Rickon
Ever since his arm had healed, Rickon seemed to wish it hadn't since all he had been doing since was an incredible amount of drills and training in the yard. Archery wasn't a problem at all for him, but when his skill with a bow was finally noticed, he went from drilling to teaching with the master at arms. He was often tasked with showing all the children between the ages of ten and fifteen. Most of the older students doubted him right until they could see him plant an arrow in every bulls-eye of every target before they could get a single arrow into one target.
The whole time, Rickon carried the sword Jon gifted to him, and the whole time he still wasn't able to use it properly. It upset him greatly that Jon didn't give him a smaller sword he could use like he did Arya, but it didn't stop him from practicing with a wooden sword. Arya was always training with the big blonde lady knight and her squire until they both left on request of Sansa to settle a problem at the Dreadfort regarding the Wildlings. Since then, Rickon has been having brutal lessons from his sister, learning what she called water dancing. It made him feel ridiculous, but he witnessed her skill before and couldn't help but be envious of that kind of ability.
Today however, she was in the middle of her own business. Ever since Sansa had become Queen in the North, Arya spent a great deal of time brooding in the crypts at their father and brother's tomb. But her skill in brooding was nowhere near Jon's. She seemed as if she was trying to cut herself off from everyone else. It was like she was trying to say that she didn't need anyone's company.
Her reaction to Jon's trueborn birth was rather odd. She had none. Or rather, she was surprised but she never said anything. She just nodded to all of them and went about her business that day.
Rickon decided to find some peace and quiet as well and decided to do what his father did at times and sat at the edge of the hot spring next to the weirwood tree. He wished he had his father's sword, Ice, to polish and clean. As far as he knew, it was reforged into the big blonde woman's sword and one more. Technically, her sword should have been returned to the Starks but Sansa allowed the lady knight to keep it. Maybe when he learned where the other sword was, he would try to get it back.
He was lying down in the snow, leaning his head up against Ghost's body. He had already practiced enough things for one day. Reading, writing, fighting, even manners of the court. He envied the younger sons of lords. They didn't have to do all this, only the first born. He heard that Robb never lost a battle during the war. Despite his mistakes that led him to his demise, he was a brilliant commander. But Sansa specifically told Maester Wolkan to educate him in the difference between a tactician and a strategist. Robb was the latter. Had he been the former, he would have seen the treacheries that came.
His siblings were always too busy to spend quality time with him. Arya was in the crypts, Sansa was with Bran, and all the other children his age returned to Winter town since their drills were done for the day. Ghost seemed to be his only company at all times, except he might as well not be there at all since he was never playful like the other direwolves were.
During his nap, Rickon was jostled by Ghost when all of a sudden the direwolf lifted his head up. His ears twitched and his eyes darted around. He stood up on all fours, letting Rickon's head plop to the ground.
Before Rickon could sit up straight, Ghost had already run out of the Godswood at full speed, leaving him alone. "Was it something I said?" his words directed to the emptiness around him. The only thing that kept him company now was the face of the weirwood. The face always looked sad because of the red sap that bled constantly down its cheeks like tears.
He didn't have many memories of things before his father and sisters left Winterfell. Most of them were muddled. But he did remember that he never liked to play near the heart tree. The face always scared him.
Old Nan used to say that sometimes the weirwoods would speaks the whispers of those who have left this world. Did that mean that if he listened long enough, he might hear his father's voice? Maybe even Robb or Osha? He doubted that his mother's voice would be among them since she believed in the Seven.
He walked up to the mouth of the hearttree and leaned in. He listened as carefully as he could but the only whispers he heard were those of the wind. He shrugged as he leaned away. He felt a bit surprised that he didn't hear anything. Given that the hearttree could be used to see visions of the past proved that there was magic so it seemed possible that the whispers of the dead might be heard.
"I suppose only visions then…"
Bran was the one who actually took them to the only visions he was able to have, but maybe he could do it on his own. If he could, then he could look into the memories he had forgotten. He could see his father and mother again, and Robb and Shaggy.
Rickon moved his hands to the pale wood and placed his palm next to the face. He instantly felt a great sensation flow through his arm into his body. He felt his mind and consciousness being pulled from one place to another. He was in a place unfamiliar to him. If he had to guess, he was somewhere in the North because of how much snow was around him and how much was falling. He was surrounded by barren hills and mountains and couldn't recognize the landscape. He looked all around, trying to find something that he might recognize.
From over a hill behind him, Rickon could hear the sound of what he thought was thunder. But it couldn't be. Since when was there thunder during a snowstorm? It was coming from over a hill right behind him.
He pulled the sides of his cloak over his body and trudged through the snow up the hill. When he reached the top, he was terrified at what he saw. Before him in a valley was an army of tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of soldiers marching. The size of the army stretched as far as he could see like there was no end to them. One thing that he noticed was that every soldier had eyes of blue and their bodies were frozen in a state of decay. They were all just walking corpses with tattered furs, rusted armor, and broken weapons. He saw animals with the same features amongst the men and froze when he witnessed dozens of giants in the middle of the army as well.
This was it, the Army of the Dead. Jon was telling the truth after all. Not that Rickon doubted his brother, but actually seeing it was overwhelming. Sansa and the Lords of the North were all wrong. They won't have a single chance without Daenerys Targaryen's help, even with Ygris and Lyarras.
He felt the urge to run as far and fast as he could from all of this, but he was too afraid to do so. It only became worse when the entire army halted all at once. It became deathly silent as they all just stood there as if waiting for something.
From behind, Rickon felt the presence of someone approaching him. He turned around and riding up to a small rocky ledge overlooking the valley were eight men riding dead horses. They looked like old men, but their skin was like ice and their eyes bluer than the soldiers. One of them looked different than the rest. While the others had white hair and beards, this one had no hair, and instead had spikes of ice protruding from his head forming what could be called a crown.
They all halted and gazed upon the army. Their expressions were unimpressed like they were expecting it to be this massive. The one with the crown turned his gaze Rickon, as if he could see him. His very gaze stole the last warmth of Rickon's body.
Rickon started to slowly back away, too frightened to linger, but the crowned iceman dismounted his horse and walked toward him. But this was just a vision, Rickon wasn't really there, he couldn't be seen, could he?
Rickon tripped backwards into the snow and panicked. His hands kept getting caught on the inside of his cloak, preventing him from crawling backwards in the snow. He rolled himself over the top of the hill and went rolling down towards the Army of the Dead. When he reached the bottom, he stood up as fast as he could and drew his sword. He was blocked by the army and the ice man was still approaching him.
"RICKON!" Arya's voice echoed all around him. "RICKON, WAKE UP!" she called out. It was the first time he heard her with hints of fear in her voice.
"Arya!" Rickon called out. "Where are you!?" The iceman was nearly within arm's reach and Rickon held up his sword at him. "Stay back!" The ice man grabbed the blade with his bare, cold fingers and a strange metallic noise rang. The blade suddenly shattered and only the hilt remained. As Rickon dropped what remained of his sword into the snow, the iceman stretched his arm out to him. Just before he touched Rickon, a hand appeared from behind him followed by the arm it belonged to and wrapped itself over Rickon's body and pulled him backwards into the snow.
Rickon felt himself return to his body and suddenly fell down, shivering in the snow. He was so cold that he couldn't move willingly. He breathed heavy as if he had been holding his breath the entire time. He couldn't believe what he saw.
Arya was kneeling down next to him calling for help. Rickon kept taking deep breaths as she sat him up. Maester Wolkan and several guards came rushing past the trees to their aide.
As Rickon finally calmed down and got a hold of himself, he was helped to his feet by Maester Wolkan and one of the guards. "Are you alright, my lord?" Wolkan asked. "What happened?"
Rickon didn't answer, he only stared into the distance, trying to forget what he saw.
"What in seven hells were you doing?" Arya asked, looking like she was about ready to kill him.
"I saw them," Rickon breathed out, "I saw the Army of the Dead, I saw the White Walkers, I saw the Night King. He looked right at me. He tried to grab me. He shattered my sword." Rickon looked at the hilt of his sword resting in its scabbard. He wrapped his fingers around the wooden handle and pulled it out, only to have a small bit of the blade still attached to the hilt. Everyone's eyes widened and their mouths gaped as he tilted his scabbard over and poured out small bits of steel from the inside. Rickon let the hilt slip out of his hands and into the snow as he felt a great shiver run down his spine. "Jon was right. He was always right."
"How about we go inside where it's warm?" Arya suggested. All Rickon could do was nod rapidly. She wrapped her arm around his and escorted him out of the Godswood while the soldiers and Maester Wolkan collected the fragments of the sword.
They went inside the castle to Bran's room where he and Sansa were in the middle of talking. Arya knocked on the door and waited for Sansa to answer. The moment the door opened, Arya pushed through with Rickon and sat him down in a chair that was currently unoccupied. "What are doing?" Sansa asked.
"Something happened to Rickon in the Godswood." Arya told them.
"You saw it," Bran said without waiting for an explanation, "you saw them." He didn't even need to say who, Rickon shivered next to the fire in the hearth and nodded.
"I saw the Night King, he tried to grab me, he broke my sword." Rickon said, his voice heavy with fear.
"I know," Bran told him, "If I didn't pull you back he would've left his mark on you."
"That was you?" Rickon looked up to his brother, immediately rushing at him with a large embrace. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go there I just did." Rickon let go of his brother, grateful he saved him.
"I'll teach you how to control it soon, but it's still too dangerous while he still walks."
Rickon nodded again and sat back down in his seat. The cold was starting to fade and was being replaced by the warmth of the castle.
There was a sullen silence between all of them, before Sansa decided to break it with an observation. "Where's Ghost? He's always with you."
"I don't know, he left me in the Godswood before I had my vision."
"He's gone to greet Jon," Bran said.
"What?" Arya asked, surprised. "Jon's here?"
"Almost. He's only a few miles away from here. He's with Theon Greyjoy and Daenerys Targaryen."
"What about her dragons?"
"Wait for it." Bran told her. There was a brief silence again before the sound of screeching could be heard. Afterwards, sounds of commotion and light panics could be heard coming from outside. "They're here with Ygris and Lyarras."
"Rickon," Arya said, "why don't we go outside to see? Maybe something to take your mind off of what you saw will help you calm down."
"Aye, that sounds like a good idea," He told her. Arya offered her arm to him, but he shook his head as he stood up and walked out of the room with her, leaving Sansa with Bran.
When they got outside, there was a crowd forming along the battlements of Winterfell and they soon joined them. Out over the fields of snow were three extremely large dragons and circling directly overhead were Ygris and Lyarras. "They're huge!" Rickon exclaimed. He never imagined that dragons could ever get that big.
Beyond the dragons on the horizon were many small moving specs along the road leading to Winterfell. "That must be Jon!" Rickon stated. Arya grew a large smile as she looked out in the distance. The dragons screeched before all of them landed in the fields far from where most of the soldiers were camping.
By the time the two Starks had reached the gates, Sansa and Bran had come outside to greet the entourage with everyone else. Rickon stood next to Arya and watched as Jon rode through the gates, next to him was who he assumed was the Dragon Queen. He felt himself a bit starstruck at her appearance. Even though she was the Mad King's daughter, she was certainly pretty beyond anyone Rickon had ever met. Behind them was Lord Reed, Lord Flint, a gruff looking man he didn't know, and Theon Greyjoy. When Theon entered, he earned many hateful stares.
Rickon watched as Jon dismounted his horse and walked over to Daenerys's, offering his hand to her. She took hold of it, people murmuring as she did, and dismounted her horse carefully. She didn't let go of his hand, and Rickon noticed she had a small limp in her leg. Jon immediately approached them and was let go of by Daenerys. Arya darted forward and squeezed Jon with a hug as tight as she could, causing him to let out a groan. "Careful," he said, "I've got some really nasty burns." He returned the favor and squeezed her back, earning a laugh instead. "You've no idea how happy I am to see you." Jon told her.
"I was gonna say the same." Ayra told him. Jon seemed to notice the pommel of her sword poking up against him.
"You still have Needle?" He asked, amazed.
"Course I do. It's served me well ever since you gave it to me." Rickon overheard and felt terrible. She was able to keep her sword intact for years and he got his destroyed only months after receiving it.
Jon looked over to Bran as he released Arya and approached him. He knelt down and hugged his brother(technically his cousin now) and let out a great sigh of relief. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you alive."
Bran smiled at him. "You fought well on Pyke."
"You watched?" Jon asked, as if he knew what Bran was.
"I saw you take a step closer to who you're going to be. You really are your father's son." Jon seemed happy at Bran as he gave him another hug.
As Jon stood up, he looked over to Rickon and Sansa, trying to stay smiling. "Where's Ghost?"
Rickon became confused, "you didn't see him on the way here?"
Jon became confused, "No, should I have?"
"Bran said he left to greet you."
"I thought he was," Bran said, "but now it seems he's still going south. I don't know why."
"He'll be back," Jon assured them. He took a few steps back and introduced his new companions. "May I present Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne…" He seemed puzzled as if he just forgot something. "I'm afraid I can't remember all of her titles, but there are many." Daenerys smiled at him before giving a curtsey to the Stark children.
"It is a great honor to meet all of you." She told them. "Your brother often spoke highly of each of you." Rickon seemed the only one to show any form of courtesy by bowing his head. Bran remained silent while Arya just smiled at her.
Sansa stepped forward to her and stood an entire head taller than her, yet it felt like they were eye to eye. "I am Sansa of House Stark, Queen of the North. Welcome to Winterfell."
"It seems the knowledge of your rising was true then." Daenerys said, not breaking her regality.
"The other lords of the North and I felt it was time for a change."
"Was Jon not good enough for them?"
"Something like that." Everyone could feel the tension in the air as they faced off, but luckily someone broke it before things got turned bad.
"Jon!" A man shouted from the crowd. People moved aside as Samwell Tarly stepped forward, looking as happy as he could.
"Sam!" Jon exclaimed as he rushed to his friend and carefully hugged him. "What are you doing here?"
"You could say that the Citadel is the worst place for people who actually want to learn something. So, I came here to help." Sam then leaned next to Jon's ear and whispered something to him.
Jon simply nodded as the gruff man who came with them spoke up. "Samwell Tarly," he said. "It's good to see you again."
"Ser Jorah," Sam realized. "You're looking better than you did at the Citadel."
"Do you know each other?" Jon asked.
"We do," Jorah confirmed "He saved my life. Cured me of Greyscale." Tat earned some mutterings of praise for Sam among the people. Greyscale was supposed to be incurable.
"Pardon me," Daenerys intruded, "you said your name was Samwell Tarly?" She seemed to be very concerned.
"Yes, I'm the son Randal Tarly, the lord of Hornhill, do you know him?"
She didn't answer at first, she only looked mortified. "You don't know what happened to him?"
"Is there something wrong?" Sam asked.
"Excuse me," Arya intruded, "But it's cold, and I'm sure we all are feeling it. Can we take this inside?"
"That sounds like a good idea," Jon told them.
"Yes, it is," Sansa said, "in fact why don't we all return inside?" Sansa turned to a guard that accompanied her. "Inform the other lords to gather in the Great Hall."
"Sansa," Jon said, "We've only just arrived."
"This can't wait longer than it already has." She told him firmly.
As Sansa started to walk away, Rickon walked up to Jon, feeling bad about what he was about to tell him about his sword. "Jon, I'm sorry but I did something that shattered the blade of my sword. Jon looked down at him, his eyes noticing the empty scabbard.
"What did you do?" Jon asked, baffled at him.
Rickon was going to tell him about what he just did, but realized there were many other things Jon would have to know before he told him. "Now that I think about, It's better to tell you when we have more time together."
"I agree," Bran said, "first we should go to the Great Hall and take care of business."
"Dammit Bran!" Arya shouted. "Why the hell are you on Sansa's side?"
Bran just looked at her the same way he looked at everybody, but Rickon could sense something more behind his eyes. "Have faith in her. She's our sister after all."
