter. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought to see his statue in Winterfell Crypts."

This prompted Rickon to move toward the awestruck Lord, and as he arrived in front of the statue of his ancestor, he felt something jolting him from the inside.

He was under a tent, looking at two men who were arguing. They were clearly from the North, judging from their accents, and Rickon gasped as he saw the crown on one of the men's heads.

It cannot be…

"You can't kneel to him, brother! You can't!"

"That's the only choice we have Brandon. You saw it yourself."

"I… I don't know what I saw!"

"You may not have accepted these visions, but we cannot deny them. The Old Gods gave us a warning. There's a reason why dragons came to Westeros."

"I have seen the black one, but the two others were not of the same coloring."

"Does it really matter? Winter is Coming for our line and we will need the dragons to save it."

"None of your sons will be happy with your decision, Tor, and neither will our people. They'll think you as mad as they do Old Nan, with all her stories about the Long Night."

"As long as they are safe, I do not care about sounding mad. They can hate me all they want, Winter is Coming and the dead are coming with it."

"This is… There must be another way…"

"Even without the visions, you've heard what had happened to the other Kings. Do you want our sons, our people to die in a field of fire?"

"I… What about our pride? Our honor?"

"Fuck honor! I'd rather live." Torrhen Stark said, making Rickon gasp as he remembered saying something along the same lines once to his sister. "I'd rather see you live another day and lose my crown than mourn my family. This isn't worth it. Honor means shit compared to life."

Rickon?

Rickon!

When the boy turned to the source of the sound, he found himself looking back at Ghost's worried gaze. He sat up, realizing that he might have fainted, and shook his head to get to his senses.

"What happened, lad?" Howland asked with concern.

"I… I think I dreamt of… No, I saw him. Torrhen Stark. I saw him with his brother." Rickon answered, still lost in the vision he had. "I… It was so strange… I felt as if I was warging, but I wasn't within an animal. I was there, I saw them talking about the army of the dead and…"

"Tell me everything," Howland ordered and he proceeded to explain the vision he had earlier.

The Crannogman didn't interrupt him, even when he asked the questions that bothered him out loud, instead smiling brightly as Rickon tried to understand what had just happened to him.

"You've been hit by magic, son. You went to the past and witnessed a moment of history. A moment you wouldn't have been able to witness had you not been blessed by the Old Gods."

"But how?"

"I believe this was why you needed to come here. This place is probably the one where your gift will bloom to its full potential." Howland said excitedly.

"But why now? I've been in the crypts more than once, and it never happened before."

The tingling in his mind made him turn to Ghost, who seemed to want to get his attention. Without hesitation, he slipped into the Direwolf's mind and was almost shocked at the amount of power he could feel around him.

"It's magic, brother. It is surrounding us and I couldn't feel it until this point." Ghost simply said.

"Where did this come from?" Rickon wondered as Ghost lifted his head.

"From here. The Old Gods are with us here."

Rickon watched in awe as the ceiling and the walls surrounding the Kings of Winter were tangled with Weirwood roots. The white of the bark and the red veins left him no doubt about them coming from the Heart Tree. They were under the Godswood, and thanks to Ghost's vision he could see where the veil of magic started. The runes on Torrhen's Stark statue glowed as he came closer to it, and he could feel the protection it bestowed on this part of the crypts.

"It seems that we found our safe place to train, Lord Howland…" Rickon said to the man's utter joy.

"How do you feel? Do you want to trigger another vision?"

"I do not know how to proceed…"

"Focus on one statue. Mayhaps you should touch it first and think about what you know and what you would want to know about him."

He looked around him, searching for any name that would trigger a memory. He paused before the one who he remembered hearing from Lyanna once. King Rodrick Stark was the one who took back Bear Island from the Ironborn, or so they said. There were so many stories about how he did it and it had always intrigued Rickon. Now he wondered if he would be able to find out the truth?

He got closer to the statue and smiled as he saw one of its runes glow.

He was now outside, in a place he doesn't know, but he could feel many eyes on him.

"What do you want, Stark?" an Ironborn reaver asked.

"You know what I want."

"And I'm telling you you can't have it." the reaver sneered.

"This island belongs to my wife's family."

"Your wife? Didn't know the wolf was on a leash now!"

"Bear Island only belongs to the bears, and they are of the North. This place has been blessed by the Old Gods, not your fucking salty one."

"Har! The bears can all go screw themselves for all I care. This is Ironborn territory."

"I won't waste my time talking with you. I have asked nicely and the time for niceties is over. Leave, or I will make you."

"With what army?"

That seemed to be the answer Rodrik wanted, for soon his eyes glazed over and Rickon gasped as he saw a full horde of bears walking threateningly toward the Ironborn.

"You… You're a warg?"

One of the bears almost trotted towards Rodrik, who petted it and gave it a wolfish smile.

Aye, it was definitely his familiar.

"I give you five minutes to leave, Greyjoy. You and your men. Leave this land to the bears and nothing will be done to you. Stay here and I will make sure you and your scum family will have nowhere to go. For I will always be watching you." Rodrik said and the bears roared their agreement.

Seeing the Ironborn scramble to flee amused Rickon greatly, as well as Rodrik's reaction after they left. He turned to his familiar and hugged him.

"Thank you for your help, my friend. I hope Nan was right and that it will be enough to gain Lynara's favor." the king sighed, chuckling when he received a lick from the playful bear. "I know, I know, this is a gift, I still have to court her; What a Chore! Come, we need to finish this before nightfall."

Rickon woke up groaning, still reeling at the reason his ancestor took over the island.

"Judging by your face, you didn't like what you saw…" Howland said, amused.

"I will never say this to Lyanna. Never," he whined, shaking his head.

"But you did see him? King Rodrik?"

"Aye, and he was a warg who scared the Ironborn so that he could be free to wed a Mormont…" Rickon said smiling though he knew it not.

"Love can lead you to do great things, lad. If it wasn't for this, House Mormont would not be as leal to your House as it is."

Rickon nodded tirelessly and tried to get up once more, only to be unable to move. His legs were shaking under his weight and he would have fallen to the ground if it hadn't been for Ghost.

"I think that's enough for today." Howland declared.

"What? No! There are a lot more things I have to see!"

"And you will, but not today. You've been touched by a powerful magic, Rickon. It is taking a toll on your body. You need to gain your strength back and get some rest."

Despite his wish to protest, he knew he wasn't in a position to discuss it further as Ghost quietly knelt so he could climb onto his back. He felt the hunger and the tiredness when they arrived at his room and was glad to see some food waiting for him, as well as his sister.

"Nymeria told me you would need this," Arya said.

"Thank you."

"Are you going to tell me what it is about?"

"Not yet."

"Eat," she said sternly and Rickon complied, glad that she would not push the subject tonight.

The following days were spent in the same fashion, with him breaking his fast with his sisters and Davos, before spending little time with Lyanna and his friends at the sparring yard. Then after making his rounds to make himself seen by the other Lords from the South, he'd end up spending the rest of his day in the crypts with Howland Reed and Ghost. No one questioned his whereabouts, even if he knew most of them were curious about what he was doing.

He had tried to see the future, to see if anything would happen as his brother said it would, but either he wasn't strong enough for this or the gods didn't want him to see it. It frustrated him immensely and he started to somewhat relate to Bran. For what good was it to see the past if it couldn't help you change the future?

"You cannot go too quickly, lad," Howland said, responding to his frustration. "Before you can run, you have to walk. Before you can dive, you have to know how to swim."

"How does knowing that Theon the Hungry Wolf planted a Heart Tree in Andalos, or that Bael the Bard knew he would die by his son's hand be useful to fight against the Long Night?" he asked frustratedly.

"Trust the Old Gods, Rickon. If they think you should know things about your family's ancestry, then it is for the best. Now, try again."

He tried once more to focus on the one he most wanted to see. The one who, according to the tales, had seen, fought, and repelled the Night King more than eight thousand years before. Yet every time he wished to see Brandon Stark, the founder of his House; he had been shown yet another of his namesakes.

He saw King Brandon who won against the Magnar of Skagos and condemned them to isolation after taking all of their ships.

He saw Brandon the Burner, who in his grief of losing his father to the sea decided to burn all of the Northern fleet.

He saw Brandon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, granting his brother Karlon a tract of land to create his own House, which would later become House Karstark.

He even saw his brother climbing the Broken Tower and being thrown out of it by someone he couldn't see, which had frustrated him even more.

This time he was in the crypts, and he knew he wouldn't reach his goal when he heard a familiar voice. One he'd not heard in many years.

"He went back to the Wall, leaving his love behind, for he knew as soon as he saw his son that he wouldn't unite his kingdom to the North. This was his main goal in abducting and charming the Stark Lady before he let his love make him forget about his duty to his people. He knew from the vision he received from the Old Gods that his son would be the one to end his life, and as much as his love tried to prove him wrong, it eventually came to pass."

"So Bael's son killed him?"

"Aye. Benjen Snow took his grandfather's name at his death, becoming the Lord of Winterfell, and Bael came to treat for his people to cross the Wall as he heard his son had become Lord. He had thought that his mother would have told him the truth, but she didn't, and Benjen killed his father, becoming a kinslayer in the process."

"Come, Nan. It's horseshit. Ouch!" a young man yelled as he got his ear flicked by the Old woman.

"Never call me a liar, Brandon Stark!"

"I haven't!" the aforementioned Brandon whined. "I know this is just a tale, not real history. Like the one you keep telling about the taking of Bear Island."

"I love that story too!" a young girl exclaimed. "There is no greater proof of love than to fight for the woman you seek to court."

"Of course, you would like it. You have a soft heart beneath your rude appearance."

"I'll show you rude, you fucker!"

The girl launched herself at Brandon, followed by another boy, while the former kept laughing at them. Rickon smiled, reminded of the scuffles Arya and Bran got into when they were younger.

"Lyanna, Benjen, stop it now! Why can't you behave like sweet Ned over here?" Nan growled and Rickon gasped as he looked at his smirking father.

Young Eddard Stark looked nothing like the man he remembered. He could see the mischievous glint in his eyes that showed how much he wanted to join his brothers and sister but kept away so as to not get into trouble. The other siblings didn't seem to hear Nan's orders, too busy screaming at each other and trying to rip their clothes.

"Very well. No more stories for you!"

"Aw, Nan! Don't be like that!" they all whined as one, Rickon's father included.

"What good does it do if you do not believe a word that I say?"

"I believe you!" Lyanna protested whilst Brandon scoffed. "You're the memory of this House and we would be lost if it wasn't for you. Father always says so."

"Father also says that she's old enough to have met Bran the Builder." The youngest, who Rickon recognized as Benjen, was taunted, only to be elbowed by his sister.

"One day you will go to the Wall, Benjen. You will become the pride of your House and protect the realms of men. Think of my stories when you venture beyond the Wall, it might save your life." Old Nan retorted, before looking straight at Rickon. "Old stories are like old friends. You have to visit them from time to time lest you forget their meaning. A Stark should never forget where he comes from, nor should he forget his duty to the people, for Winter is Coming, and the dead come with it. You are the Wolf of Winterfell, and this is your duty."

"Who are you talking to, Nan?" young Benjen asked, frowning.

"A ghost. Someone who died and had been blessed by the Old Gods. Someone who traveled through time to see this moment. Have I ever told you about greenseers?" she said, to Rickon's surprise.

"Being in the crypts does you no good, Nan," Lyanna said, grabbing her hand. "Come, I wish to go to the Godswood to hear your next story."

"Did I tell you that Bael's wife, the Stark woman he had stolen, was your namesake?"

"Aye, and one day I shall have a son I will call Bael. I love this name." his aunt Lyanna said smiling beamingly.

"I know you do… And I know you will have your own song to sing one day, my sweet Winter Rose…" Nan chuckled, nodding in Rickon's direction before being dragged outside of the crypts.

I will come for you when the time is right. He startled at the voice in his head, the one that resembled the old woman's.

"She saw me!" he yelled as he woke up. "How? How could she see me?"

"Who? Who saw you?"

"Old Nan! She was… She was talking to me and spoke about greenseers. How is it possible?" Rickon exclaimed while shaking his head in wonderment.

"What did she say?"

"She called me a ghost, and… She said she will come to me when the time is right."

"Then come she will, lad."

"It's impossible. She's dead. The Ironborn killed her during the sack of Winterfell." he said sadly.

"Nothing is impossible for the Old Gods. You know that. Do you want to try again?"

Rickon nodded, still at a loss to explain what had just happened, but Nan's memory was too much for him to forget, for every time he tried to focus all he could see was her.

It made no sense to him. None at all. Until he found himself facing his younger self in the Great Hall of Winterfell. He almost choked as he saw his mother tending to him. His memory of her hadn't done her justice, for she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

Sansa looked so much like her, and Arya like Father. Who do I look like the most?

"Did Nan frighten you again with her stories?" his father asked, smiling softly, as a much younger Rickon nestled his head in the crook of his mother's arms.

"Not us, Sansa. She is so fearful of everything it's not even funny!" Arya sighed loudly.

"Which one was it? The Long Night? The Ice Spiders?"

"'Twas the Rat Cook, father," Robb said and Rickon felt tears welling at seeing his brother alive.

He walked closer to them, to his united family, seeing Jon looking longingly at them from another table and avoiding the scattering gaze of his mother. His father was laughing and shaking his head while Sansa sobbed.

"Her stories are awful, Father. They are nothing like those of the South. They speak about death and horrible creatures. Why can't she tell stories like Florian and Jonquil?" she whined and present-day Rickon rolled his eyes at her antics.

"Because those stories were stupid, Stupid," Arya answered before being elbowed by Bran.

"Old Nan only tells the stories she knows, sweetling. The North is a harsh place to live, especially in winter, and Nan has seen more winters than any of us." his father said, his words a welcome sound to Rickon's ears.

"I bet she was there during the first one, the old bat." Theon mumbled, only to be chastised by Ned Stark.

"She may be old, but she deserves respect. She has cared for our family for as long as I can remember. She was already here when my father was born."

"They say that she was the one to nurse Bran the Builder, father, is it true?" Bran asked as Robb and Theon scoffed.

"Then she would be older than the Wall, son," Ned explained, smiling again, and Rickon wondered if he always smiled so.

"Maybe she is!" Arya exclaimed. "She tells the stories as if she was there the whole time."

"A person cannot live that long, Arya, that's just nonsense." Robb chimed in.

"If someone can live this long, it would be Nan." their father joked. "Do not tell her what I said, else she will find a way to punish me!"

"Ned!" his mother said, affronted.

"'Tis the truth, Cat! No matter how old I am, no matter I am the Lord of this keep and Warden of the North, I will always be little Ned to her. Even my Father feared her."

"You're afraid of her, Father? Truly?" Sansa gasped.

"Nan is the memory of the North. She carries with her the spirit of the Old Gods. Remember that, sweetling."

Rickon woke up with a heavy heart, wishing he could stay longer to witness the sweet moment with his family. While he was loathed to see Jon excluded from it, he couldn't deny that he still missed his parents and brothers.

He wiped out his tears and tried to focus on what he had seen. Old Nan seemed to be important in his quest and he wondered how he could use her tales to get to his goal of seeing more of the past.

He didn't have time to think much of it, though, for he felt Ghost tugging at his mind in urgency. When Jon told him the dead were crossing the Wall, he felt that he had already sensed it. War was upon his brother and so he bid him be careful, as well as his goodsister, and he felt Jon appreciated the concern Rickon expressed from his wife.

"Do not worry, brother. We have a plan and we will hold true to it. Then we will end the threat and come back home." Jon said with confidence, giving Rickon the assurance he needed, so much so that the night falling on Winterfell signaling the start of the fight against the dead almost didn't phase him.

Later on, after talking to the Lords and Ladies and trying to engender hope in what would come to pass, he summoned Sansa, Arya, and begrudgingly Theon, as he too had been present in his dream. He was glad however to find the latter not coming, as Sansa said that he wasn't feeling well.

"I dreamt much about Old Nan lately," he spoke as casually as possible given the subject he was about to broach. "I don't remember much about her, but I know she used to tell her tales and that Sansa didn't like most of them."

"An understatement, brother." Arya scoffed and Sansa shook her head.

"Do you remember some of them?"

"I'm… I'm sorry… I don't… Robb loved to scare me with them. That's all I remember." Sansa mumbled.

"I remember the Rat Cook. It inspired me with my vengeance for Walder Frey. I served him his two sons in a pie, as the Rat Cook had done to his enemy." Arya said proudly, making them scoff.

"Do you recall anything she said about Bran the Builder?" he insisted.

Sansa frowned and shook her head, while Arya seemed lost in thoughts.

"I think… She used to say that he prayed to the Old Gods for a place to call his own, and they led him to the hot springs where he would have to build Winterfell. That's the only thing I can remember about her tales about him, though they were more pleasant than some of her others." Sansa said, and he noticed her little shiver. "Father used to tell us that when the Long Night arrived, he repelled the army of the dead with the help of giants and Children of the Forest, then he was tasked by them to guard the North while they left beyond the Wall."

"Nan said once that Bran the Builder was a frail child whose mother died and he was nursed by a Direwolf under a Heart Tree when he was but a babe. That's why the Starks are so close to Direwolves and why we took them as our sigil." Arya added.

"Under a Heart Tree, you said?" Rickon gasped and stood up quickly.

"Why is this so important? Nan used to talk about nonsensical things." Arya said confused by his actions.

"Such as wargs, skinchangers, and greenseers, right?" Rickon retorted, smirking as Sansa seemed to get his meaning.

"You mean all of it was true?"

"I don't know, but I mean to find out tonight. Jon may be fighting the Night King as we speak. If I can find his weak spot…"

"Go," Arya ordered. "Do what you have to do."

He practically ran toward the crypts, not even waiting for Howland to join him this time. His heart was pounding when he arrived under the roots of the Heart Tree.

"Is this what you wanted me to know, Nan? Is this where Bran the Builder was nursed?" he asked as he slowly touched one of the roots.

He was instantly transported to a vision, and this time he recognized the place. He was in the Godswood, only it wasn't the Goswood that he was used to visiting. There was the Heart Tree, and the pool next to it, and even though he was surrounded by snow, it felt more primal and the wind not natural, almost unwelcoming.

"Why did you bring me here?" he heard a voice say. Turning to him he saw a Northman covered in furs speaking to a being he had never seen before.

"You've asked the Gods for a place to make your own. Do you remember this place, Brandon?"

"I do not."

"Do you remember the first Heart Tree you saw?"

"The one above the cave where I grew up… The one where Nan found me…"

"It is. Your mother believed in the Old Gods, the god of her ancestors, while your father never wanted to pray to them. When your father died and your mother felt her time was about to end, she came to this very Heart Tree and prayed you would be safe. She gave her life in exchange for yours, so you could survive, and the Old Gods answered her prayers. They sent Nan to nurse you and to make sure you would not follow in your mother's footsteps, and the magic in your blood did the rest."

Did they say, Nan? Wait… Is it…

"As she made you stronger, you also made her different. The moment you made her human was the moment we knew we would need your help." the being continued

"Why would you need my help?" Brandon asked.

"A mistake has been made, child. A mistake only you can help rectify."

"What mistake?"

"Someone is coming. Someone who desires to kill you above all things and erase your line from existence. An enemy we have in common."

"What? Why would they want to kill me?"

"Because of who you are, because of the magic in your blood and what it represents. But you need to survive for the world we live in to keep existing."

"The magic… In my blood?"

"The same that made a Direwolf's skin change into a human. The same that brings Winter to your enemies."

"I am but one man…'The Builder said, visibly at a loss. "You have blessed many others, wedded wargs, and skinchangers. Why would you have me fight when you have an army?"

"Because none of them has the blood of Kings in their veins. You descend from Garth Greenhand, High King of the First Men… As does our enemy. "

"So your enemy is my kin? You want me to become a kinslayer?"

"Should we have another choice then we wouldn't ask it of you."

"Cursed is the kinslayer!" the man protested and Rickon nodded while the child looked sadly at his ancestor.

"Nothing can beat the Ice magic of our foe. Nothing except for Winter itself. For Ice and Winter are made of the same, and one cannot go without the other."

"As I say, I am but one man."

"You have to unite the people of these lands to have a chance of surviving, but you will not do so alone." the being said and Rickon startled as he heard a howl, surprised to see Bran the Builder smile wolfishly. "Your pack will help. Nan and her sons will never leave your side. Become the King you need to be and protect these lands. Make Winter come for him like you did those who tried to end you before him."

"How? If I accept… How will I be able to defeat him?"

"With the same thing that he takes his strength for." the child answered, opening his hand to reveal a piece of Dragonglass.

Another howl rang, breaking Rickon from his vision, and he gasped seeing the scene in front of him as he came to his senses.

"Finally. You've finally opened your third eye." the old woman chuckled as she petted Ghost who acted like a puppy near her.

"How? Why?"

"I cannot explain the how. I had never been able to. From the moment my fur gave way to skin, my fate has been intertwined with your family's. Brandon did his best to end the threat, but he only managed to wound the Night King. His fate wasn't to kill him anyway. This task belongs to someone else. Someone who -"

"You… You're a skin-changer…" Rickon said in awe before howling in pain, his ear burning from the scuff he received.

"Since when do people interrupt when someone tells a story?"

"I'm… You're really here… You're not a vision…"

"Of course, I'm not!" Old Nan replied, seemingly offended.

"I thought you were dead."

"I am drawn to this place, and can only appear when there is a Stark in Winterfell and the time is true. When everyone left, so did I. And when you came back, it took me some time to get to contact the right Stark of Winterfell. I couldn't come to you before the time was right."

"Why?"

"Because of your brother."

"Jon?"

"Brandon," she answered and he shivered to see her face harden. "I loved him. As if he was my own. I even let my only grandson and my other kin leave with him. Had I known he would be the one… Had I known…then I would have done things differently."

Rickon's heart clenched hearing the pain lacing the old woman's words. He remembered then that Hodor was her family, and if what he saw was the truth, there might be chances that Ghost and his pack were to be descendants of her original pack as well.

"I'm sorry, Nan," he whispered truthfully.

"Fate cannot be changed, my sweet. I remember when you were born, I felt there was much in you, as much power as there had been in Bran, in my Bran. Maybe as much as there was in Lyanna's son. Yes, I know about Baelon. I've always known, and I didn't say anything because I knew of his purpose. He needed to go to the Wall as Jon Snow to find out the truth about the White Walkers. I could not intervene anyway. For I too am but a servant of the Old Gods."

"Why now then? Why are you intervening now?" he asked curiously.

"Because the Old Gods bid it of me. Because my time has come to finally rejoin my pack, my family, my ancestors." Nan said and Ghost whined. "Do not cry for me, little one. I have been here for a long time and I welcome the end of it. I welcome it knowing that it leads this young one to learn of his true purpose."

"My purpose?" Rickon repeated, swallowing anxiously.

"You know how to end the Night King. But before you can run, you have to walk. Before you can dive, you have to swim. And to understand the how, you must know the why. Take my hand, Rickon, the Stark of Winterfell, son of Eddard, son of Rickard, son of Edwyle, son of Willam, son of Beron, son of Cregan, son of Rickon, son of Benjen, son of Bael, King beyond the Wall. You are the King of the North, a descendant of the First King of Winter, Bood of the Wolf, and those who sing the song of the world which flows in your veins. Ancient magic will soon be needed. Remember the promise to the Gods you made?" she asked and he nodded. "You will protect my family, even from themselves. You were born to do so and the Gods took your vow on earth and on water, on bronze and iron, on ice and fire very seriously. To protect them. Look closely, and protect them."

"Do you think I'm ready for this?"

"Aye, I do."

His hand was shaking when he grabbed her offered one, and soon he felt the signs of an upcoming vision.

The cold swept in his bones and he could barely see in front of him. The mutilated corpses around the glowing heart Tree made him recoil in shock, but not so much as seeing his older brother walk in front of him. He was so used to seeing Bran in his wheeled chair that it took him back for a moment and he forgot where he was. Was this a dream, another vision?

Bran turned to the right and gasped, making Rickon look that way and shiver as he watched the Army of the Dead waiting for them. He looked on in alarm as Bran walked fearlessly through the army, which didn't react to his presence, and Rickon breathed a sigh of relief when he realized they were both simply in a dream. He walked not so far from Bran while making sure not to make himself caught by his brother who didn't seem to catch on his presence. He froze in shock as they arrived face to face in front of the Night King and his Lieutenant. Why was Bran willing to see the Night King? Was he trying to find how he could be killed?

Suddenly the Night King grabbed Bran's arm and Rickon could see the panic in his brother's eyes.

"You… I've seen you… You're a Raven." the Night King's icy voice rang, speaking the Old Tongue which surprised both Bran and Rickon.

"How? Why?" Bran stuttered, looking for a way to escape.

"So it has come to pass. Finally. What is your name?"

"Brandon Stark, but -"

"Fitting that you got the name of the one who started it all."

"What has come to pass? Who are you talking about?"

"The irony is not lost on me, Brandon the last Raven. I will come for you and rid the world of your unholy existence."

"I have done nothing to you -"

"Yet. I will not let you have the opportunity to do so either. I know where you are now. Say the last prayer to your Gods before I send you to meet them."

Bran began to yell in panic and Rickon could see the mark on his arm getting blacker. When his brother managed to disappear, the Night King turned his eyes on his frightful form and he could feel his body react to his icy glare.

"I will fulfill my destiny. I will come for him. Nothing and no one will prevent me from doing so. Either join me and be spared or join him and be destroyed."

RICKON! RICKON! COME BACK! he heard Ghost's voice in his head and latched onto him to get away from the vision.

This one had drained him more than the others and he could barely keep his eyes open. Yet he could feel it. The atmosphere had grown colder and he could feel the storm closing in. Howland was there now too, the older man watching him with concern.

"Arya came to get me to come here. By the Gods, you're bleeding…" Howland said and he could feel the warmth of blood coming from his nose. "Why didn't you wait for me? You know how dangerous it can be, yet -"

"Where is she?" Rickon asked him, making him frown.

"Who are you talking about?"

Nan was gone, only the black fur she had been covered in which now laid on Rickon's lap, and Howland seemed not to have seen her either. It wasn't a figment of his imagination, though, and he felt a pang in his chest thinking that she went to join her ancestors and that he would never see her again.

"Fuck!" He suddenly cursed before running out of the crypts and towards the Broken Tower, all of his senses making him come here. He climbed the stairs despite the protests and the worried calls from others and almost collapsed when he saw the storm looming over the Wolfswood.

Bran was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs when he walked back down them, as expressionless as ever, although Rickon would swear he had seen a bit of fear in his brother's eyes. He didn't have time to confirm his suspicions, though, for he needed to reach out to Jon.

It was now much easier for him to get into his friend's mind, especially when it was to talk to his brother. He hoped he would be there, that Jon wouldn't be caught in an unnecessary fight that would prevent him from coming back.

"I'm so sorry, brother. I thought… We thought…" Jon started urgently and Rickon sighed with relief as he caught onto what had happened.

"This is not your fault, Brother. He blindsided us all. They're almost here."

"I'm on my way, Rickon. Be strong, be careful, and if the fight comes to you before I do… Whatever happens, do not let him come near Bran."

The flow of worried faces he had to face when he got back to his body was overwhelming. He quickly composed himself and ordered the Lords, Ladies and his family to be brought to him at his solar. While he laid out his plans for what was to come, only one thing stood out in his mind.

Nothing can beat the Ice magic of our foe. Nothing except for winter itself.

It would come down to one of them, Bran, Rickon, Arya, Sansa, or Jon. It would come to one of them to end the threat of the Night King, and while he was confident in his and Arya's skills, Sansa and Bran were no fighters, even though the latter was gifted in other ways. The fact that the Night King was after his brother was also something he could not set aside in making plans for the battle to come, and yet he wasn't skilled as Jon was in tactics and warfare.

They needed him back, and quick. Though he feared the fight would come to them first.

"He's here," he said simply.

The Wolfswood/Winterfell 304 AC.

The Night King.

Each mile took him closer and he could feel his presence more and more. It was as it had been all those years ago, the sense of the thing he marched to end almost pervading everywhere he looked. When he'd touched him and left his mark upon him, he'd felt it even more truly than he had before. Yet even that compared to this was like night and day. In the trees, in the ravens that looked his way before they flew no more, even in the air itself, it was everywhere and it was as he feared. Only growing in strength.

This had been what he'd tried to warn them about. What he'd tried to stop before it ever came to pass. He'd told them that their path would lead to this and had bid them change course. His warnings fell on deaf ears and earned him rebuke and exile. Making them see him as the threat and not the one warning them of that threat. They saw him as a problem rather than a solution. Named him misguided when he was the only one who saw it clearly. Then they had sought to rob him of his power and force him to do their will when their will led to the doom of all.

Was it how he was able to resist?

Was that why he had found the strength to follow the true path?

Did they realize they were wrong in the end?

Did they regret the choices they had made?

They were questions without answers, or to be more precise, those who could have answered them were no more. He was the last of them, the only one with the strength and the magic to stop the thing that named itself a raven and he cursed them for it. For being made to walk this path alone and for them not believing his words when he'd spoken them so fervently. More than that he cursed them for putting their fate in a child born from his brother's line and not one born from his own.

"Many different paths my sons will forge, many different lands will they rule over and their descendants will spread for millennia." his father said to him and his brother.

"And our paths, father?" he asked.

"Are one and the same and lead North."

He let the memory of his father's words wash over him. Though he blamed him too, he loved him still. For he had loved all his children equally and had given each of them the same advice. His father couldn't have known, the voice inside him would say. It was a true voice he believed. For he had not known, not then, and he had believed that like him, his brother only sought what was best. How wrong he'd been.

Millennia ago.

No man knew war as well as his brother, and few if any were more feared among the Children of the Forest than he. So much so that they named him the Bloody Blade and it was that which Brandon was known as far more than anything else. Not even their father could contain his brother's bloodlust once it had risen and while it was true he'd driven the giants from the Reach, it had come at a terrible cost of life and one that bothered Brandon not.

He had almost wept when he'd seen the lake. The blood that had been spilled there had been far too much and while Brandon reveled in it, he did not. Nor did he enjoy hearing men say that it should be called Red Lake now instead of Blue. No words he spoke to his brother got through to him and though he held no love for the Children of the Forest, he had no desire to see them slaughtered indiscriminately either. Mayhap that was why he beseeched his father to make peace and break bed with them, why he and his brother came to blows and Brandon found that he was no child or giant and more than his equal.

"Enough! You are brothers, I'll not have a Kinslayer for a son!" his father shouted and not even Brandon was man enough to risk their father's wrath.

"We have them beat, father, we have them beat and he wishes to break bread and make peace with them." Brandon said loudly "They are our enemies, they have always been our enemies, they will always be our enemies."

"We only make peace with our enemies," he said and he caught the soft smirk on his father's face.

"We could beat them, true enough but at what cost?" His father asked, "How many more do we lose, or do they lose before it's enough? I've seen the waters of the lake and my tears alone were not enough to turn them back to their true color."

"Why weep over the dead?" his brother asked.

"Why not." his father replied.

In the end, it was his father's will and his will alone that was followed and so they made their way to the Isle of Faces and the pact was signed. He gladly paid the cost that was asked of him and drank the Weirwood paste when the children bid it of him. When his brother stormed off and his father left, he did not. Little knowing it was to be the last time he would see them in the flesh.

How long he spent training was hard to tell. Winter turned to Summer, Summer to Winter and he spent his time with the Green Men and the Greenseers before finally they told him it was time for him to take his place. He'd seen much, learned much, and watched as his brother's wife bore a son and that son soon had one of his own. On and on it went until finally, a son showed a promise that not he, his brother, his half brothers, or even dare he say, his father had ever done.

He'd smiled to hear him named Brandon, and now he looked forward to seeing the future he'd bring to the North and to all the futures that were to come.

"it's time for you to become me." the Greenman said.

"Am I ready?" he asked.

"No."

Yet he did as he was bid and felt the power wash over him. It was like nothing he could imagine, the different images he saw were of the future he could tell, but they were fleeting and hard to pin down to a single one. Time was a river, the Children had said, one that he must learn to navigate and he'd thought himself more than able to do so. This river however ran faster than any he'd ever known and it almost overwhelmed him. Soon enough he was underneath it, in the water itself and he struggled to breathe.

"Be at peace, son." his father's voice said.

He took in the air in deep gasps, watched as the river slowed, and made his way to the banks of it before climbing out. How long he sat there, he knew not, but eventually he felt ready to try again and when he did, it was like nothing he'd ever imagined before. Soon he was moving in the water as if it was still and in each place he looked, he saw a different time. Years from now, Centuries, Millennia, all of it was so close that if he reached out he could touch them almost.

The Andals came and war was upon the shores of the lands that would be named Westeros once more. Kingdoms rose and fell, kings were crowned and lost their heads. He watched a Wall of Ice be built that rose as high as the eye could see and stretched the entire length of the North. He looked on as ten thousand ships set sail and arrived at a land of sand and as an empire crumbled under fire and molten stone. In time he saw dragons land on an island and then he watched as three of them turned six of the seven kingdoms into one.

In his father's lands, he saw the bounty they produced and could almost smell the fruits and flowers and in the lands that his brother's sons had named as their own he looked on as a stone keep rose from the place where Winter was to Fall. It was this he looked at most of all, the lands ruled over by his brother's sons, his nephews and at first, he was more than pleased with what he saw. True there was war, strife, famine, and death, but there was peace too, there was love, and the lands along with the people that lived there thrived. Or they did until he began to look more deeply at those lands until he saw the corruption of those lands.

His brother's line was tainted, cursed, his brother's actions had never been forgiven and from what he could see they never would. Long into the future he looked, only to then be horrified by what he saw. For that taint, that curse, never would it show itself more than when they tried to make a descendant of his brother's line into what he now was. To give so much power to one so ill-equipped to use it, and to not see the danger in doing so was hubris. It led to the end of all things, all lands, all people. Power corrupts enough as it was, it makes you face the truth of yourself, and to give power to a corrupted thing, that was more than folly, that was more than to court disaster, that was to assure it.

His brother's lands, his father's, lands of sand and ice, fertile and not, all were tainted by the corruption of his brother's descendant. War, famine, pestilence, and finally death roamed the lands and through it all, he sat uncaringly. The last of his brother's line, a thing that was no longer a man, unfeeling and uncaring about anyone but himself. Not even his own kin was saved from him, a brother falling, a sister, another, and then another. A fate that had been foretold and was then denied to him to see, had somehow been usurped by the thing that shared his brother's blood.

"Enough" he shouted and around him the Children of the Forest looked on with dispassionate eyes.

He knew what he had to do and so he called out for the gods, and while he waited for them, he looked back at where it all began, to the pact, to his father and his brother, to the path that had led him to where he now was.

The Pact.

It had been his words that had been listened to by their father, not his brother's. Brandon had earned a new name, the Bloody Blade and while he reveled in it, their father hated that one of his sons did so. Mayhap that had been the reason why it was he that his father sided with, or mayhap it had been seeing the carnage at what had now been named Red Lake. Mayhap it was simply that victories were fleeing and while celebrated one day, their defeats would follow the next. Whatever the reason, it was to the God's Eye that they made their way across the lake to the small isle where they rowed their boats.

They were given bread and salt when they arrived, a rite known as the Right of Guests and one that his father had bid all to follow. Around them, there were Children of the Forest and Wood Dancers, while with them were mighty warriors and chiefs. None more respected than his father and even his brother feared Garth Greenhand's wrath. As they sat around an unlit fire, he could see how the Children looked at his brother, the hate in their eyes as they did so was almost a visceral thing.

"Many lives have been lost, on both our sides. We could fight another age and still be where we are." his father's voice boomed.

"You seek our ends! Cut down our trees! Spill our blood!" one of the Children said.

"Aye, as you do ours." his father replied.

"We seek peace." a different Child said "But there is a price to be paid so we know it's one you'll keep to."

"What price?" his brother asked.

"You." the Child responded.

He listened as the price was laid out and heard how his brother raged against it. Knowing full well that Brandon's stubbornness would cost them the chance to end this war, he rose to his feet.

"I'll pay the price," he said to a proud look from his father, an angered one from his brother, and curious ones from the Children and Wood Dancers.

"Why would we settle for you when it's him we seek?" the Child asked curiously.

"I am my father's son as is he, his blood flows in my veins and my brother will keep to my father's will if you'll accept me in his stead."

"Will he indeed?" the Child said enigmatically.

"Is this acceptable?" his father asked and after some time, the Children nodded as one.

"In light of this accord, we shall give your line a boon, Green Hand, one which…"

"I want nothing from you, I'll take nothing from you." His brother said angrily as he rose to his feet "You're my enemy, and I kill my enemies."

"You would break my word, boy! You would dare break my word."

He watched as his father grabbed his brother and moved to separate them before a fight could break out, then he listened as his father spoke words that shocked even Brandon.

"No more are you welcome on my lands, no more will you bear my name. Begone from my sight and never deign to grace me with your presence again. Exile is what you've reaped, Boy, and exile is what I give to you."

"If I see a Child of the Forest, I'll strike them down, hear my words," Brandon said as he moved towards the boat.

He heard it then, they all heard it, words were spoken in a tongue he knew not, and each and every one of the Children and the Wood Dancers spoke them at the same time. The sky darkened, or at least he thought it did. Then it brightened once more and he looked on as Brandon seemed to stumble and fall to the ground before he then made it to the boat and rowed away.

It was after he'd taken the paste that the words that were spoken had become known to him. After he'd said goodbye to his father for the last time and felt his pride in what he'd done. He had then asked and been told, then wished he'd not.

"Wherever he names his home, wherever he rests his head, he and any from his line will find that Winter comes for them. Ever does it come and ever will it find them. His lands will not know plenty, they'll not know fertile fields, and each place that he names his own will be a place where Winter Falls."

The Wolfswood 305 AC.

The Night King.

He'd done it again, drifted off in the memories of the past, and lost himself in them. They'd marched ever closer to his destiny, ever closer to ending the thing he'd seen all those years ago. Kin but not kin, blood but not blood, and once again he found he wished he'd just ended it all those years before. He could have, he would have been able to. No, that wasn't true, he couldn't become a Kinslayer, he couldn't take his brother's life, not then, not even now was the thought in his head a true one.

His descendants though, those who'd come from his brother's line, those he could and should have ended. Not the one he'd tried to, that had been a mistake, folly, and hubris on his own part, and were he able to still, then he'd have laughed at the irony of that. He'd called them all out for their hubris, then fell prey to his own. It should never have been the Builder he sought to end, it should have been one of the many that had come after him. He should have waited and bided his time, but he'd moved too soon and had paid the cost for it.

It was not the only cost he'd paid, he thought bitterly as he moved his hand to his chest and touched the stone where his heart had once been. They had cursed him, just as they had his brother and yet he had deserved it not where Brandon had. He'd done their will, had shown them the truth and they'd paid him back by turning him into this, this thing. He was almost as unfeeling and uncaring as the thing he sought to end, almost. For he was not from his brother's line, and while both were their father's sons, only he truly took anything from their father.

They moved through the trees and he tried not to remember a time when those trees were full of Children of the Forest. He tried not to think as bitterly on them as he now did. Just as he tried not to dwell on the fact that he had, in essence, done his brother's work for him. That it had been he who'd carried out what Brandon had sought, he who'd brought an end to the Children of the Forest, and to the thing in the tree that had become as he had once been.

"Your path is wrong," Bloodraven said.

"I am the only one of us who was ever right."

"No, you're not."

"I warned you all, I told you all. What reward was I given for my warning? How was I paid back for speaking truths you all had no wish to hear?"

"All is as it was meant to be."

"No, it's not, but soon it will be."

He'd left the cave that they'd retreated to with none alive in it. It had not been what he'd wished, but he'd been left with no choice. Even right at the end, they'd denied the truths that were right in front of their eyes. Even after all the warnings he'd given them, his words had been ignored. To pass the power on regardless, the mere thought of it angered him still. To give the power to the boy was to doom the world and just as back then, he was the only one who saw it clearly.

Millennia ago.

It had taken time for them all to gather. The Children, the Wood Dancers, the Greenmen, and the Old Gods themselves. Though their presence was in the faces carved into the trees and their will would be known only in the changing of the weather. He knew that now. How they communicated with those who they sought to do so with. Winds, the blowing of leaves, the darkening of the sky above, and the brightening of it too. Rain, snow, storms, and a winter's chill, all were different answers to different questions.

What answer would they give him now?

What words would they speak here today?

Would they see as he had?

Had they not already?

He knew not the answers to those questions but felt that he soon would.

"Why have you called for us?" one of the Greenmen called out.

"Why are we here?" cried another.

"Why have you summoned us?" one of the children asked.

He looked at them and readied to speak the most important words he'd ever spoken, words he needed them to listen to.

"I've seen the end times. Looked on as all men fell, as the Children, the Trees, even the animals themselves all ceased to be."

"When?"

"How?"

"It cannot be."

The voices all merged into one and it was one of the Greenmen who quietened them and bid him continue. He told them it all. How one of his brother's descendants would one day be named the Three-Eyed Raven and be unworthy of the task. How he'd use the power not for what it was intended for, but to serve his own ends and how in time, he'd see every single living thing fall. First those he thought of as threats, then those who displeased him, and finally any who raised a voice, be it in support or not.

"You are wrong."

"The Old Gods would intervene."

"You are mistaken."

"This shall not come to pass."

Again the voices fell into one and again, the same Greenman quietened them, this time however the Old God made their presence felt too. He felt the chill of the wind, the blowing of the leaves and then the sky darkened. Before he knew it he was grabbed and pushed against a tree, he was bound and he watched as one of the Children cut his chest and licked the blood that flowed from the wound. It was his fear that at first stopped him from feeling his powers taken from him, then it was pain as he watched the black rock be pushed into his chest where it had been cut. Never had he felt such pain before and then he felt naught but cold.

"One day you too will play your part." he heard a voice say, a voice that he and he alone heard.

Winterfell 304 AC.

The Night King.

He had felt some remnants of the power still inside him, some pieces of it that he'd held onto. No longer could he see into the future or the past as he once could, the river no longer one he could navigate. Yet he'd seen things too, strange things, odd things. A wolf had laid down and turned into an old woman, words had been spoken that he'd not heard. A black wolf had run beside a white one and both had howled loudly.

He'd seen ravens fall from the sky and watched them be attacked by wolves. Had watched as dragons flew and laid down their flames. There had been a man wielding a sword of fire and a woman crying out in a bed of blood. A boy ran for his life as arrows flew and he dodged them all effortlessly. A throne with many different people sitting upon it. A silver-haired woman, a golden-haired one, a fat-bellied man, a scab-ridden one, a boy with no legs, and finally a half-dragon half-wolf, green and white and with eyes of grey.

Then he'd seen his own path and it had led him to a battle fought too soon. A battle that he'd lost and which had almost ended him. He'd retreated from that battle and licked his wounds and had readied for the next one, little knowing just how long he'd have to wait or that when the time came, it would be a battle against the thing that had sealed his fate. This was a battle he could not lose, one he would not lose.

"You ignored my warnings."

"You caused this."

"You are at fault, not I."

He shouted his words to the Old Gods and felt their answer as the winds grew and the storm gathered. Ahead of him, he could feel him and as he raised his hands, he bid his army forward. When this was all done, when he could rest easy once more, he'd no longer be the things they'd made him. No longer would he be, the first Three-Eyed Raven, no longer would he be the Night King. When he had beaten his enemy, he'd be as he had been once before.

"My name is Rickon, Son of Garth Greenhand and my time has come."

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up next: Baelon finds a surprising ally before he, Dany, and their army race to Winterfell. The Night King attacks and those in Winterfell fight for their lives. Jaqen readies to bring the gift and Rickon finds that his fight is inside the keep and not outside of it as he and Bran come face to face and ready for a battle of their own. For those following my other fics, Aemon the Conqueror is up next.

Daryl Dixon: So glad you liked it.

Celexys: In a way, this is like the appetizer to the fight, not the main course hence why the losses were lesser. They haven't yet faced the Night King and so the full force of his army.

Baelon: Ich immer noch denke, dass Jon am Ende stirbt. Aber wenn ich das weiß, bedeutet es für mich, dass es einen besseren Grund geben muss, den einen oder anderen von ihnen zu töten, als dies nur für ein Drama zu tun.

Dunk: Yes Daario will be coming to Westeros. That's my thing with Euron, I know some people like to build him up as some huge threat, but I find him so uninteresting and the funny thing with ASOIAF is that when you think about it, how many people get ignominious deaths? Robert, Tywin, Balon Greyjoy, there are few of the big evil characters whose deaths are actually memorable and epic when you really think about it. I think given the setup here, once Euron realized their plan to take Meereen was doomed, Cersei would die at his hands and Daario knows him not, so he just ends him. More than anything though, I really wanted them to come across as irrelevant, their relevance and danger to Jon/Dany ended in the Dragonpit all those chapters ago. Hopefully, this explains some more in regards to the NK and why he may think so, but I find it funny that he's always shown as just coming right at them, yes he does that too, but he plans as well. As terrible as the Wight Hunt was, if you look at it logically, the only true reason the NK waited as long as he did was for a dragon.

Howland in some ways is what Bloodraven tried to be, which Bran has realized but still dismisses, as you see Bran has a number of plans going on. Glad you liked Thoros and Beric, we had to have some losses even though the battle itself was a feint and I wanted to give them good ones, as for Rhaegal, well it should hint that R'hllor is still at work.

Hyoake: Thanks so much. I feel with the NK's story and especially the BS the show gave us, it requires for fics to take some leaps and come up with something interesting regarding him. To give him layers that the show didn't. Now don't get me wrong, I love the unexplainable enemy, one where you can't understand their motivations and it's left to your own mind to come up with them, but sometimes that can be handled badly too, so I wanted for it here to be more nuanced in regards to him and my co-writer and I came up with this, which I'm interested to see reactions to.

Keb: Yeah we wanted it to almost feel anti-climactic so it would put that question in your heads and then have it answered quickly with the fact it was simply a feint, a way for the NK to gain ground. I hope you like the battle to come, it's one we've spent a lot of time going over, so hopefully, it'll be as epic as we can make it.

Rhatch: Hope this cleared more of his back-story up. The show set the bar so low with him and then in the end he just fizzled away. Like they did such a bad job with him that the thoughts of a show set during the first Long Night just made people go, yeah not interested. I mean who wants to see Bran the Builder beat the NK back when he was this bad an enemy?. So we wanted to do more with him, give him both some motivations that raised some questions and make him actually have some tactical plan. The man has been setting this up for 8,000 years, march forward is the best he came up with lol.

Wryesenseofhumour: It beggars my belief that people see Theon in a certain light given what he's done, I mean they ship him with Sansa (and while I hate ShowSansa) I'd not wish that fate on her. Even when they use him in a canon fic where he doesn't go to the Iron Islands, they completely ignore all his character defects and make him into something he's not. Now while this is true with a lot of canon characters and we need leeway, there should always be a reason as to why a character is changed IMO. Jon is a sullen, quiet boy because of his circumstances and upbringing, to change him into a more open and effusive one, you have to change those circumstances first.

I've seen fics where Theon is wed to people far above his station to bring people to Robb's side and they just make me scratch my head. It's like the idea of Jon marrying Margaery Tyrell, the only way that happens is if the truth of him is known, if he's thought a bastard, then it's a far lesser bride he can garner, Theon is the same, he's a bloody Iron Born, Jon as a bastard is a better catch to the women of the South.

I like that Spare/heir too and in a way, it's funny because it's sort of shown that they thrive once out of the shadow of the heir, which is sort of a parallel with Jon too. Kevan, we see come into his own once Tywin dies and the Bfish while always walking his own path, we see that too as things progress. Jon away from Robb is allowed to shine more and it seems to be leading to him in some way fixing the mistakes that Robb made.

Exactly right with the NK, now he is unaware of Bran's help, and only just took advantage of the opportunity presented to him, but Bran's help made it so. Bran wants him dead, which means he has to face Jon for that to happen, Viserion was one way, this another. As for the NK having a plan, as you say they don't consider it, but they really should have.

Any Wall of that distance would be relatively unable to be fully guarded. But it's in placements of guard towers, the keeps themselves, the distance between them. There are 19 keeps, so we're looking at 15-mile gaps between them approx. there are cut-outs and small guard posts between them and given its height how far can someone see from atop the Wall? Logistically it's impractical, but there is enough in it to make it possible. Like if you take each keep does half the 15 miles on either side, that means they've got a 7.5-mile section to be covered by each castle on either side. So that narrows the distance that would be the furthest point from the castle too.

Everything about the Wall is impractical though, height, length, size, and most of it is simply protected by that alone, its sheer scale, more than by men patrolling on top of it. When you think about it, at the start of canon they have 3 castles and less than a thousand men, yet other than climbing the Wall where they do, the Free Folk still attack Castle Black.

GRRM even has that quote regarding prophecy spoken of by Marwyn.

"Gorham of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is... and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams. That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick off every time."

That pretty much tells you he's setting it up to be not how we think it is. Tyrion is the obvious choice to kill Cersei which is why people think it's Jaime but I wouldn't be surprised if Grrm plays around with it and there are so many that can be the Valonquar. Jon fits even. To me it's like the PTWP/AZOR AHAI thing, or the Dragon must have Three Heads thing, it's going to be shown to be true, but in a roundabout way.

In relation to Aerys/Rhaella well the prophecy is that the Prince that was Promised would come from their line which is why they needed to be wed. Given that Jon is their grandson and Dany their daughter, then that prophecy may very well turn out to be true. Rhaegar being obsessed with prophecy is still not fully shown in its entirety which is actually something I hope to see. We know he was, just now how obsessed he was, which is very interesting to me.

I agree completely on Edmure. Edmure is a peacetime lord, we see this through the eyes of others. He brings the Small folk into Riverrun to protect them and even his actions at the beginning of the WOTFK are to protect the people that it's his duty to. In hindsight it's easy to say that he should have gathered his forces and not stretched them so thin, yet would any lord have acted differently? Other than Tywin Lannister? What would Ned Stark have done if the North was under attack and he was forced to send men to different places? Hell, we see Bran do this at Ser Rodrik's suggestion during the Iron Born invasion. Edmure gets the rap for it because he loses. But at heart he's a decent man, he's just so fun to portray a certain way in fics.