Rickon

As dawn came Rickon truly he believed that he was all alone. He so no one. From the Queenscrown he lay, sniffing the air in hopes of dismissing his fear. I am truly alone. Where is everybody? He was all alone. No one loved him. First Daddy left me, then Mommy and no everybody else is gone. But soon he found out he was very much incorrect. He stood by an Oak tree that lay beside the tower. He held his hands out beside him. A furry beast brushed past under his left hand. Shaggydog?

It was not. It was instead another wolf. She smelt familiar. She was more than just a beast, but a Direwolf. She was scraggy and dirty, with an adventurous grin. She looked not at Rickon but followed his gaze down South. She seemed comforted by him. Did she know him? He certainly did not know her. The smell, he understood it. Arya? Arya! It's you! Arya was a wolf! But how could she? Was she a Warg?

Upon calling the wolf her sister's name it reacted at the sound of the name yet did not continue to understand what it was he had said. She was not Arya.

'Nymeria?', the boy asked hopefully.

'Nymeria, where are my family? Where is Arya? Where is Bran? Where is Robb?'

The wolf reacted, familiar with the name that Rickon had presented it.

I am still all alone, aren't I? Rickon was sad. He went on his knees and started to cry. I am no King. I will never be a King. The boy broke into tears. The salty liquids seeping between his lips as he cried. See? I am but a mere cry baby. The boy had no self esteem left in him after what Bran had said to him. Bran, degenerate cripple. Rickon hated Bran. He hate Bran, and Rickon, and Osha, and Coldhands, and Jojen, and Meera, and Hodor, and...no, never Hodor!

Nymeria leapt forward and howled violently as if she'd just been shot by a crossbow bolt.

'Nymeria!' the boy called in fear. 'Are you okay?'

Then he heard it. A loud growl sounded behind him. When it ceased he felt relieved and safe and opted to turn and investigate. However, as he began to pivot another growl sounded. Then many more followed until his ears were drowned out by the hungry growls of Direwolves.

Suddenly from behind him, and from the corners of his eyes, Rickon witnessed a spectacle of mass proportions. Hundreds of Direwolves sprinted from the North behind him and made their way South, spreading out to cover each expanse of land as far as the eye could see. There were Thousands. No, hundreds of thousands. No, a bazillion big wolves that hungered for meat.

They were all of different colours, and Rickon even thought he saw Ghost and Greywind amongst the pack. However this seemed highly unlikely. The wolves sprinted covering and destroying the grass that lay at his feet and stretched for miles.

'Hodor! Hodor! Hodor!'

Hodor? To his right amongst the wolves and ploding slowly, happily, he witnessed the half-giant running to join his wolf friends. Hodor was heading East towards Karhold down The Last River. When Rickon returned his gaze he saw Nymeria had gone and had left to fight the battle.

Suddenly Rickon was launched off his feet and on his back. The ground was soft, and furry, and black.

'Shaggydog!' His wolf had thrown his master onto his back.

'Shaggydog! You came back for me! But how did you survive the North?'

Shaggydog looked back over it's back as best it could towards Rickon. He spoke with words from the common tongue. He had an accent that was deep and in a formal dialect.

'Rickon. I survived because I had one thing the Whights didn't have.'

'And what was that?' Rickon asked.

'Love.' He replied.

Suddenly Rickon and Shaggydog lurched forward into battle. The ground was rough and bumpy and almost threw Rickon off his wolf. Rickon took a quick glance behind him and beared witness to the armada of Direwolves following him. They just kept on coming. Good thing too. Rickon was going to become the King on the Iron Throne.

After several minutes of running and pillaging Rickon caught sight of several deaths. The two Winterfell boys who'd bullied him his whole life before fleeing when the waves of the Greyjoys entered the city gates...were killed. Rickon laughed as his wolf sliced Gand's throat into pieces with his talons before injecting his teeth into Fat Dan and sucking the blood as if he was sucking the skin of a pig's rump. It was a beautiful sight. The red flowed like wine and the screams played loudly like music.

But soon the mass murdering forced the boy-prince to grow tired. He slipped into a deep sleep a searing pain began to scorch his eyes.

And then he was Shaggydog.

...and Nymeria.

...and Kenyon.

...and every other wolf in Westeros. Rickon, the Warg, had become all the Direwolves. He was a hivemind and managed to comprehend the mass workings and connections that presented themselves to him. He was truly the young wolf, he was The King.

He witnessed it all. He watched as the Direwolves Thirteenth Legion ransacked Karhold, taking prisoners and publicly executing them. He watched as the Direwolves Five-hundred and First Legion dug into the soil of Bear Island after crossing by boat and allowed the island to sink below the waves. He watched as the Woolfswood burst into flames as it was put to the torch. Torrehn's Square, Winterfell, The Dreadfort and Widow's watch were next to fall, each one falling simaltaneously and all before nightfall. But the massacre didn't stop there. It continued overnight too.

The wolves spent no time parading. Before it had taken Rickon weeks or months to reach Queenscrow from Winterfell. Now it was only taking a day and in the night the first of the wolves had reached King's Landing. Suddenly more wolves included themselves and embraced the black magic that Rickon controlled. Another forty thousand Direwolves were swimming towards the city from Blackwater Bay. Oh this will be fun. And then Rickon left the wolves.

He was still atop General Shaggydog. His loyal wolf, a Commander of the legions, led the Vanguard with Rickon atop. It was time. Rickon pulled the Longsword from his sheath, one he had forgotten he had had all this time. He screamed at the top of his lungs, eager to strike fear into the hearts of the enemy.

'Charge!' he screamed. Every wolf on the battlefield howled.

The bells sounded. The people, likely confused. No soldier could man the walls in time. The Direwolves of the North leapt over the Citadel walls and made their way to the Red Keep past Rhaegar's Hill. Rickon hacked and slashed his way past all the civillians that Shaggydog seemed to miss. The soldiers had likely soiled themselves and left. I am King Rickon! He was, the King. The more he told himself the more he believed it.

As he arrived at the massive wooden doors to the throne room Shaggydog burst into flames. An archer hidden behind a pedestal within the hall had fired a flaming bolt at the wolf. It was horrifying. The injured boy crawled from the dying wolf thinking to himself guility of the amazing scent that left his dying friend. Roast wolf, just like Uncle Benjen used to make. He stood and swinging his longsword over his head and throwing it forward it left his hands. The blade swung around in a circular fashion slicing deep into the flesh of the archer. The archer exploded as the sword hit him, his heart too impure compared to the divine love in Rickon's soul.

'I...I am fine, my Lord.' a voice said from behind the boy princ- I am a boy KING. I must remember that.

He turned and was surprised to see his wolf alive and talking. The wolf was still on fire, but he was still alive.

'Fear not, young Rickon. When I sacrificed to save you beyond the wall I was discovered by a Targaryen.' ...But the Targaryen's died out years ago.

'How?' Mind blown.

'The Dragon taught me to live when fire touched my unworthy pelt. Turns out my father wolf was a Targaryen wolf.'

'Wha- ...huh? How the... what?' Again...Mind Blown.

'Don't explain, there isn't the time. I must kill the King before it is too late.'

Rickon and a squad of elite special operative black Direwolves entered the hall and found King Stannis on the throne. The man stood, and applauded.

'Stannis Baratheon?' King Rickon asked. 'How? King Tarley is supposed to be on the Iron Throne?'

'Oh, didn't I tell you? Did I forget to send a memo? I gutted the bastard!' he boasted. 'and ate him as I would a feast at my coronation banquet!'

Rickon made a shocked ghasp sound, stunning Stannis.

'You said a naughty word!' Rickon declared. 'Punishable by death when I am King.'

Rickon charged King Stannis, blade in hand. The blade had returned to him, its rightful owner would always recieve it when it was most deserved. He charged. King Stannis swung the Naval Axe down on Rickon's head. The boy ducked and pivotted under his right arm. He swung the sword across the right of his chest and sliced King Stannis in two through his waist.

As the man fell Rickon once again penetrated the skin of Shaggydog...and peed on King Stannis.

As the boy returned to his normal self, he too peed on the ex-King Stannis.

He sat on the Iron Throne and looked out at the throne room, his loyal subjects, his wolves entered.

'All living are now dead. You are the last of your species King Rickon. Congradulations.' declared Shaggydog.

'And what of Hodor?'

'Hodor?' Shaggydog asked.

'Yes, what of Hodor? The stableboy fool who accompanied me and Bran all this way.'

'My lord,' Shaggydog began. 'There was once a stableboy named Hodor, but he's been dead for ten years!'

The King fainted.

The End