A Song of Ice and Fire Through Time

Ten years after Robert's Rebellion, the Deadwood begins to spread, fulfilling the ancient warnings of the First Men. Faced with the annihilation of his people, Eddard Stark rides out to face this evil, armed only with a sorcerous concoction. The events that follow after that day change the rules of the Game of Thrones.

I do not own Game of Thrones or Samurai Jack.

This story was adopted from Lord Maximus, the original author.

Also, for any questions which you will no doubt have about certain things in this chapter, I have this to say: take a guess, hatch a theory but for the love of Buddha don't go on a rant about how this or that isn't canon. It's a fanfiction, people! Live a little and enjoy.

Xxx

293 AC

Ned

Ned had always found reason to curse his station from the moment he had inherited it. Initially it had been solely because of the circumstances in which he had been propelled to the head of the ancient and noble House of Stark, forced to metaphorically step over the still warm bodies of his father and elder brother and take upon a duty he had never been prepared for.

He had cursed Aerys the Mad King for ordering their deaths.

He had cursed the so called noble knights and lords who had stood by to watch the farce of a trial that had seen the death of the Lord Paramount of the North and his heir.

He had cursed Rhaegar Targaryen, the dragon who all had prayed for as the next bringer of peace and prosperity.

He had even cursed Lyanna in some darker corner of his mind during the first years.

To his shame, once he had even cursed the child who clung to him, their face pressed into his shoulder while their little arms looped around his neck.

Promise me Ned…

Eddard Stark, the Quiet Wolf, Lord of Winterfell, Warden and Lord Paramount of the North barely fought back a tear as he embraced his son, Jon Snow.

"Please don't go, father." The boy's voice cracked as he pulled away and stared at him with dark eyes rimmed with red. "The Deadwood will get you too!"

Next to him, Jon's brother Robb was wiping his eyes, having exchanged a similar farewell with their family's patriarch. Further back Ned could see the stoney expression of his wife as she knelt by a young girl who shared her red hair and Tully features. This child was so busy with her face buried into the fabric of Catelyn Stark's dress that she did not notice the cold, subtle glare that her mother wore. It was an expression that still pained Ned to this day, one which emerged whenever Jon Snow was in her vicinity or was seen so much as playing with any of her true born children.

He only prayed that one day Sansa would not inherit her mother's glare.

"I have to go, son." Ned set his gauntlet clad hands on the boy's shoulders. "As Lord of Winterfell, my duty is clear."

"But nobody comes back from it!" Robb whispered, shaking his head. "Ever! Why does it have to be you?"

Taking one hand off of Jon, Ned drew his eldest in closer and looked between them both. "My duty is to protect the people of the North, to guard them as I would my own family. One day you both will know what this responsibility is."

He saw Jon wince. Cat, as much as Ned loved her, never gave ground when it came to ensuring that Jon knew his station, and that he would never be Lord of Winterfell. If not her, then Septa Mordane was glad to contribute to that goal.

Promise me, Ned.

If he survived this day, he vowed to see that this would end.

"And remember when that day comes," He offered a smile to both of his sons, "that the lone wolf dies…"

Both boys exchanged a glance and spoke in unison. "But the pack survives."

Ned embraced them both once more and then moved to where his wife and daughter stood together. All around them, dozens of loyal Northmen were preparing themselves and their mounts for the road ahead.

The glare on Cat's face melted away as Ned approached. She shifted her cloak to allow two dark haired children to peek into view from behind her while an older girl with fiery red hair inherited from her mother stood by her side, eyes rimmed with red. Ned kissed both Sansa and little Arya on the heads, embraced Bran and then glanced at his wife's swollen belly before gently resting a hand over it.

"They will be the first Stark to never fear the Deadwood." He promised.

"Don't become the last Stark to be claimed by it." Cat pleaded softly, her lips brushing against his. "Promise me, Ned."

Promise me…

"Lord Stark!"

Ned was torn away from the past by the approach of a stout, bearded man clad in a mixture of red cloth and chainmail. Behind him, two hooded and masked women murmured prayers to their god as Thoros of Myr held up a glass container with a sealed lid.

"This is the most that could be made on such notice." The Red Priest told him, carefully offering the vessel with both hands.

"And it will end the corruption?" Ned asked, taking it into his grasp.

"I only know what the Lord of Light permits me to see in the flames." Thoros said before popping open a flask and taking a swig from it. "The Temples of Myr and Volantis are in agreement. They say that if the Lord's Light is carried to the heart of the Deadwood, life will be brought to the land."

Ordinarily, Ned Stark did not believe in prophecy, nor in any Lord of Light or Red God or whatever Thoros of Myr and his ilk called their deity. He didn't care who or what they believed in, nor what they might expect as a favour if this worked. All that mattered to him was bringing an end to the encroaching menace that had plagued the North for so long, warping the land and devouring anything in its reach.

Ordinarily, Ned Stark would not believe in magic, but then he need only take one look out past the walls of Winterfell to the west and remember why nobody in the North dared question the existence of magic in this world.

One glance was all that was needed for him to know that this had to work or there would be no North, no House Stark, possibly no Westeros as time went on.

"So be it." Ned sighed and slid the vessel into a pouch which he placed in his horse's saddle.

"The Lord of Light rides with you, Lord Stark." One of the masked priestesses intoned, their golden mask which resembled a face with half lidded eyes rising to stare at him.

"I don't follow the Red Faith." He reminded her.

"For a mission as noble and just as this," she turned and began to walk back towards Winterfell's keep, "I imagine that He will forgive you that."

The Red Priestess and Priestesses were not typically known for tolerating other religions. Where they went to spread their faith they attempted to seduce those in power, to make them enforce the view that their Lord of Light was the one, true god…and offer them up sacrifices upon pyres. Yet they had been strangely accommodating, even before Thoros of Myr had been selected to represent them personally, travelling all the way from the court in King's Landing where he was ordinarily found drinking and whoring alongside the King.

Yet he could understand why they might be so afraid as to dispense with any attempts to convert those of the North to their ways this day. He could imagine only a few who would refuse to see it for what it was.

Ned mounted his horse and took an offered wolf's head helmet from Jory Cassel.

"I promise they will be taken to safety should the worst happen, Lord Stark." Jory vowed. "I will guard them as if they were my own."

"I could ask nothing less." Ned nodded and slid the helmet on before looking to the assembled riders. "We ride!"

The Giants' Gate creaked open, operated by a pair of large wheels turned by two giants bearing the symbol of House Stark upon their massive armoured chests. They let out roars as Ned and nearly a hundred men and women from Houses all across the North charged out, passing through the city of tents and makeshift shelters that surrounded the seat of House Stark. Thousands of refugees looked up to see them pass and called out praise to the column, praying for their safe return while several other giants scattered among the masses bellowed in their own tongue.

Soon Ned and his warriors were travelling across flat grasslands broken by stretches of trees. As they travelled further west they passed other groups who were making for Winterfell, carrying as many possessions as could be saved before they had been forced to move or die.

It was not long, however, before they came upon the Deadwood.

Vast, spike tipped black trees jutted out of the ground, which was broken in some areas by cracks brimming with a black, bubbling liquid. The upper tips of some trees that had once been part of the Wolfswood could be seen poking up through the surface, only to slowly sink out of view as new black trees sprang up, shooting out of the ground as if stabbed upwards by some giant hand.

"Form up!" Ned shouted, but did not look back to see how quickly his order was followed. "Don't get too close to the black water! Watch for-"

Someone screamed as another tree shot upwards, impaling them through the chest. Several others fell victim to similar circumstances as they ploughed deeper into the Deadwood where space became more sparse and they were forced to slow to a trot at several points. Despite attempts at caution or even pulling back by some, the black trees continued to claim victims while some even panicked and were consumed by the ground or were thrown off of their horses into the black water.

It was only when Ned's escort was reduced to sixty that the trail cleared up enough for them to continue on without further losses. But he knew full well that if all of the legends concerning this accursed forest was true…they were yet to be met by the worst it had to offer.

"My lord," a man with the emblem of House Glover whispered to him, "I see movement, on the left."

Ned risked glancing in that direction and saw figures between the trees or perched among them, scampering along more like animals than men.

He knew that they had finally found the Children of the Deadwood, who mocked the mythical, possibly real and more than likely extinct Children of the Forest with their name as much as their actions in the past. If all that he had been told upon returning from the rebellion was to be believed, the blame for this crisis was to be laid at their feet.

"Swords!" Ned had his weapon in hand first, and heard dozens of blades being unsheathed behind him.

A shape flew out from the black trees, shrieking and stretching out impossibly long limbs. Ned ducked under one reaching claw and impaled the assailant through the chest, using their own momentum to fling them overhead and drop them to the ground where they writhed. Other shapes leapt into view, charging at the rides from their flanks with claws and crude weapons.

Men and women cried out as they were cut down, horses shrieked, and the Deadwood fed on any who fell into its grasp. The Children laughed as they danced between fights, even as more of them were cut down.

One tried to pull Ned off of his horse, but the Glover soldier from before sank his blade through their back and gave Ned time to kick them off.

"Go, my lord!" The Glover soldier called out, turning back to help the rest. "We will hold them!"

Ned wanted to argue, but knew that the only thing that mattered was the Heart, the Deadwood Heart. If he failed, millions more could die.

He rode on as swiftly as he could, almost tiring his horse to the point of collapsing before finally coming to a stop. It was hard to tell how far he had ridden or for how long, but judging from how the sky was slowly turning red he could wager that it was approaching sunset.

But he had reached it.

A vast pool of black water lay before him, as large as a lake and with a single massive black tree extending upwards out of it, several hundred feet high. The ancient, vast skeletons of beasts from times predating the days of the First Men were partially submerged within the dark tide. Perhaps the most chilling feature of all was that the tree at the heart of the lake…had a face of its own, as if some demented, twisted counterpart of the Old Gods was staring at Ned right now.

Steeling himself, Ned climbed down off of his horse and opened the saddle bag. Recalling the incantation recited to him by Thoros and his cohorts, Ned set the glass vessel on the ground as he knelt down. Upon untwisting the cap he recoiled but kept up the soft murmuring chant as green fire flared from the opening, almost like wild fire.

Reaching into his quiver, he produced a single arrow which he dipped into the flames. Upon pulling it back he saw that the flames had enveloped the head of the arrow despite it lacking any oil or rags, and it did not spread up the rest of the shaft.

Ned climbed to his feet and pulled his bow out, already strung for this single task. He notched the arrow and drew it back, aiming as high as he could so as to land it as far out from shore as possible.

Gods old and new, drowned or red or many faced or bloody teeted, anyone listening to me right now.

Ned let the arrow fly.

Please let this work.

The arrow arched high into the air, so high it almost seemed to touch the sun before it began its descent. It struck in the midst of the lake and vanished with a soft hiss.

All fell silent…not even the bubbling of the black water filled the background, nor could Ned hear any sounds of fighting from the warriors he had left behind to accomplish this task.

Suddenly…the Deadwood Heart Tree began to shrink, receding deep into the black water lake. Ned heard what sounded like the snapping of bones as the ancient thing shrank in on itself until it was submerged beneath the lake entirely.

Looking around, Ned saw that the rest of the Deadwood appeared unresponsive…until he realizes that the black water was receding into the lake. Entire rivulets crossed open ground, forcing Ned and his horse to shift aside to avoid being taken. They poured into the Deadwood Heart and yet it did not seem to rise even an inch by the time the trickle came to an end.

Then, more trees began to recede into the ground. Ned let out a soft laugh as he saw more of them vanish…until a shadow fell over him, coming from the Deadwood Heart itself. He spun back around to see that the lake's level was dropping…and that something else was rising in its place.

It was taller than most manmade structures that Ned had ever seen, coming close to eclipsing the Wall itself. It had a face, green and white with a beard and brows made of fire, large antler like extensions coming out of its crown and oversized curved teeth which it bared in a permanent grin.

Ned's horse broke and ran in panic.

Ned couldn't bring himself to move an inch as he stared up at the monstrosity…the one he had unwittingly created in his desperation.

It finally moved, generating a sound like cracking wood as it stretched out its arms and flexed long, claw tipped digits. Finally it gave a long, relieved sigh and then stared down upon Ned.

With one hand, it pointed directly at him. "YOU!"

Ned sucked in a sharp breath.

"THANK YOU!" The creature…the demon…laughed. "YOU HAVE GRANTED ME LIFE!"

Ned felt as if pure ice had been stabbed into his spine. "No…no!" He shook his head. "I was…trying to destroy you!"

"AHAHAHA!" It cackled. "Yes! And you have failed! Your magic arrow granted me what I was so long deprived of! I live! I breathe! I…I am…"

The demon held its arms out to both sides. "I am the Master of Darkness, the Shogun of Sorrow, the Lord of Shadows and new ruler over all lands!"

It leaned down close towards Ned. "I. Am. Aku."

"And I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North!" Either it was idiocy induced by fear or courage induced by idiocy, but Ned found it in him to shout back at the demon. "And you will rule nothing, demon!"

Ned didn't know what possessed him to think that anything at his disposal would harm this evil, yet he found himself quickly notching another arrow and letting it fly, followed by more. The newborn demon, now named Aku, held out one hand and allowed the darts to sink into its palm before devouring them…and then shooting them right back!

Ned knelt and quickly pulled his shield off of his back, deflecting most of the arrows while a couple sank in and were stopped by his leathers and chainmail. He tugged them out, wincing a little but ignoring the now swelling bruises he knew he had.

Dropping his shield, Ned tore his sword free of its scabbard and charged as close as he could before taking a swing. His blade cut through Aku's flesh as easily as it would any man, but the damage was quickly mended, and Ned saw that his blade was now coated in black water which ate through it, forcing him to toss it aside.

"FOOL!" Aku roared and shook his head in amusement at Eddard's efforts. "No mortal weapon can harm me! Now, pitiful Warden of the North, I shall show you and all who live under you just what you have unleashed today!"

With a single sweeping motion of his hand, Aku had the black water in which he stood rise up in a tidal wave which swept over Eddard. His helmet flew off as he was flung down and engulfed…and yet he did not die. He felt himself being dragged across the ground before reaching the edge of the lake. He desperately scrambled for anything to latch onto, but was pulled down into the depths.

Before he could suffocate however, he felt himself rising. His limbs were ensnared by black branches, holding him flush against the trunk of a new tree which emerged from the Deadwood Heart. Ned cough and spat as black water dripped off of him, which was supposed to be enough to kill him based on what he had seen it do to many others.

Yet that was when it was part of a mindless, primal evil…this was now something with a mind and will of its own.

"Watch and despair, Warden of the North." Aku mocked. "Watch and reap what you have sewn!"

The demon's body elongated, stretching up into the air. Aku's head vanished into the black mass before it split off, reaching out in different directions.

From where he was hung Eddard could see the distant form of Winterfell in the horizon. He felt his blood run cold as he realized Aku's intentions moments before the demon reformed, towering over the ancient castle.

Ned let out a wordless scream and wrenched against his bonds, which pulled back and held him flush against the tree in response. He could do nothing but watch as Aku unleashed twin beams of light and set fire to Winterfell, doubtlessly doing the same to the surrounding refugee camp.

And yet this was only a taste of what Aku was doing elsewhere.

Xxx

Far across Westeros, the black mass reached out tendrils extending countless leagues. Their targets had already been chosen, their names embedded in Aku's mind. They were the greatest fortresses and cities of this land, ruled by the most powerful families. He would strike down their leaders, cut off the head of any resistance in his first strike.

First came the Eyrie, perched atop the Giant's Lance in the mountainous Vale of Arryn.

Then Riverrun, seat of House Tully in the heart of the Riverlands.

Casterly Rock, nestled atop legendary gold mines that provided the wealth of House Lannister, as well as Lannisport which very nearly stood in its shadow.

High Garden, former seat of the Gardener Kings before Aegon's Conquest and now home to House Tyrell.

Oldtown, home of the Maesters and the Citadel, the greatest repository of knowledge on the continent.

Storm's End, the fortress said to have been built in defiance of the gods themselves by one of the Storm Kings of old.

Sunspear, the desert palace from which House Nymeros-Martell ruled Dorne, and the shadow city which hugged its walls.

And finally, King's Landing, where Aegon the Conqueror landed with his dragons and built a dynasty that lasted just shy of three centuries.

Aku struck all of them at once, neglecting the islands off of either of Westeros' coasts. He would attend to them later after he had finished eliminating any resistance on the mainland. All at once the ruling houses of Westeros came under attack so swiftly that they had little time to even process the scope of this new enemy. Knights that would boast of their valour were quick to throw down their weapons and flee along with the masses while few stood and fought only to learn the same lesson that Eddard Stark had mere minutes ago when the world had still been sane and fire was not raining down across the whole of Westeros.

And by the end of it, all that would remain would be the sound of his laughter across fields of ash.

Xxx

End of Chapter