A/N: Hello, my delightful readers. Sorry for the delay, but I really wanted this chapter to be a good one, so I had to rewrite some of the scenes. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that this chapter contains very little action and is more like a story and some explanations for what is coming. If you don't understand something, or some of the parts are unclear feel free to send me a message and ask me about it. I would be more than happy to answer it.

I wanted to thank again to all of you, who had reviewed, followed or simply read my story. Enjoy!

Cap 7

Far away, in the frozen Nord, in the land of ice and snow, where the rivers are nothing more than beautiful sculptures that are shining in the cold light of the morning and are standing proud and aggressive in the down, in this forgotten place by the gods ant people equally, here the darkness is ruling and the poor living souls are forced to bow deep in front of the eternally powerful Dark God.

Behind the Wall, the moral values that are so highly kept by lords and common people have no value. Here, you live how you can and hope that the nature, the demons of the ice or another desperate human being isn't trying to hurt you. Because if this is truly your story, you have three choices: you run, you bow or you kill.

This mentality is so deep settled in their minds, that no stranger can change their faith. Some had tried, priests of the seven, shamans of a god named Azor Ashaii, drunken priests, fanatically priests, hopeful priests. Their speeches had fallen on deaf ears and uncaring minds, their words flowing with the frozen northern wind.

The so-called wildlings knew from experience that the three rules they had and value more than anything else were lessons learnt with the cost of great sacrifice and grief by their ancestors. From childhood to death they followed their instincts and their rules. They considered themselves free, but they were more enslaved than any miserable slave from the 'free cities'. Their fear is ruling their lives and it isuncountable and eternal. Their demons came in the winter and go when spring comes, but who can predict in which winter will they came and in witch winter will they rest, so full of warm, human blood that they don't see fit to go out and hunt.

The people closer to the Wall are still holding a small amount of hope, but further in the Nord you go, people become more and more resigned with their fate. Their eyes are sad, but wild, wild with a feverish hope for better times, but sad with the knowledge that their Lord and Master allowed them no such happiness.

Who is the northern God? Well, the people sworn to Winterfell and the ones under their command will surly tell you about the old gods, white trees with humanly faces carved in the wood. But if you go northern after the Wall, northern then the most far away village from the frosty desert that is lying on the edge from the known places, then will the people tell you the real name and story of the true northern god.

The poor people that are living in the shadow of the known word will freeze at your question and stammer something under their breaths, before they will look with big, frightened eyes at the stranger who dare to be curious about something so tragic and glorious in the same time. They will whisper to you an old story with beautiful, cast maiden and honorable, chivalrous knights. You will smile at their innocence and let them finish because something in their tone made you curious, something about the sorrowful edge in their horse voices made you wonder what can happened to the characters of the story to inflict so much pain in the dull eyes of the speakers.

They will see your incredulity, but they will continue anyway. This is their story as much as is the character's. They live the aftermaths of the terribly 'fairytale' and you can or cannot believe. It doesn't matter. They will tell you anyway.

They will tell you how their prince was a great warlock, with powers greater than their god's and with a mind quick as the waterfalls, now dead, frozen and forgotten. They will tell you how their prince mind became benighted, his thoughts caught wings and were flying above the clouds and the common people's hearts. They will say that his heart freeze and his mind became sharp as the ice in middle of the winter is. His eyes were icier than the frozen lake and his voice harsher than the snowstorm. His father begged him to put a stop in his quest for power, but he will listen to nobody. In vain had his mother's tears fallen, in vain had his lover's voice stilled of so much pleading and crying. He will had invented new spells, new rituals and released more atrocities in the world under the impression that he will control them.

When the demons and monsters became too powerful even for him to control, he tried to fight them, but their powers were too great for a human mind to even grasp. They were creatures from darkness, rotten hearts and mad minds. They craved human blood and they were destroying everything in their way. The prince was afraid of their powers and called all the warlocks of his time to advise and help him.

But his old father could not bear to see his people suffer, so he called his soldiers and lords and started a great war with the monsters. The first battle of the war was the least one to, none of the people surviving. The prince felt his cold heart shatter and from his icy eyes, two tears were molten. He made an oath to get revenge, no matter the cost. With his heart full with hatred and thirst for blood, he crossed every limits that had ever exists. He knew that no warlock, no matter his power and skill, can best the demons. So he became a god.

He worked seven years, night and day, day and night, and had finally come with a ritual so powerful that humanity had never seen and will never see again. He listened to none of the other wizards, warlocks or magicians, he hear none of their prayers, plead or curses and made the ritual. But before that, before the unimaginable to happen, all the other warlocks had decided to save as many people they can. So they gathered all the men that wanted to run and took them far away from the damned place. They put their skill and powers together and bewitched a Wall that will separate them form the war going on the other side. They put ancient blood wards and complicated runes on the Wall and promised the men that the demons nor their prince will be able to pass them.

The war began. The prince was no longer a prince, but a God. His army was no natural one, but one composed by dead people that had stayed. Seven days had the battle last and the sky was redder than the fields, colored with something more than just blood. The beasts were defeated and banished from this realm and their exile was sealed with powerful spells.

The prince was happy and had gone to find his people. The dead ones had followed, bond to their Master for eternity. The prince came in front of the Wall and demanded entry. The more courageous from the men had told him that his unnatural magic has to stay behind the Wall and that his followers, no matter who they are, sons, lovers, mothers or children will stay with him.

The prince raged, screamed and threatened, but he could not pass. He released his more powerful magic, but the Wall remained undamaged. He went away, promising that every winter he will come back and hunt the ones that were disloyal to him.

You will probably raise you brows, furrow them in concentration and recall the little history of Westeros you know. You will say 'No, this isn't true. The first men were the first of this kind in Westeros and before that only the Children of the Forests were living here". They will offer you a small smile, a slight shake of their heads and will let you to your own beliefs. You wanted to hear their story, right? It's not their problem if you believe that their prince was first a royal offspring, then a warlock, then… a God. A dead and malicious God.

Kingdom of shadows and frozen hearts…

The rulers from the Nord, behind the Wall had probably never heard about the story of the fallen prince, but they knew the aftermaths. They knew that somewhere far away in the Nord, where in the summer the ice is gracing the branches of the trees like southern flowers and were the grass is well hidden under a thick layer of snow , there are living a very strange kind of people. Some say that they are there before the White Walkers and the Children of the Forest. They are tall and had white hair and fair skin. They do not smile and talk very little. They barley speak the wildlings language and they always carry long sticks craved with weird symbols. Their skin is tattooed with silvery ink and they share their knowledge with no one.

But that is very unimportant for the wildlings leaders. They care for their power and their power only. They became crueler and more savage along the centuries because of their lack of laws. Here, everyone is on his own, but if you cross whatever you leader had said, he will kill you. Or torture you and kill you. Or torture your family, kill them and then kill you. There are so many possibilities. Why chose?

They are ruthless and their power is based on their cruelty. Their ethereal kingdoms are based on blood and death, but because of the cold, the rotten smell had not yet reached the Gods, or they will had had the same fate as Valyria…

An eternal night shall come…

The golden autumn is losing its strength by every day. Beautiful crimson and burgundy leaves are starting to lose their colors in favor of adopting the silvery layer of ice so specific to the winter. The wind no longer smells of fruits and autumn flowers, but of ice and cold. The smiles become sneers, the laughter is replaced by angry shouts and a snappish remarks.

But this is the normal curs of the events. After a beautiful summer, the autumn came and blessed the people with its heat and abundance. The winter is making the people to mourn the sun's heat and the bird's thrills, but they know that after blizzards and frozen lands will come the spring with its fresh flowers and green grass. The food will be enough for everybody and the winter's sadness will be replaced with the spring hope.

This summer had been a short one, so elders say that the winter will be equally short. Maybe they are right. Maybe the demons will come and hunt the people or maybe the frost and ice will be the only enemies of the men. Nobody knows and nobody can predict what winter will bring. But the stories are old and there are no prove that White Walkers truly exist. Most wildlings are superstitions and they still listen to their inner voice and their instincts. But there are some who care for nothing else but their own ambitions. They have truly no morals and the ancient fear had no hold on them anymore…

Myert was not an intelligent kid. He knew that, his tribe knew that. Than why in the ancient god's name had they left him alone in this endless, frozen desert? How could they abandon him to a morbid fate?

Sniveling at his unfortunate future, Myert began his own journey.

The first was the first one to kick in was the thirst. He felt his throat on fire and his tongue was so dry that not even his spit could slip down his throat. His vision became blurry and his pace slowed down. Images with crystal clear water came and went before his tired eyes. He could swear that he felt the sweet taste of the water on his tongue. Cursing his bad luck, he looked for some snow, but no such luck.

His desert was never ending and a thick layer of frozen, stone hard ice was making the landscape to glow unnaturally. He grazed the ice in hope to get some water, but it would not budge!

His eyes were hurting because of the blinding white light and his body started to feel rather heavy the lack of water.

A night and a day later, poor Myert was laying on his back, praying the gods for a quick death. His thoughts were dancing as crazy and he was driving mad be his thirst. He had tried to lick the ice, but to no avail.

The cold was rather bothersome in his first day, but now, at his second day down, he was freezing.

A merry tune began playing in his head and he smiled. The death will come and pick him, but this was a merciful fate.

A loud hiss was heard from his left and startled he turn around. To his increasing horror, a white figure with piercing, glowering blue eyes was staring in his very own soul. Taking in a sharp intake of breath, he tried to scream for help but the creature hissed something in a foreign language and his body started to convulse in pain.

His lungs were on fire, his limbs were stretched beyond possibility and his head was throbbing so bad that he begged for his death. Everything that came back, was a mocking, high-pitched laughter.

The next second he opened his eyes, everything seemed different. The night doesn't seem so dark and the creature was now his master. How does he know? He doesn't know, but a strong feeling was pushing him to kneel and to accept whatever thing his new master will tell him.

Go and take your revenge. Drink their blood and kill their families. They sold you to death and now you will give them what they had bought with your life….. more death!

The fire that had once ruled the world…

The taste of blood was so pregnant that even the finest foods from home couldn't wash the foul taste. With a critic eye the general Aertynus Gytaery, inspected his company. Most of his soldiers were laughing and joking, euphoric towards the new victory against the Ghiscari Empire. But Aertynus knew that the blood that had flowed today in the ghiscary's city was just the beginning of a most long a cruel quest in gaining the supremacy.

But the ghiscari were too blind and too proud to acknowledge their defeat, to understand the fact that they stood no chance against Valyria's . With blood and fire had come the valyrian's armies and in blood and fire would her enemy end.

The lux that was assigned to come with the army was a very young one. The general could smell his ambitions and his blood-thirst. With glowing, violet eyes, fresh, young Syteras was a very dangerous man. His spells had managed to hide the valyrian soldiers from the prying eyes of the ghiscari city guards. The dragons had distracted the city's army and when the charm had worn off, the soldiers were already on the walls. The surprise and horror of the ghiscari would remain forever painted on the general's mind. The way they screamed when their limbs were mercilessly cut and the way they pleaded their gods the death when a valyrian dragon had started to blow his deathly fire on them were images that no one could forget.. They had cried, they had fought and they had run. But in the end, they had all bow before the valyrian flag.

Aliyyah was once a ghiscari princess. His father was a very important man and her brothers were generals in the war against Valyria. But when the dragons had come and when the frightening valyrian wizards had cast their destructive spells on her city, nothing could've stayed against them. Too much fire, too much crimes.

She had seen how the ghiscari women were raped by the proud valyrian soldiers, how the ghiscari children were beaten and tortured by the ferocious, victorious men. She had cried the injustice that was brought against her city by the valyrian pride. She had cried and pleaded her god's for eternal peace for the killed ones.

But when the valyrians soldiers had come into her home, killing her little brother and raping her other sisters, she had run. With tears of shame and fear she had abandoned her family, her morals and her former life. On shaky feet and with a fluttering heart, she tried to escape threw a secret passage her family had built special for occasion like this. Not that something like this had ever occurred in the past, but her ancestors had been cautious.

She had tripped on the dusty stairs, coughed more than every other time in her life and in one point when the tunnel had no lights and the blackness so pitch that she could been in the middle of a battle for all she know, she started to doubt her rash decision. But she gathered her courage and fled. After what seems like a half of a day, she was confronted with a door. A door with no keyhole...?

She searched for something akin to a lock but no such lock. The panic started to flew free throw her veins and her head was full with thoughts one more sinister than the other. She thought in going back, but the stairs were so many and the darkness so frightening that she was sure that she couldn't make it back. And, frankly, she didn't wanted to nothing more than disapproving glares and lustful stares, horny soldiers and crying siblings will awaiting her. And she didn't want to be raped nether scowled at. She had done the right thing and nobody had the right to judge for it. It was not her fault that the others had not thought about it or that they were too blinded by their pride to do something to save themselves. It was not her fault that her father and her brothers had lost the battle. What would they expect from her, to stay quiet and to wait for the valyrians to take her a slave?

Aliyyah was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't notice when the door started to tremble and shook rather violently. But when she started at where before was the magic door, she found herself staring straight into a pair of very amused, reddish eyes. With a yelp and a frightened stare at the stranger she tried to run away but when she tried to move past the first stairs, she found herself out of breath. Looking back at the smirking valyrian, she knew that she had the bad luck to run into a lux.

"Please, don't hurt me!, begged the beautiful ghiscari girl.

With a feral grin and a lustful spark in his devilish eyes, the blond took her hand and whispered a soft incantation. Her mind shut down and she looked with glazed eyes at the handsome lux.

"What can I do for you, my lord?", asked the know kneeling ghiscari princess.

With a satisfied sigh he threw her meaningful look and gestured towards his pants.

Her old conscious kicked in but her actions were controlled by an outsider force. She tried to struggle, to scream or to bite the spiteful man, but her hands reached him and her pride was smashed to the ground by her next shameful actions.

…Is now ashes, the winter is coming…

The valyrian ruins still held some of their lost magnitude, standing proud and defiant although the landscape was more than depressing. To an observer unversed in the art of seeing besides the appearances, the smoking shambles are nothing than a sequence of the doom frozen in time. But if you could look closer, you could see that some buildings are still standing, that maybe a fountain is not full with sticky, burgundy blood or that some flowers had preserved their grace and innocence.

It was a sight that head came from a nightmare, but the small glimpses of hope were still shining. Hope that was frozen in time, nothing more than reminders of a lost age, but they were still there. The small piece that remembered Valyria in all her glory were still trying to say to whoever wanted to know that a long time ago, this city was full of life and laughter. The corruption and treason were not the only things worth of telling from Valyria. They told you a story about an age when the dragons were flying above the cities peacefully, an age when the love and hope was filling everyone heart.

A young Rhaela was standing above the crib and was looking with love at the tiny toddler that was sleeping in it. She crooked a smile at her beautiful son and leaved.

Her mood was already gloomy, but when her eyes met her brother's, hell broke.

"How could you?", yelled she with a murderous glint in her eyes.

Her brother sparred her one most glance, than started to read his book again. Angry at his nonchalance, she grabbed his blasted book and threw in the fire. Aerys screamed in outrage and tried to recuperate his book from the flames.

When the ashes were finally too small to grasp, he turned toward her and with a sneer, hissed:

"What the hell had got your knickers in a twist?"

Rhaela let an indignant sigh and regard him coldly:

"My knickers state is none of your concern, brother".

"Well, taking in consideration the fact that the source of your anger lay besides my dear son, your knickers are a very important factor in the grand scheme, don't you think?", asked her brother with a suggestive wink.

Ignoring his antics and remembering the reason why she came in the snake's pit in the first place, she said with barley controlled rage:

"How could you break Rhaegar's harp? Do you know how much he cared about it? How happy he was when I give it to him? He was in love with the instrument and you, being you usual insensitive self, had broken it!"

Aerys said nothing and avoided looking at her. Once she had stormed away, he arose and went to his son's chamber.

"Hey little one", whispered the king gently. The child opened his eyes slowly and looked at him.

"Daddy's sorry about your harp. I promise you that I would buy you another one and… I will take to ride with me. What do you say?" said Aerys apprehensive for the answer.

A small nod was everything he got before the child was sleeping again. Looking at the tears traces on his white, puffy cheeks, Aerys felt something throbbing in his chest. But with the promise of a new day and a new chance with his son, he went to sleep.

Who said that the hell is in flames?

O bunch of freezing people were gathered before a heart tree. They were kneeling and their hands were grasping the tree's branches with desperation. This was their last hope, their last resort. Maybe some would laugh when they would hear that the savages were praying for fire, and their prayers were not directed to some fire deity, but to the heart tree, to their old gods.

Their bodies are nearly frozen, but in their hearts a little spark of hope is still keeping them alive. The children's cries and mother's pleas had stopped a long time ago and everything you can hear now is the ragged breath of the living ones. Some of them knew that they would die tonight, that this sun would be the last one that had caressed their skins with its loving beam. They knew that at the down they would finally found out if all the old stories about heaven and hell are true.

The another ones, the ones that are still believing that they would see the Wall, they would laugh with their families again, they are looking at the blood-red sky with something akin to affection. They are the peaceful ones.

But the sinners and believers, the dreamers and the pessimists, they all are asking themselves one single question. This innocent thought that was born in a feverish mind and defies their believes about life after death, is a simple one: "The hell is truly burning? Or, more credibly, is frozen?"

Thy lie! The hell rest in a cold heart and a cunning mind…

A wolf can't survive without a pack. But no longer can they live with nothing to eat. The golden eyes of the alpha travel on his pack members, studying the state of their health. The hunger is a dangerous demon and if it's truly awakened no amount of force will be able to stop the pack from deserting. So the alpha took the only decision that could save his pack. He went southern.

The winter came slowly this time, its fangs and paws more sharp then the other time. The oldest wolf from the pack, sniffled the air and growled worriedly. Something was not right, even the younger members can feel it. The ancient looking beast snarled at his alpha, trying to tell him that it the air it was an unnatural smell. The air was not full with the usual fresh, cold air that the winter brought, but with a faint odor of rotten flesh and spoiled blood.

The alpha understood and went deeper in the south, leaving the weird humans alone to the upcoming disaster. One of the men, tall and fair skinned, with silvery tattoos and a long, symbols craved tool, told the wolf to worry not about them.

Sad to leave his master, the wolf took his pack and ran…

And only warm blood can feed that frozen soul…

Over the dark mountains, along the silvery rivers and trough freezing caves, ruins of a city are greeting your eyes. Everything is white, pristine. The layers of snow are so thick that you can barely see the contours of the old buildings.

Following a thin path along the city and through the forest, you had reached your destination. A mountain smaller than the others, with white stone shining in the cold, winter sun, is standing proud against the rough landscape. You had the honor to see the cursed prince's court. White, skeletal horses are standing frozen in time before the entrance and rotten guards are looking at you with hatred and fear painted all over their faces. Inside, the temperature is even lower then outside and complicated, artistically ice models are graved on the walls.

Deeper inside, the darkness id thick and the cold biting… on an ancient throne sits the dead god … the cursed ruler that had sacrificed his men and family… for his ambitions…. Cursed will be the ones… that will follow the path that he had chosen…

A/N: Please review! Bad, good, happy or indignant reviews are better than none. If you find any grammar mistakes please tell me so I can correct them. Hope you liked it