Selina: Chapter 20

A week had passed since Tywin's forces had left. The city was still a wounded carcass, blood pouring from its corners. The northwestern portion of the city was in ruin. At least three thousand smallfolk dead. In a city of Gotham's size the number was but a sliver of the tree, but the cut had festered and rotted.

So many had lost hope in Gotham. The assault had woken them up to the threat the rest of the kingdom presented, when they had grown so accustomed only to those that Gotham did. News had spread of Lord Eddard Stark's son, Robb, marching South with his own sizeable host. Tywin had left Gotham, bleeding, to dash the North in its own blood. Once the war was over however, should a war erupt, Gotham would surely bleed more.

Many had begun to leave the city, at least ten thousand to date. They sought out the peaceful countryside, or marched for Highgarden, to sit beneath the blessed rose pedals of Lord Mace Tyrell. Selina knew they were fools though, no matter how far they marched they would never be safe.

Those that stayed however, proved resilient. As Gotham bled, they remained strong to seal the wound. Work had already begun on rebuilding the section of the city that had been destroyed. Ser Gordon himself led the repairs, ordering his men to assist in any way possible as new homes were built and streets redone. Sarah Essen remained at his side, seemingly throwing her ties to Highgarden to the wind in place of faith in Gordon and this city.

James Gordon was regaled a hero after his stance against Lord Tywin Lannister. His sigil, a hunting hound, had earned him the title The Lion-Hunting Hound. Selina knew the truth of the matter however, were it not for the Amazons, and their captivating leader, Gotham would be in ruin. More than a thousand of Gordon's men and volunteers lay dead, and only a century of Amazons accompanied them. But it was plain as day that every Amazon was worth two centuries of average men. Fighting beside them Selina saw the brutality in their strikes and the loyalty to their leader that burned in their hearts.

Their leader, Princess Diana, had been holed up in Gordon's keep since her arrival, assisting in the rebuilding. Selina was not a jealous woman, but Batman so quickly allying with her was irritating, to say the least. We fuck, and within a day he has a new raven haired beauty at his beck and call, huh, men…

If Gordon was being called a hero, then in Gotham, Batman was entitled as a god. Word burned through the streets like a forest fire of how quickly Batman defeated the Kingslayer. Selina had heard iterations of how savagely Batman broke both of Ser Jaime's arms before kicking him to the mud, and another where Batman stared into the golden haired knight's eyes for a minute straight, devouring his soul, before beating the empty shell within a shred of its life. Selina knew the truth of this as well. She saw Batman's restraint faulting, and Gordon's interruption. Were it not for him, Batman may have just killed the infamous Kingslayer with the ease of a child waving a stick. She had not decided yet whether she wished Batman had killed Jaime Lannister or not, but it mattered not now.

She had not seen Batman since that night, not so much as a late night drop in or even a note. Always playing hard to get, ever preferring solitude in his dark little cave.

Deciding to suspend her nightly escapes as a thief while Gotham recovered, she was in for the night again. Seeing as she played a part in its salvation, she figured she had earned herself a mountain of gold, one that she would take with her own two hands soon enough.

She laid in her bed, Meelo on her belly, the little golden Holly above her head perched on the top of her pillow. I save the city, and the only ones to love me regardless are my cats… I cannot decide if my life is sad or simply normal for anyone living in this city.

As she began drifting into sleep, a soft thump from outside stirred her. Normally she would have reached for her whip, but she knew this visitor posed no threat.

Batman parted the wooden window panes and crouched into the room.

Selina smirked, "I was wondering how long it would take you. I never took you for the sort to fuck and run, but I suppose I know so little about you I'm in the wrong to draw any conclusions at all."

The black armored knight remained silent. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"

Meelo leapt from Selina's belly and dashed to Batman's feet. He circled the metal plated boots a few times before curling up between the two of them purring. "My cat seems to fancy you."

"Selina…you have my thanks for helping save the city. Were it not for your information, many more would have been lost," Batman finally sighed.

She chuckled. "So? It's not as if I'm being rewarded for my efforts. No one even knows I played a hand, only you and your little brat, and Gordon and his bitch, are receiving any notable credit. What would it matter to me if more smallfolk were butchered?"

"It may not matter to you, but it matters to me."

"You get the city to love you, not only do criminals fear you but now the smallfolk hold you up like a god. The man that defeated the Kingslayer! A great deal of fame coming from a man who wished he was a myth."

"The people can hate me or worship me, it matters not, it won't stop me. I wasn't the only one that saved Gotham. Every man that gave his life, Gordon, Robin, the Amazons and Diana, and you as well," Batman replied.

"Ah yes, you and your little bird. Oh and let's not forget the Amazon warrior princess! The dark haired bitch whose tits do her talking for her. How is she in bed? She doesn't seem as limber as me."

"I wouldn't know, I haven't taken her into my bed, nor would I," he affirmed.

"Oh? And why not, surely I have taken no residence in your heart, so there is no need to feel as if you're being unfaithful. Go on, fuck the beautiful bitch before she awakes and realizes this city is nothing but a pit of despair," Selina taunted.

"No, if you have no place in my heart, neither does she."

Selina erupted into laughter at this. "Ever the frozen heart eh? You'll find that is a lonely life."

"Perhaps I should invest in cats to accompany me," Batman replied.

That was a string Batman was better off not plucking. "Leave."

Batman bowed his head shallowly. "My gratefulness remains."

As he turned to leave, Selina suddenly remembered the words she was tasked with repeating. "No, wait."

Her guest turned back to look upon her. "I was visited by a…well, some sort of man, a few weeks ago. He was bald at first, with an flat nose, and told me that his god predicted you were crucial to his plans. That there is some form of darkness reaching across Westoros, and you were the one to stop it. Then he fell back into the shadows, and when he emerged into the light, his hair was long, half red and half white. His face had narrowed, his nose pointed not blunted. He said his name was Jon Jones…or something to that affect. When I pursued him, he stepped back into the shadows, only, his eyes were visible. They glowed red, like small fires burning in his skull. It was…terrifying yet exhilarating at the same moment. To be in the presence of something that cannot be explained, but you know it to be true. I witnessed it with my own eyes, no one can speak false of what I myself witnessed."

Batman remained silent for a long while. His eyes staring at the floor. Meelo had been bothered when his bed first turned to leave, but had quickly settled back into a comfortable sleep atop Batman's feet.

"Thank you, Selina, for everything. I must go," Batman stated, finally breaking the silence. Selina expected as much, but before she could make a witty remark, he did something unexpected. He reached down and lifted the cat from his feet, held him for a moment, looking into his small eyes, before setting him upon the bed.

Selina remained wordless as her visitor leapt back out into the night. Careful Batman, should a heart grow too cold, no amount of warmth will make it beat again.

The Frozen Man:

It echoed. For how long he did not know, but it echoed. A word, a word that he could not remember, but for some strange reason, he wished he did. Like some unknown force pushing down upon him, making his heart and mind burn to remember the word.

He felt cold, always, he felt cold. He couldn't move, no matter how hard he strained, there was always a solid wall pushing back, a wall that encased him. He was its prisoner, he remembered, but he knew not why. His curse for eternity, and he could not remember what he had done to deserve such punishment.

He could no longer remember if he were awake, or if this was all but a dream. Was this eternal hell real, or something spawned from his imagination. His imagination, there was something that was harder to grasp than the word he had forgotten. Every day, or week, or year, however long had passed, an image would flutter before him and then disappear back into the dark recesses of his mind. There was a horse, and a white haired man atop it, then there was a frozen passageway, with long ice teeth that curved down like the claws of a shadowcat, but no matter what image presented itself, they all ended the same. Heat, burning, fire. A fire that roared with such rage and fury that he feared it. Fire is a thing to be feared, not respected or loved, but feared.

After an eternity in his endless dreaming, a loud crack rang out. At first he thought it was another recollection from his former life, another flashing memory, but then it sounded again. Crack.

This was nothing he had experienced before. This was not a recollection, as he had seen or heard or smelled every memory that his mind could recollect, this was something…new.

Then the crack rang again, and again. Each time growing louder and closer. The Stranger, finally coming for my soul after an eternity in his hell, he thought.

With a final thundering crack, he felt something he had not felt in so long a time. The wind.

A breeze blew across his flesh, in a small patch, somewhere above his waist, but his body was so cold he could not determine where. Then another patch of exposed skin broke free, somewhere on his left leg. With each passing minute, more and more of his flesh was released from its prison of ice. He felt wind, he felt the cold air embracing him, welcoming him to the land of the living once more.

Suddenly his body lurched forward, and fell. His eyes were still closed, but a cool soft pillow stopped him. His hands clasped shut, packing the soft dirt in his hands. No, dirt feels rough, this is…snow.

Slowly, his eyes opened. Everything was blurry at first, his fingers like blades of grass that were being buffeted in the wind. Slowly, his many fingers merged into a dozen, and then eight, and finally five. He could see, after so long, he could finally see.

Everywhere was snow, white and beautiful. A sight he had not seen in so long. He looked around, taking in the shattered ice around him, broken into shards, before finally settling back on his fingers. Then his eyes awoke in terror. My hands, they're…not…

He realized his hands had forgone their pink fleshy hue. Now his skin was pale white, and his fingertips blackened as if touched with frostbite. No..no…this cannot be possible.

A shuffling movement from his right caught his eye, and suddenly he realized his rebirth was not without witnesses. Everywhere, figures bundled together like a pack. They were twenty paces away, swords and weapons raised, eyes wide with terror. They…fear..me?

The strangers were wrapped in animal hides, brown and white and gray from wolves, bears, and other creatures of the forest. Most of them branded long untamed beards, with one bearded face parting the crowd. His sword was raised in defense, but dropped by his side as soon as he witnessed the spectacle that struck fear in his comrades.

The stranger's hair was fiery red, and thick as a bear's coat on both his scalp and chin. He was tall, and broad, with piercing eyes that gave way to confusion and amazement.

"What in the…what are you?"

He looked away from the fiery stranger, and pushed his hand down into the snow to help him stand. His legs gave way under his weight his first two attempts, not having been used for so long a time. Finally on the third try, he managed to stand. His lips parted, feeling cold as they pursed together to form words. "I…I do not know…"

The fiery haired stranger led him down the icy tunnel and out into the unforgiving wind of the open air. Everywhere, the frozen fangs that were in his dreams sprang up. Yes, I was led here before…I remember these frozen teeth.

His capturers shuddered in the wind, gripping their weapons tighter, shivering under their fur hides, but not him. He awoke naked, as a babe stepping forth into the world. His legs and arms and feet were all the same pale white color as his hands. His toes even stained black with frostbite like his fingers. He reached a hand up to his head, feeling the smooth scalp, realizing he was without hair.

The party of savages led him down the long sloping hill, riddled with ice and stone and snow, to the valley below. Everywhere he could see the bustling figures of people, hides sewn together into tents poking up amongst them, but most glaringly, fires. Everywhere there was fire, in small little pits or colossal erupting monsters. The wool clad figures huddled together around them for warmth.

He wasn't sure if he could feel warmth anymore. He could feel the cold embrace of the wind, and the cool fluffy powder of the snow beneath him, if only barely, but these were all elements of the frozen wasteland that surrounded him. Winter…is coming, he remembered from some muttering spoken to him long ago. Yes, winter was upon them, and its embrace could only be felt by him in passing.

The orange haired brute led him into a large tent with large white pelts coating it. Inside, it was warm, and a woman draped in pelts lay in a bed at the far end of the tent. He could smell the scent of some meat being cooked above a fire, but he could not recognize the animal. A table sat at the tent's center, where a man sat playing some wooden instrument.

The man had brown hair flowing down to his shoulders with grey streaks through it, and a calm, warming expression on his face as he pricked the strings of the wooden tool in his hands. Creases curved around the corners of his lips, and his eyes were closed in contentment. He had a sharp nose, and looked lean in the face, but broad below the fur cloak draped around his shoulders.

As the red haired savage led him closer, the musician opened his eyes and gazed upon his visitor. "Ah, so you're the one stirring such fear into my freefolk. Come, sit."

The man waved a hand towards the chair across the table. As he sat, the brown haired man spoke to his companion. "Many thanks, Tormund, that is all I require for now."

The red haired man grunted and ducked back out into the unforgiving cold.

"So, I was told you were frozen in a thick wall of ice. They were digging at you for six hours, thought you were a corpse of one of the First Men. That would've been something, having a living relic of a man at my table, a man that survived the slaughter of the First Men some thousands of years ago. But I don't think that's what you are, no, I think you are something much…darker," the brown haired man spoke, the smile leaving his face as he grew more serious.

"What do you believe me to be?"

"I wouldn't know. My men branded you a White Walker, do you know what those are?"

He shook his head, "No."

"Ah, well they're a terrible sort of monster. A race of creatures whose skin is as pale as snow, with bright blue eyes, and leathery skin stretched taut against their flesh and bones. Something of a kind with you, wouldn't you think? You're the same color, that same bluish white, like moonlight. You have the taut leather skin, you look like a walking corpse. Only, none of them have ever talked. We've only ever heard their cry. A cry in the dark of night, that sounds like death itself is coming for you, wailing for blood. They attack us without remorse, and will always go for the kill. But you, here you are sitting at my table, speaking as a man, not attacking as a beast," the man leaned back in his seat and smirked.

"So if you don't believe me to be one of these, White Walkers, what do you think I am?"

The man shrugged his shoulders, "Don't know. All that matters is you're not one of them. Do you remember anything about who you are? A name, a castle, what lands you hail from? The lord you bent your knee to? Any gods you worshipped?"

He shook his head. "No, I do not worship any gods. Nor do I remember any such things."

The woman to the left shuffled, as she stood, draped in her blanket of wool pelts. She walked over to stand beside the man. She had a comely beauty about her.

"Frozen Man, this is my wife, Dalla, and I am Mance Rayder, titled King Beyond the Wall," he chimed as he took a shallow bow in his chair.

"The Wall?"

"You sure are dense aren't you friend? Well tell me this, do you have a woman?"

He froze. "A…a woman?"

Mance laughed, "Aye, a woman you love, one who's yours? Dalla here's heavy with my child. Do you have any family? A child, a wife?"

"A…wife…" Suddenly he stood, the chair falling back as he left it. His mind whirled as images flashed before him. He heard Mance's voice shouting in panic, but could not make out the words. He fell to the floor, his cold white hands gripping his head in pain. He saw a woman, beautiful and radiating, with long silver hair and deep blue eyes. Woman…woman…woman…

Amongst the flurry of images and senses, the warmth of her embrace, the smell of her hair, the taste of her lips, the word he had long forgotten came rushing back to him. After so long, the word he could not remember was remembered. He shouted it, shouted it in beautiful triumph and painful remembrance. "NORAAAAA!"

So I have to say that last chapter was a lot of fun to write. I was trying to come up with a creative way to take the story out of just the South andd this proved my answer! I promised more DC and GoT characters coming and this is just the start