.
Welp, Respawn got bought by EA. Honestly, regardless of everyone's justifiable pessimism, I'm wishing for the best. I hope they have the same freedoms as when they made Titanfall 2, and as long as they have that, they'll be good. I love Respawn, and I hope that whatever advantages they get from this deal, they use it to take the gaming world by storm on their own terms.
I'd like to thank FamousFox89 aka the black Crow for his help in the German translation, you beautiful human being!
Tones, Legions, And Ions, All Titans That Are Full Of Power; If The IMC Came In Full Force, Westeros Is Theirs Within The Hour!
Chapter Four: Guest Rights And Protocol
Richter wasn't happy, he regularly wasn't, but this was one of those special moments. He watched as the men in front of him picked up their lord or other from the snow, moving him behind some wall of men with wooden shields. Not much good it would do against the dozens of plasma drones around him.
When they tried to retreat, some of the drones flew over them and cut them off. "You're not allowed to leave just yet," Richter said, the drones too high for a sword to reach, but just close enough to show the threat. Likely their hopes of using arrows dead in the water after what happened with that man of theirs.
Two men with swords drawn and orange, wooden shields rushed him, shouting 'Last Hearth!' as they drew closer. Fat good that did.
Richter drew his Wingman and aimed at their heads. He clicked his tongue in displeasure and aimed lower, shooting a round through their shields and into each of their legs, causing them to stumble and throw away their shields in favor of clutching their bleeding thighs in agony.
"Nervensäge. Watch yourselves, I've already shown too much mercy. Tempt me again, and I'll kill you," Richter warned. Make contact with a lord, they said. Have access to their libraries, they said. Damn those scientists, and damn Marder for ever agreeing to it.
They growled and sneered, raising their blades into a more threatening pose, which didn't fit well with the pained wailing of the two injured in front of him. He'd like nothing more than ending it, but Marder and Blisk wouldn't like it. Hell, the one who was killed from a plasma drone was likely the threshold of who he could kill.
"Lord of Winterfell, we want something of you, so don't stray too far. Besides, I doubt you can outrun light itself," Richter said, gesturing to the drones that shot that boy. He activated his comms to the nearby outpost. "Sargent, bring in two Samsons and a medic. I've made contact with a lord." Not the most peaceful, but certainly better than the wildlings that tried raiding the harvester outpost.
The dozen corpses around were the ones who ran away from the outpost's guns, so Richter and a couple of squads hunted them down on his order to see their fighting style. Which was to say, ridiculously poor. Hell, he regretted he was stayed collecting ears while the soldiers he was with went back.
There was a bit of a scuffle as the lord moved in front of the group, some old man on his side with a two-handed bastard sword in hand implored the lord to get back. Oh good, negotiations. Na herrlich. . .
The lord eyed the drones warily, then back to him, though Richter could bet he didn't know where to look on his eyeless visor. "Move the two injured men back," the lord ordered, making four men garbed in in chainmail and deep orange, wooden shields move forward for their comrades.
Idiots, all of them.
Richter shot the snowy ground in front of them three times, drawing a line just before the four crossed it, some even stumbling from the upshot of snow as the bullet hit. "The injured stay where they are, in my line of sight," he said, and made a motion to keep the silvery Wingman in full view of these people.
They likely didn't know what it does, but Richter would bet they at least understood the danger it posed. Especially since the lord eyed it as warily as the drones.
"Who are you?" the lord asked. "And what is your relation with that pillar of light?" Did he finally make a connection? Richter hoped so, it would make things easier.
"My name is Richter, and that's all you need to know about me," he said, then shrugged. "As for that light, it was my men who built it." Mostly tin men built it, but he didn't even want to start explaining about those.
The lord only looked more disturbed at the information. "You said you wanted something from me, what would that be?" Richter can imagine his mind going into odd places, along the lines of something pointless as a castle, but no, it wasn't. Even still, it wasn't him who wanted something, it was those damn scientists. He was only hired to help them get it.
"We want unrestricted access to your libraries for study," Richter replied. "As a lord, the IMC hopes that you comply." He sounded so ridiculous, but it was the routine he was ordered to do should he meet someone of nobility. Oddly enough, not here, but when the IMC extended south of the ice wall.
Rumblings were heard, as if loud growls of beasts that drew closer. Of course, they were the hefty Samsons he ordered, but for all these people knew, it was the coming of some dangerous beast, which was true if they didn't watch their steps.
The Westerosi people exclaimed as a large six-wheeler literally broke through the trees. They cursed and swore in panic, even raised the swords and bows towards it. Though the bravado didn't hide their evident fear when the first one burst through with its blaring lights, and certainly when the second came from the side of it.
The drivers' doors opened on each, stepping out were standard IMC grunts in their white uniforms. They both had their issued R-97 submachine gun, and both were aimed at the natives.
"Stop, die Waffen runter! Guns down!" Richter barked. Last thing he wanted was some chiding from Marder or Blisk about abandoning procedure and accidentally killing a noble. The two soldiers lowered their weapons, but didn't loosen their stance. That was better. "Where's the corpsman?"
One of the two nodded, and banged on the Samson a few times, having another IMC soldier open the rear door and step out with her CAR in hand. Richter waved the medic over to his side, and she obliged, but still wary of the Westerosi and kept her gun ready. At least IMC's choice for mercenary grunts was decent.
Turning to the group, Richter said, "as a gesture of good will, the medic will heal your two injured men. The IMC hopes you understand that we mean no harm." Damn Marder and his new protocols. In an instance he was put in a situation where a Westerosi was injured, with a presence of a lord, then he was to provide medical assistance to keep the relation civil and cooperative.
The corpse of one of their men notwithstanding, but fortunately there was a protocol for that as well. Slone dubbed it the 'not my fault' protocol. Which happened to be somewhat true in this case.
"Who are you people?" the lord asked warily, still eyeing the bulky vehicles and drones. "How are you able to do all these things?"
"We'll answer your questions." Most of them as long as he was allowed to, and some half-truths to go along with it. "But first is whether you allow my med. . . healer to help your men right here and now." A shot to the thigh wasn't a lethal wound, but disease was a real threat for these people, and corpses weren't good for diplomacy. . . well, more corpses.
As for the two men on the ground, they were surprisingly resilient. They're still on the snow gripping their bleeding injury, but no longer crying in pain. They tried crawling back to their group, but three bullets that drew the line stopped both groups from moving.
The lord eyed him warily. "You already killed one of our men, and you clearly have the ability to kill us all. Even though your request is to help, do I have the choice to refuse?"
"No, you don't, not when you clearly want them alive," Richter answered truthfully. Protocols have been made, and he'd been paid to follow them. He looked to the medic and gestured to the two injured men. "Dann flicken Sie die Idioten mal wieder zusammen. You know what to do, follow protocol."
She nodded, and slung her CAR to her back and instead brought out her medical kit. Kneeling by the two men who were on their backs, she said, "I'll be dealing with your wounds, so don't move your legs." The two sneered, but she ignored them as she drew scissors and cut away the bloody pants leg of the first man. She knew she was covered by the drones and a formidable pilot, Richter made sure with the gesture of audibly cocking his Wingman.
The healthy Westerosi men still had their swords in hand, and Richter still had his drones fly close, so the air was thick with tension. The injured man grunted as the corpsman started suturing the injury, which, of course, had the Westerosi knights or whatever flinch and just made the situation even tenser.
After wrapping gauze on the first one, the corpsman turned to the next and repeated the process. The usual, cutting open the pants leg, finding the exit wound, then began work to clean and sterilize the wound before stitching it shut. Standard gunshot injury procedure.
"Diagnosis, Doc," Richter demanded. It may have been a few minutes, but it was filled with tension. So maybe some good news would help move things.
She nodded as she put her supplies back into her pack. "Bullet went straight through," she said. "It didn't hit the bone on either of them, so there's no fragmentation. They'll be in pain for the next few days, but otherwise fine." Essentially, the two would live to fight another day, which might come to be if things turned violent.
Richter nodded in approval and gestured for the medic to get back to the safety of the Samsons. Good, protocol was followed, so neither Blisk nor Marder would bother him about it. Though there's still plenty of room to do so.
"Lord of Winterfell, with your men tended to, what do you intend to do?" Richter asked, bringing the attention back to the matter at hand. "If you decide to fight, I believe we both know how that would end." The drones' low hum emphasized his point.
The men looked concerned, likely they understood the reality of the situation. They may have double the numbers, but the drones outgunned them in ways that it didn't matter anymore. In conventional warfare if they had rifles there would be no argument, they'd have won, but in this case. . .
"I would choose to return back," he said, but with a healthy amount of skepticism. "But I feel as though I don't have the real right to choose." He's completely right, in a sense.
Richter spread his arms wide. "You have two choices, Lord of Winterfell." He gestured to one side. "You and a few of your men can come with us to our outpost if you wish to continue, but under supervision. You'll be safe and free to return home later on, I guarantee that." Wasn't his choice, it was protocol. Then he gestured to the other hand, the one with the Wingman. "Or you can turn back and go home, we will not chase." That part brought a sense of comfort to the lord, which made the second part more interesting. "However, you must take an ambassador from the IMC with you if you choose that option." And that part was non-negotiable.
"A trap, all of it," Richter heard one whisper to the lord. "They want to kill us while unawares." The thought of it had him scoff, and it looked like the lord believed it even less.
The eldest of the group scowled. "They clearly would've killed already, foolish boy," he whispered annoyed. "What they want is not some corpses, it's something else, one I fear we cannot pay without consequence." If they had the odd energy source that's coating the land, then yes, they did want something more, but for now some breadcrumbs towards it would be fine.
"You're right in saying we want more," Richter barked, starling the whispering duo. "The real question is whether or not you'll cooperate." Protocol dictates they cooperate and they settle things amicably, or they deny them and the IMC takes it from them, no matter the body count.
Unfortunately, the new initiative didn't have so many men to spare, the bulk of IMC's forces were on the frontlines fighting the Militia. Nearly three-thousand battle-ready men total were at the main base, and one-thousand men in orbit. Fortunately, these people were so outgunned that the numbers were a non-issue without calling for reinforcements, and that didn't count the spectres, stalkers, and drones. While they couldn't effectively occupy this planet, that was never the intention of the IMC.
'Wie einem Baby den Schnuller zu klauen, all too easy,' Richter thought tiredly as the people in front of him bickered.
"I have decided-!" the lord shouted, quieting his men. "I've decided to continue what I came here for. Take me to your outpost." Several men shouted how unadvised it was. They were getting really loud about it, too, regardless of the reasoning the lord was trying to say.
He raised the wingman into the air and fired a shot. The bang echoed, but most importantly shut them up with a flinch. While unneeded for all they knew, he ejected the empty cylinder and placed in a new one. Now he had a full six shots should he need them.
"I can allow three men to accompany you, no more. The rest need to turn back," Richter said. It clearly didn't sit well, so he gestured to the Samsons before anything regrettable happened. "I can only fit four of you within them to take us to the outpost, and for a return journey back to Castle Black." Including the two grunts, the corpsman, and himself, they couldn't fit anymore inside the standard chassis Samsons, especially when their so armed and armored. They could put a few on the truck beds, but he wouldn't be surprised if they somehow fell off and died smashing their heads on the cold, hard ground. So no.
The lord eyed the vehicle and sighed dejectedly. "I understand, I'll take three men with me," he answered, then looked to his group for who to take. The eldest of the group stepped forward, eyes begging him, so the lord nodded. Another elder man stepped forward. "Ser Cassel," the lord said with a nod, and allowed him to join. A third man stepped forward, and for some reason it surprised the lord. "Benjen?"
"I'm First Ranger, it's my duty to see a ranging through," the man named Benjen argued. "Brother, I swore an oath, I will keep it." His brother now? Another priority protection, it seemed, especially since the lord reluctantly nodded.
"It's settled then," Richter began, drawing back attention on him. "The rest back to your homes, but the four are with me." He turned around to the Samsons, and twirled around his finger in the air. He barked to the grunts, "Dann schmeißt mal die Maschienen an. Let's move!"
"Outpost Alpha, this is Richter, we're ten seconds out," he said, as though to nobody, but Ned was convinced that someone was listening. How? He didn't know, and there was alot he didn't know today.
They had been driving for a while now, and it was done in silence, only the occasional line this Richter would say to no one. Well, to someone, just not anyone he could see, certainly not the man beside him handling this monstrosity of a carriage. A horseless carriage, that's what Rodrik Cassel called it when they first sat inside it.
When this. . . thing started moving, he and Cassel immediately grabbed the handle located inside that Richter told them to hold onto, then he said something in a different language he couldn't recall. Either way, the sudden jolt of movement brought Eddard back into reality of their situation.
They were in foreign territory.
North of the Wall may have counted as land of the seven kingdoms, but in reality it couldn't be any farther from the truth. Now? Someone claimed a part of it as their own, these IMC people. He could never forget the sight of those things, the very ones he could see through the window that were flying above them around the carriage they're in. Richter called them 'drones', he also said they were there for protection, but Ned couldn't imagine anyone getting close at the sight of them.
"We've arrived," Richter told them as they passed the tree line and into a clearing. They didn't speak at all during the journey, but this one had him and Cassel look out the window in hopes to see something, and he did, but not all of it.
All Ned saw was the end of a black wall that was getting larger the closer they got, but it had some sort of large construct on it. When it swiveled, it let out a massive bang! to the ground, where an explosion of snow and fire happened where it was pointing at. Ned wasn't the only one who nearly leapt off his seat.
"Wildling survivors among the corpses," Richter explained to Rodrik and him. "The cannon must've picked up a body's heat signature and put an end to it. It's been doing that for a while after an attempted raid." A cannon, was that what it was called? And it can even see one's own body heat? The thought frightened him.
Something Richter said had him focus more on where the explosion happened, and that's when he saw them. They looked more akin to just specks on snow, but he knew better. They were corpses, hundreds of wildling corpses that dared to raid them. Another explosion told him how well that went.
Before anymore further thoughts, the carriage passed the walls and finally into the keep, or outpost, he supposed. It meant that this wasn't the real home for these people, but merely an extension of it. The thought of what their headquarters could even be and what it would hold frightened him.
Through the window, it was a sight to behold. There were men and woman, wearing armor similar to that of the three besides Richter, though a few looked similar to him, in a way. Which was why he noticed none of them were smallfolk, all of them acted and looked like soldiers. Just what was this place, and who were these people? The purpose of coming here was to bring an answer to both those questions, but it looked like there was going to be more to this.
His body jolted forward when movement ceased, and with the rumbling sound ceasing, he was hearing a sound that was hard to describe. Through the window, directly in front of him was a building, but it wasn't made of wood or stone like south of the Wall, and certainly not cloth and furs like that of the wildling tents, but it was out of steel beams and metal plates connected together with rivets.
Richter and the other opened their doors and left the carriage, and not a second later Ned's and Cassel's own doors opened for them, the familiar cold wind hitting both of them. He'd have stepped out if he could, but there was a two-foot drop first. He rebuffed Richter's help and jumped onto the snow, thankfully without a stumble.
"Welcome to Outpost Alpha, Lord of Winterfell," Richter said. "We promise your protection, and your freedom to leave when you wish. You are, by all intents, our guest." He never seemed happy saying it, almost as though reading from script he wasn't content with.
"Lord Stark," Rodrik Cassel called. "The light." It was all he said, and all it really took for him to turn and see what he came here for. At first, it was what they all came here for.
"By the gods. . ." Perhaps he was expecting a pillar of light springing out of the ground, he even imagined some magical stone or tree, but not this, certainly not a skeletal, metallic construct. 'They built this, all of this.' It was terrifying as it was amazing. When the construct let out a high-pitched whine before pulsing a strong light into the heavens, it became more terrifying, enough that he gripped his blade still in it scabbard.
He always wondered why they let them keep their swords, now he knew why. It just didn't matter.
"Lord of Winterfell," Richter called, bringing him back to the matters at hand. "You and your friends, its best you come inside. Wir haben keine Zeit mehr zu verschwenden." He removed his helmet and latched it onto his belt, his face was almost unrecognizable if Ned hadn't seen it before, even if briefly. The black paint on his face, the line of hair down the center of his head, he hadn't even noticed them before the helmet was put on. "You'll get your answers in there," Richter said in a more human voice than before.
Right, the whole reason they were here to begin with. Looking to the side, he saw Mormont and Benjen beside the metal carriage they came in with, both of whom were looking at the construct that emitted the light. Other than them, he saw the houses, and they looked like steel, rectangular cubes placed on top of one another.
As for the people, they were marching around in groups, but they all kept their eyes on the newcomers, him. From what he could see, they would amount to a few dozen in view, yet the walls seem to be ten meters high and buildings were plentiful, not something so few people could do.
There's more of them, far more than just in this place. He already knew, but he had to tell himself once more.
"Ben, Joer," he called, and the shook their heads out of their stupor. It brought him comfort that he wasn't the only one stupefied by what he'd seen. He nodded for them to come to him, and they did, if only for things to progress.
"Ned, this place, it's unbelievable," Ben said, wonder clear in his voice as his head swiveled to look around him, and more pointedly at the light. "I doubt I would've believed anyone if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."
"That's why we're here, to believe and help others believe," he replied. This wasn't some respite from their duties, it was to see if they should rally the banners. "Don't forget why we're here." Ben nodded, and a pat on his back from Mormont was quick to remind the First Ranger of his duty.
"If you four are done, there's someone who'd like to meet you," Richter said at the doorway of the building he wanted them to enter. Ned didn't think calling it a castle was right, it resemble a wide, blocky tower made of glass and steel.
Eddard nodded to his three companions and moved to follow Richter, the three right behind him. He saw the carriages they came in growl back to life and moved to wherever these people put them, and the flying machinations dispersed in the same direction and out of sight.
When the five got close to the supposed door, it split down the middle and opened for them by itself. After everything he'd seen, this was extremely simple in comparison, but it still had him stop midstep and blink in surprise. Richter apparently noticed this and waited for them within the building.
Ned cleared his throat and continued forward into the building through the self-opening doors. He'd wager that the three behind him held similar thoughts, if not similar reactions.
The door closed behind them with a hiss, and almost instantly Ned felt the warmth inside this tower-like structure. Suddenly he felt the thick furs he wore were a bit stuffy. The only similar time he felt something similar was within the castle at Winterfell, where hot water from a natural spring flowed through its walls to warm its residents.
"What is this place?" Ned asked as he looked at the metallic walls, and even the metal grates he walked upon. He knew that men south of the wall were considered men of steel, but now he saw that title belong to someone else entirely.
While he wasn't expecting an answer, Richter obliged regardless. "This is Outpost Alpha, the first branch of IMC's home base in Westeros," he said. "Follow me, and stay close as not to get lost." When he walked, Ned and the others followed.
It was just as he thought, there were more somewhere else, and since this place was just a branch, then the main camp must've been far larger, and that was cause for worry. He didn't know if these people followed guest rights, yet they obliged more than one would if they were to be killed in the end. For now, he trusted them.
Above him were glass cylinders that emitted white light far brighter than any flame-lit torch, but that was the least amazing thing he'd seen inside. Occasionally, he saw some soldier or other down one hallway or other, but that was still mundane.
He saw an honest to Gods metal man, walking around like a puppet on strings in a perfectly repeated rhythm, arms forward with elbows to its waist, the construct marched passed them with not even a look in their direction, and for that Ned was thankful.
"What was that thing?" he heard Benjen half exclaim. On its chest held a picture of what could be a smiling, yellow face, and its head held one, large, glass eye with a light surrounding it. It had every feature of a man, yet did not show it was human to them. Not a glance, but instead seemed to be of complete ignorance of them
"Those are robots, you'll see a few of those walking around doing menial tasks," Richter said, which hadn't truly answered the question, and it must've been apparent on Benjen's face because he continued. "Think of them as manmade slaves. They were built to feel nothing, and do nothing until told to. Understand now?"
Not entirely, but he nodded anyway. The five then continued further into the tower and up a flight of stairs. The entire time Ned thought about that robot, or more specifically how these people could essentially build slaves, build workers, build people. Local laws forbade the use of slaves, he wondered if that would've extended to manmade constructs as well. It mattered not.
Richter turned and walked into a room. When Ned followed in, it was hard to describe, which so happens to be a common aspect when looking at anything in this place. There was a kind of platform an inch above their level with guardrails around it a meter in diameter, and glowing, blue, glass panes littered the walls, words he understood moving in them, disappearing, and new words taking their place.
But more importantly they were alone.
"Is the person we are to meet coming here?" Ned asked Richter, who was poking at the glass which emitted some odd chirping sounds in results. "Ser Richter?"
Suddenly, the platform in the middle came to life with a loud hum. What Ned saw had him take a step back, or perhaps it was more appropriate to say 'who'.
"By the Gods," Ned heard Cassel exclaim, who became visibly irked when the ghostly apparition of a man look at him. A blue ghost of man who looked twenty years Ned's senior. While blued, his face looked hardened with experience.
"I'm no God, Westerosi," the ghost said, eliciting a small scoff from Richter, Ned noticed. "You can call me Marder, I'm the head of IMC's ARES division, and lead scientist for our initiative in your land."
Ned swallowed hard and stepped forward, having Marder look at him. "I'm Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, and Warden of the North for Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms." The ghost nodded. "I'm certain there's much to discuss, but I'm still at a loss for who and what you are."
Again, Marder nodded. "You are correct in saying we have much to discuss, and I did not expect you to know who we are," he said neutrally, neither offended nor threatening. That was a good sign, Ned supposed. "To get things out of the way and calm your men, what you're seeing is called a hologram. Think of it as a mirror, but it shows you one who stands behind a similar mirror and the one sees you as well. The IMC uses this method extensively for communicating over long distances."
So he wasn't some ghost, but this was a stand in for the real Marder. It was akin to using ravens, but clearly nothing like it. "It is certainly a marvel to behold, but I don't believe you brought me here to see the capabilities of your people," Eddard said. "I believe it has to do with your presence here forth and foremost."
Marder stood there silently in appraisal. "You are correct. We are here in search of something, so you can rest assured that we have no intention to fight or invade your people's lands at current time." It was almost assuring, but the last bit proved it was still a possibility. "However, something you people have might prove invaluable, as our methods of search have yet to yield proper results."
Perhaps that was the most surprising of information. "Forgive me, but I find it difficult to believe that my people would have anything you people lack."
Richter chuckled amusedly at that. "Der Feine Herr versteht schon seine Lage." Marder turned to frown at him, which only had him shrug uncaringly at the wordless chiding.
"Be that as it may," Marder began as he turned back to the lord. "Your libraries contain information, one that could greatly help us in finding what we're looking for. So we ask that you allow us to search your most ancient of books. If we found something, we'll leave peacefully. If there's nothing to be found, we will leave without a fight regardless. You have our guarantee on that."
Ned was shocked. The only reason they were here, and why he wasn't pierced with burning light, was for dusty old tomes? "While it is a relatively simple offer to uphold, what would happen should I refuse?"
"Then we will take it from you."
There it was, that unamused, blunt answer, one Ned knew without a doubt they would follow through should it come to be. Even Richter looked amused at the supposed rebelliousness, even though it was anything but. Rather it was just to confirm what he already knew.
"So it's between me give you access to my library's books, or we head to war." Those flying machines, they no doubt had more, and that weapon Richter used to injure those two Umber soldiers, it was small, while the three that came in with the carriages must've held larger versions of the same weapon.
"Not just your library, but also of the places you call Oldtown and King's Landing," Marder added. "I believe both of those would hold more than just yours, especially Oldtown's considering it's an institution of learning and record keeping." He'd have asked how they knew if they lived north of the Wall, but Eddard thought it best not to know.
"Those are more complicated, they aren't under my rule. I have no right to promise you theirs." While he expected hostility, instead Ned received an accepting nod from the apparition.
"It does not have to right away, but considering you are Warden of the North, you no doubt have the king's ear," he answered. "I've sent someone to your position to read the books you have available and act as emissary from the IMC to take with you. I hope you can at least allow her to have an audience with your king to have him accept the offer."
This became very complicated, in a way that might lead to a war if things went badly. Robert was a good man, but he was terribly stubborn and did not respond to threats well. If these IMC people acted like this to him, nothing would go well, and by law and right he'd have to follow his king's command should they go to war.
Perhaps a way of trade could be done, business would lessen the apparent threat. "What would you offer in return should we allow your people to study our books?" Ned asked.
"Gemstones and gold, mined from the very earth of Westeros using the harvester you saw outside, the one shooting light into the sky." So that's what it was called, and it served to mine the earth? Extraordinary. "We do not expect to do this for free, the IMC has an abundance of funds, so paying you is a nonissue."
If so, then perhaps Robert would accept, if perhaps with some convincing from Jon Arryn. "I will try to send word to King's Landing of this, but I can't promise anything. But your scholars may have access to the libraries of Winterfell, that much I can do."
"Why?" It wasn't Ned who asked that, but rather Lord-Commander Mormont. From the looks of it, Ned would say he was bursting with questions to the point of frustration. "Why do you negotiate with us? I'm not disillusioned that you're doing this out of the kindness of your hearts, so why?"
Again, Richter looked nothing but amused. "If you wish, we can go to war. Though it won't last f-"
"Enough, mercenary," Marder interrupted. "You speak out of line, watch yourself." All Richter did was roll his eyes and grunt. The word 'mercenary' stood out, and had Ned think perhaps they weren't simply a nation that came and settled here. Then again, no nation would call themselves IMC. Turning back to Ned, he continued, "as I've said before, we're not here to fight, only to search and excavate what we're looking for. If working with your people gets us closer to it even faster, then so be it. If your people denied us, then we'd take the information by force, but it would be far faster if we cooperated. I hope you can understand our logic and reasoning behind the endeavor of bringing you here."
The apparition spoke about this thing they've been trying to find for a while now. "What is it you're looking for?" Ned asked, hopefully it would be within his power so things do not escalate more than they should.
Marder looked pointedly at the lord. "We do not know, all we know is that it's within the earth either here in Westeros or Essos, though you can rest assured we intend to expand a branch over there as well." He must've let that slip accidentally or simply did not care. If they weren't already in Essos, then that meant Westeros was their first destination. They weren't some invading force from Bravos or Pentos, but rather. . . he didn't know, all he had were thoughts and accusations.
For all he knew, everything Ned was told could've been a lie, but the ghostly form of the man told him they weren't lying, if anything they were hiding something with their vague remarks.
They'd tell him if they wanted him to know, he realized.
"I see," Ned said, now a far too aware of the eyes of Richter and Marder watching him. "I will take your emissary to Winterfell to follow through on our deal. However, I must demand that the person respects our laws within my land." As he said so, Marder nodded. It should've relaxed him, but it was too quickly accepted.
"You have me word that she won't break any laws, provided that she is under your protection considering she'll be alone." Ned took a second to think. It was a simple request, yet it kept having him think there were ulterior motives behind it. He'd like to think that these people here were indeed simply scholars or explorers, but the mentioned cannon outside kept coming to mind. Regardless, he nodded. "Good, I received word that she has arrived at Outpost Alpha via dropship three minutes ago, so she's waiting for you outside. Farewell, Lord Eddard Stark."
Before Eddard could respond, the blue ghost of a man vanished from view. The room now eerily silent and dark without the apparition speaking and illuminating it.
"Follow me," Richter said as he pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on. "I'll take you outside, and provide a security escort until you reach the ice wall." Ned took in a deep breath to relax himself, and followed the man out of the room and back to a familiar, alien hallway, the other three close behind.
As they walked, Ben walked up to his side. "I hope you know what you're doing, brother," he whispered, though Ned's answer may not please him on the matter. "All of this, it's madness. Metal men, towers that shoot light, horseless carriages? I doubt any lord would believe you without seeing this."
The idea haunted Ned as well. He was here to reason with his liege lords, his vassal houses, his bannermen, but now that all seemed like a dream. How could he follow through with his duties if he couldn't even convince his own men to understand the existence of these IMC people? They'd sooner lump Ned as insane or senile than believe him.
"You don't have to worry about that," Richter said, clearly showing that whispering doesn't work in hallways, and let out a low menacing chuckle. "Sie wird dabei zweifellos hilfreich sein." Ned didn't have it in him to ask what he said, for he felt he'd find out soon.
The walked the hallways in silence, now untrusting of speaking in hushed tones privately when this close. While he'd seen it all before, Eddard still found the sights alluring in a way, the glass tubes of white light, the metal grates he stepped on, and especially the eerie and silent robot that occasionally passed him.
And then he saw the familiar, self-opening door, though from a distance it looks more akin to a metal wall with a line down the middle. And when it split open, the ever familiar cold swarmed him once he stepped through it. He was surprised how dark it had become since they first found Richter, most likely the clouds had actually gotten thicker since then.
What was new, however, was the whining sound nearby. And of course, Ned saw a kind of. . . thing on a large, square platform. He would've asked about it, but then the thing flew up into the air and above the thick clouds. Amazement did not do his feelings justice, but what came with it was a sense of fear.
He should've known when saw those drones, and imagined it on a larger scale. If these people mastered flight, then what good was the Wall? Their strongest defense had become merely a mild inconvenience to these people.
"I see our guests saw my Goblin," said a feminine vibrating voice, similar to when Richter donned his helmet. Looking forward to the source, what he saw wasn't nearly as surprising as it would've been an hour ago, certainly ten seconds ago.
"Ash," Richter greeted. "Or should I call you Lady Emissary Ash from now on?" Her white, frozen face showed no emotion at the sarcastic jab, likely it never would since she was one of those emotionless robots Richter told them about. Richter turned to Ned and gestured to the. . . woman? "Ash here will act as our emissary, and is now under your protection, Lord Eddard Stark."
"I see," he said, composing himself and walked to the robot with his hand outstretched. "I hope the ties between our people proves fruitful, Lady Ash." He heard Richter let out a low snicker. He said something wrong, clearly.
She looked to his hand for merely a second before taking it. It felt like he would've imagined, like cold metal wrapping around his fingers. "It's best you simply call me Ash from now on, Lord Stark." She let go and turned her comrade. "I'll be requisitioning one of your Gremlins and some supplies."
He grunted. "Take it all, for all I care. It's for the initiative, not mine," Richter replied. He had some thoughts about this 'initiative' they kept mentioning, but refrained from asking. Considering how far things had been taken, he supposed it wouldn't hurt.
But it was too late as Mormont stepped forward, interrupting their discussion or other and bringing Richter's eyes and Ash's hollow sockets on him. "Forgive me, but your people repeated about your initiative, what is it, exactly?"
These IMC people were searching for something, that was all that Marder every told to the four. Even what he did tell, it betrayed nothing of their intentions. Vague remarks here, an open-for-debate statement there, nothing was truly revealed.
"What you're asking is classified information, secret only to the higher ranked of the IMC and a select few," Ash explained, which had Ned sigh. As he thought, these IMC people knew more than they were letting on if they weren't telling their own soldiers. "However, we can let you know what every other soldier here knows." Ash stepped forward in front of Ned and Joer. "All I'm told to inform you should you ask, is that our initiative is the search of an item we dubbed as, the Ark."
I mean come on, if you played Titanfall 2, then you must've known what they were searching for. If you don't and just like sci-fi mixed with GoT and have no idea about the Titanfall universe, the Ark is an alien energy source in the game the antagonists use for their equivalent of a Death Star.
I'd appreciate a review, it's how we authors know if we got things right and fix what we did wrong.