AN: Hey all here is the next chapter I hope you enjoy! I know it's been a while, but honestly it took a while to get back into the Game of Thrones franchise, especially after that piss poor season 8.
Like seriously, when the TV series first ended I started to write the outline for this chapter. Only at the time I was sketching out a number of horrific and coincidental situations which would lead to the deaths of Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, Bran Stark, Jon Snow, and Tyrion Lannister, pretty much all the characters who's story arcs pissed me off.
Like seriously the way the show handled the Long Night is a joke! And that whole bullshit of King Bran, what a load of complete nonsense. Seriously the writing for the last season was abominable, like all praise to the actors and actresses for working with what they were given, and the crew and people doing the sets, effects and costumes and stuff, they were all top notch. It's just they were all let down by the bad, lazy writing, and just how rushed it all was. Like seriously they could have turned that last season into two ten episode series, at least then the pacing would be acceptable.
But yes, anyway. I could rant for quite a while about just how disappointing I found the last season. Again the cast and crew did the best they could with what they were given. But no, I'm not going to. Instead I'm going to endeavour to finish this story to my own satisfaction to get the bad taste of the last few episodes of season 8 out of my mouth.
That said I know a lot of people have been asking about this story, so without further ado, here is the next chapter, I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or Game of Thrones.
( - )
(Last Time)
"Wait here." Stannis grunted to his guards, raising a hand to them and gesturing for them to loiter about outside whilst he went in, after which he, Davos and Melisandre stepped through the doorway and into the surprisingly cool interior of the manse.
Stannis's grey eyes moving automatically to the large, heavily built dark-skinned man he could see reclining lazily on one of the nearby, cushioned loungers, after which his gaze then shifted over to a young, but beautiful white haired girl he could see on another lounger.
The girl in question looking up as Stannis and his company entered the room, her violet eyes narrowing curiously even as she continued to feed the two small, baby dragons at her feet scraps of dried meat.
( - )
Chapter 22
( - )
(In Qarth)
The man that had just entered the solar was an older, stern-looking, Westerosi man, with thinning, prematurely greying hair, steely, cold blue eyes and a thin, hard face.
He was the kind of man that one would usually avoid if you passed him in the street. Just from looking at him, he gave off the air of a hard, stiff and unpleasant man, one that had been brought down by the burdens of life, but instead of breaking he had only grown tougher, meaner and crueller because of his experiences.
Despite his gruff appearance though, the man was clearly wealthy. The cut of his clothing, unsuitable though it was for Qarth's climate, was still obviously high quality, and the sword at his waist looked finely crafted and expansive.
That, and it was also the way he walked and the way he held himself, it was reminiscent of how the Magisters in Pentos had acted; confident, self-assured, powerful. This was a man that had power and authority and had long since become used to it. Which of course meant he was a noble, probably a powerful Lord, if Daenerys had to guess.
Following closely behind the older man, were two of the others. One of them another Westerosi, and one just as rough looking and weathered as the first man, only the second man was shorter and stockier. On top of which he had a fuller, bearded face, and a warmth in his dark eyes that was absent in the first man's.
Like the first man, this man was also dressed in finery, though once noticeably his clothing was not quite the quality of the first man's, despite that his clothing was fine and well made all the same, a minor Noble then, or a retainer for the first man maybe?
The other person meanwhile was a striking woman of indeterminate age. She had long, dark red hair, and pale, almost translucent skin.
This woman wasn't from Westeros. However, at the same time, it was hard to say where she did come from. She had the pale skin of a Westerosi, but her facial features appeared foreign. If Daenerys had to guess, she would say this woman was from neither Westeros nor Essos, but from further afar, that or she was some hybrid, the bastard offspring of a couple from both Essos and Westeros.
Her clothing however, the long red gown, and red veil, along with the gold, ruby-encrusted necklace on her throat, certainly identified her as a Priestess of the Lord of Light. After all, there were other similarly dressed men and women all throughout Essos, not in Qarth of course, as the Sorcerers here held dominance, but in other cities in Essos, certainly.
Noting this Daenerys felt a slight discomfort rising up within her. The few Red Priests and Priestess she had come into contact with before had all been the same, they had all preached, more often than not fanatically, about their fire-based religion, and tried to convert anyone and everyone they could into their way of thinking.
Still, propriety had to be followed, and as a guest here, it was expected of Daenerys to be cordial with Xaro's other guests, even if the sight of them made her stomach sink, and her heart beat faster.
With this in mind, she stood up from her reclining seat, her violet eyes taking all three of the newcomers in, even as she moved to stand in front of her two baby dragons. Her violet eyes narrowed as she eyed the two men from her homeland cautiously, even as she looked behind them and saw a number of armoured guardsmen waiting just outside.
Noticeably all of these men were bearing an unfamiliar crest on their shields and tunics, one of a crowned stag, with a flaming heart. An unfamiliar sigil, even if the sight of the crowned stag, the symbol of Tytan Baratheon, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, made her tense up.
Looking over to her current protector, Xaro, Daenerys couldn't say whether the dark-skinned man's apparent calmness settled her nerves, or instead just made her tenser. After all this man could have sold her out, and be handing her to her enemies right at this minute. It wouldn't be the first time she had been betrayed after all, and if her own brother could do it, then surely anyone could.
"Who are you?" Daenerys demanded perhaps more abruptly than she intended, her eyes flicking between the three newcomers and her host, even as she felt some of her Dothraki shifting about at the back of the room, several of them rest their hands on their curved swords as they eyed the intruders cautiously.
"Be at peace my queen, they are my guests, and your potential allies." Xaro cut in, the large man standing up now, both his hands rising as he tried to calm the situation.
Daenerys narrowed her eyes at that but didn't say anything. Instead, she shot Xaro a searching, questioning look.
Likewise neither did the other three, as instead they continued to watch her. Though noticeably their gazes strayed more often than not to the two baby dragons, both of which were still scampering about behind her, apparently unaware of the sudden tense situation that they found themselves in.
"Now, I believe some introductions are in order." Xaro continued unperturbed, a bright smile spreading across his face as he looked between the two parties. "Now allow me to introduce Lord Stannis Baratheon, the Lord of Dragonstone, and the Seven Kingdom's former Master of Ships. Then beside him is Ser Davos Seaworthy, one of Lord Stannis' loyal advisors and retainers. And then finally, last, but not least, the Lady Melisandre, a high priestess and a loyal servant of the Lord of Light, R'Hllor."
"Baratheon!" Daenerys said sharply, her violet eyes flashing with both anger and fear. She had heard of this man before, this was Stannis Baratheon, Robert's brother, and the current king, Tytan's, Uncle.
From what she had heard, both from her brother, and the late Ser Jorah, Stannis was a severe man, a man of duty, and of principle. Which of course begged the question of why he was here, right now, meeting with her, a threat to his Nephew's throne. It seemed very out of character with what she had heard of the man.
Then again, it could be that it was because of his duty and principles that he was here. Maybe the Baratheon had seen the travesty that was the Usurper, Robert Baratheon's, reign, and thus decided that Westeros needed its true queen. Maybe he was here because he recognised her claim and wanted to support it, even against his own blood?
Or maybe he was here to lure her away from the safety of Qarth in order to kill her, or to kill her dragons, before she, or they became a threat.
"Yes, my queen, Stannis Baratheon." Xaro continued calmly, his smile not fading as he instead looked to the other three. "And thus allow me to introduce to you Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the Andals and the First Men, the Protector of the Realm, the Mother of Dragons, and the Khaleesi of the Grass Sea!"
In response to this Stannis, Davos and Melisandre gave short bows.
"So now that the introductions are over, why do we not sit down? I believe we have much to discuss." Xaro continued, smiling broadly as he gestured for them all to take seats.
Nodding stiffly at Xaro's suggestion, Daenerys sank back down into her seat, her eyes fixed on Stannis as he too stiffly walked over and sat down in another chair opposite her, with Davos taking a standing position behind him, whilst Melisandre sank into the seat next to Stannis, her curious gaze fixed unerringly on Daenerys, even as an almost, hungry, smile played about her face.
( - )
(In the Vale, with Tytan)
Standing on a large outcropping of rock, Tytan Baratheon's absentmindedly looked out over the seat of House Arryan, the Eyrie, and the mountainous lands that surrounded it. The gigantic, impressive-looking, mountain fortress, loomed large over everything else as it sand astride the peak of the Mountains of the Moon, the Giant's Lance. The gigantic citadel put the deep valley below into shadow.
Though the Bloody Gate, which guarded the highway to the citadel, and the Gate of the Moon which protected the single pathway that led up the side of the mountain, were both clear to see. This though was due to the hundreds of men that could be seen on the battlements, walls and parapets overlooking the gates and the trail.
The golden armour of the Golden Company stood out most noticeably, far more so than the duller uniforms worn by the other sellswords that Lysa Arryn had under her command or the occasional bright spot of colour from the men who belonged the few traitorous Vale Lords that had joined Lysa.
Tearing his gaze away from the impregnable Eyrie, Tytan instead gazed around at the surrounding area. More than thirty thousand men, and camp followers were arrayed before him. Thousands of them, even as he watched, digging trenches, or driving stakes into the ground as they fortified the blockade which encircled the gigantic keep. That or they built up barricades made of spiked logs where the ground was too hard to be broken.
With even more of the men noticeably setting up the four camps that surrounded the Eyrie; each of which was positioned to the; north, south, east, and west. That or they set up the supply lines, or had started patrolling the area, both the no man's land between the isolated fortress and the encircling army and the mountainous region behind the army.
Already Tytan had had to send out some of the younger Lords into the foothills in order to root out some of the hill tribes after several ambushes on his men. That said, rooting out the hill tribes would be useful to both pick up the morale of the men with a few easy victories, as well as handy as it would keep the younger, and more eager Lords in check.
Far behind the Eyrie, Tytan could both sense and see the sea, and the dozens of war galleys that were currently anchored up in the bay. The galleys had helped to blockade the Eyrie from both land and sea, even if their mangonels and ballistae couldn't shoot far enough to reach the Eyrie.
"Your Majesty," Lord Tarly spoke up behind Tytan, catching the king's attention as he shifted to the side so that he could look at Randyll. "The fortifications have almost been completed, and reports have started coming in that our soldiers have managed to drive off several Mountain Tribe warbands."
"Good," Tytan nodded turning to fully face Randyll now, his gaze taking in his chosen men, and one Kingsguard, Jamie, all of whom were in full plate armour, and mounted on horses as they patiently waited for their king. Behind them, Tytan also noticed a couple of armoured Tarly Guardsmen, and Randyll's youngest son, Dickon, who was squiring to one of the knights protecting Lord Tarly. "Once the trenches and barricades have been finished, I'll call the war council together so that we can plot out our strategy for tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Randyll asked, a note of confusion entering his tone now, even as his weathered face twisted into a slight frown. "Do you mean we'll discuss how to set up the blockade, and the positions of the men? In which case I applaud your foresight you Majesty. I was in fact coming here to discuss with you the possibility of building temporary walls behind the trenches, as they would be easier for us to defend, and would allow some of the gathered Lords to send their troops home. After all, once the walls have been constructed we would only need fifteen thousand men at the most to secure them while we starve them out!"
Tytan cocked an eyebrow at that. "You think we should starve them out then?"
Randyll frowned in confusion. "Was that not what you were planning? With the Golden Company here and the legendary strength of the Eyrie's defences, I would have thought that starving them out was the only option?"
"It could work," Tytan nodded, a thoughtful look on his face as he turned away and looked at the massive fortress and easily defended path that led up to it. Trying to take the fortress by force would be suicide, especially with the hundreds of sellswords, Valemen, plus however many soldiers from the Golden Company that Lysa has hired, defending it. "The sellswords will either get desperate and hand Lysa Arryn over to us so that they can go free, or ransom her to us so they can make something from this venture. That or they might try to break the blockade once the majority of our army returns home."
"Such is the way of things, your Majesty." Randyll nodded, his expression easing now. "It is not the most palatable of options, but it is the least costly option, and the most likely to succeed. Though I will admit allowing the sellswords who sided with her to go home, safe and sound will rankle. That is if they do indeed like you say, hand Lysa over to us once the precariousness of their position is impressed upon them."
"Indeed, and as my Grandfather said, it would set a precedent." Tytan nodded, turning back to Randyll now. "It will say that people can get away with opposing the Iron Throne freely. Sure Lysa and the traitorous Vale Lords will be punished, and examples will be made of them. But the Golden Company and the other sellswords will go free, and will do so under the knowledge that they opposed the Iron Throne and got away with it without cost."
"Again your Majesty, it isn't palatable, but it just is. Sellswords are scum, they sell their swords to the highest bidder. They have no honour, but despite that, they serve a purpose. In the future, they could be hired out to oppose the Crown again, or indeed they could be hired by the Crown to reinforce their own soldiers. Unfortunately, it is just the way of things." Randyll nodded.
"Maybe," Tytan nodded, his expression stoic for all of a few moments before his mouth twisted upwards into a smile. "But I don't like the idea of this group operating in Westeros, nor do I like the idea of them opposing me and then walking away without issue."
"Then," Randyll pushed, his eyebrows knitting together in a scowl now as he eyed Tytan cautiously. "Does that mean you intend to attack?"
"Yes," Tytan nodded simply. "Prudence would demand we starve them out. But I want to make a point."
"What, by killing off most of your army?!" Randyll demanded, his tone growing louder now.
"Some will die, I admit." Tytan nodded easily.
"Some?! Some will die?! The Eyrie is all but impregnable, and it's guarded by thousands of sellswords, including the Golden Company, perhaps the most skilled company of sellswords in Essos! Even with thirty thousand men, we wouldn't be able to take the place by force!" Randyll shouted all decorum lost now as he stared at Tytan in horror. "You'll be sending your men to a slaughter!"
Tytan, instead of getting angry, just raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think me so mad?"
Randyll in response looked like he was desperately holding back his desire to say "yes".
"I know the strength of the Eyrie and of the forces guarding it. But I have a plan in mind. One which will make the impression I seek, and will put the fear of the gods into any who would dare oppose the Iron Throne!" Tytan replied bluntly, his green eyes boring into Randyll.
"Your Majesty," Randyll replied lowly, his expression still angry. "I don't think…!"
"Tarly!" Tytan cut him off, his gaze intense. "Do I appear a fool to you?"
"No, your Majesty, but this plan…" Randyll tried, desperately trying to impress on the king just what he thought of his plan to besiege the Eyrie.
"It will work," Tytan replied simply, before forging on. "I will crack the Eyrie open like an egg, and our soldiers will kill all those who reside inside. Of course that said, those who beg for mercy or surrender will be spared death. However, those who fight... They will all be killed to the last man."
"Yes, your Majesty, but the issue is, how are we going to besiege the Eyrie without taking massive losses?" Randyll pressed again, his tone one of strained patience.
Tytan in response just tilted his head, his expression cool. "I find your lack of faith disturbing."
"It's not faith in you that I lack, your Majesty, it's the facts of the matter that worry me," Randyll said, his tone much more controlled now, especially now he felt Tytan's cold green eyes on him. He, like many others in the Seven Kingdoms, had heard about what had happened to those who opposed the young king. Just as he realised that this man, was far more component, and far more dangerous, than his father, Robert, ever was.
"I see, then maybe an example is what is needed to put your mind at ease." Tytan mused, his gaze remaining on Randyll, even as he raised his booted foot, and then stamped downwards with it.
In response to his actions the earth around him shook and the rock outcropping below him shattered, shards of fractured rock flying up into the air, even as rubble pour down the sides of the rock outcropping, passing on either side of Tytan and the now shocked Randyll.
"Your Majesty?" Randyll said shakily, his eyes flicking around at the broken rubble that even now had still yet to fully settle. He had heard that Tytan was blessed by the gods, and was capable of supernatural feats, but this was not what he had expected.
"Now imagine that Lord Tarly, but on a much grander scale," Tytan said softly, his gaze moving from the still frozen Randyll, to the mountain citadel in the distance, his mouth curving upwards into a smile of anticipation as he did so.
( - )
(At the Wall)
It was nearing twilight as Eddard Stark rode through the heavily reinforced gates of Castle Black, swathed in a black, fur cloak, his stony, grey eyes gazing around at his surroundings, his new home, forlornly as he did so.
This is not how he had foreseen his life going. Living out the rest of his days serving out his penance at the Wall, all for allowing Baelish and Varys to manipulate him into an act of Treason.
A sigh left Ned's mouth at that thought. It seemed so long ago now, but originally he had gone to King's Landing hoping to discover who had murdered Jon Arryn and the reason for his death. Yet in the end, he had found himself caught up in a conspiracy and potential coup, all without knowing that he was just being used.
King's Landing truly was a nest of vipers.
Fortunately, though he was alive, and his children were all alive, and his House was safe and not dishonoured. That was the only solace that Eddard could take in this whole series of unfortunate events.
"Eddard!" A familiar voice called out loudly, even as Ned dismounted from his horse, the other six dozen men who had accompanied him on the last leg up to the Wall, most of them criminals who had been gathered from all across the Seven Kingdoms, having all followed suit.
"Jeor!" Ned replied, his grim expression breaking off into a slight smile as he saw the familiar, if somewhat older and more weathered face, of Jeor Mormont, the former Lord of Bear Island and the current Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, plus an old family friend of House Stark, approaching him.
"By the gods, I never thought I would see the day that you would be here!" Jeor said loudly, ignoring the other recruits, even as some of the other brothers of the Night's Watch, those with seniority, started hustling them away.
"Nor I," Eddard replied simply his gaze surveying the busy courtyard, and the hundreds of men that manned the walls, trained, stabled horses or worked at a nearby smithy. The place was as busy as Winterfell, if not more so.
Then again maybe that wasn't that surprising considering that Castle Black was the main castle on the Wall and boasted a garrison of nearly fifteen hundred men. With even more having been spread out amongst the other active forts on the Wall.
Jeor nodded at that, the large, beefy man rubbing his bearded chin with discomfort. "Yes…, well I've heard only rumours of what happened down there."
Ned nodded curtly at that. He suspected that Jeor knew far more about what had gone off in King's Landing than he said, still at the same time Ned was grateful that Jeor was exercising some restraint.
"Yes, well I'm up here now, for the long term," Eddard replied simply, pulling his fur cloak tighter around him, even as a chill wind blew through the courtyard, bringing with it some snow from the rooftops of nearby buildings.
"And the Night's Watch is all the better for it." Jeor nodded, clapping Ned on the shoulder even as he began to lead him away from where the other recruits were being hustled to, and instead into the nearby hall. "I tell you, Ned, things aren't going well, not well at all!"
"Really? But the Watch looks better manned and equipped than I have ever seen it!" Ned replied in surprise, even as he allowed Jeor to guide him into the hall, and over to a nearby hearth, within which a fire crackled away merrily within the grate.
"Aye, we've got more men than ever, and funding from the Crown has picked up, enough so that most of the active keeps are now in much better shape than they have been in years!" Jeor nodded, settling himself down onto a bench near the fire, his breath still coming out misted, despite his proximity to the heat.
"But?" Ned asked, his grey eyes flicking over the hall, and then over at the stewards, who even as he watched were setting up some of the tables for the upcoming evening meal. Both Jon and Benjen should be around here somewhere, in fact, he was surprised to have not seen them already.
"But things beyond the Wall are changing, and they're doing so dangerously fast," Jeor grumbled grimly, his expression turning dark as he did so.
"Oh, the Wildings causing more trouble than usual?" Ned asked, his brow rising as he heard the ominous tone of Jeor's voice.
"Wildlings?" Jeor asked gruffly before he shook his head. "Aye, the savages are still around and causing trouble. More so than ever really, they've been flocking south, more of them than ever before. Every patrol we send out runs into some of them now, it's gotten to the point that the patrols I'm sending out have to be nearly a hundred men strong!"
Ned's eyes widened in surprise at that.
"Aye, it's where your brother, Benjen, and your Bastard, Jon, are right now! Those too, Clegane, and nearly five score others are all out on patrol as we speak. It's a pain, but a necessary one, especially with Mance Raydor, having already gathered together many of the different tribes. I tell you, he's probably only days away from calling himself the King Beyond the Wall!" Jeor spat, his tone turning downright venomous as he spoke of the turncoat brother of the Night's Watch.
"Another King Beyond the Wall? I had heard rumours, but still…" Ned muttered, sinking into his own seat now, a scowl on his own face at the thought of his younger brother and Jon being out there beyond the safety of the Wall. "How many Wildlings are we talking about here?"
"From what Qhorin Halfhand has reported back, we're looking at him having tens of thousands already grouped together, if not more!" Jeor grumbled a deep scowl on his face now.
Ned almost gaped as he heard the number, it was a truly colossal amount, especially for the Wildlings to gather together. Still, considering the Wall and the number of brothers manning it, he very much doubted that even many Wildlings would be enough to topple it.
"But no, it's not the Wildlings that's the problem!" Jeor then continued darkly, his gaze locking unerringly on Ned now.
"Oh?" Ned asked, curious now as to just what was making the situation so dire if it were not the tens of thousands of Wildlings massing on the other side of the Wall.
"There are other, darker things beyond the Wall," Jeor muttered, his voice lowering now, even as he sent the nearby stewards a searching look. After which he heaved himself to his feet and gestured for Ned to follow him, even as he started wending his way towards his quarters. "I'll tell you in private, Ned, as a former Warden of the North, and Lord Stark, it's only fitting. Especially since, in a couple of years, you'll probably be Lord Commander."
"Lord Commander?" Ned asked, in surprise, even as he followed Jeor out of the hall and through the castle's dark corridors.
"Of course, with your pedigree, and the experience you have in command, there are few others who are more capable and more worthy to take up the role. Give it a year or two for you to settle in and get to know the place, and we can make it official." Jeor replied bluntly, his tone one of a man that had already decided exactly what he was going to do.
Ned didn't know what to say in response to that, nor did he have the opportunity to think of something as by then they had arrived at Jeor's office. With the larger, bear of a man shouldering his way inside, and taking a seat, even as he gestured for Ned to do the same.
"But that is something for a later time." Jeor then continued, using poker to stir up the glowing coals in his fireplace, before he then chucked a couple of dry logs on top. "For now we are talking about the threat beyond the Wall!"
"The one which is not because of the amassing Wildling horde?" Ned queried.
"No, as I said before, there is something else out there," Jeor said darkly, before shifting forwards. "Now listen, Ned, you know me, I'm no fool of a man, nor some old nursemaid. So believe me when I tell you, there is something out there. Something dark, and cold, and unnatural."
Ned frowned as he heard that, even as he saw the both forbidding and earnest expression on Jeor's face. "What is it?"
"The White Walkers," Jeor said bluntly, his expression grim. "The dead, they no longer rest easily. If we don't burn the bodies straight away they start getting up regardless of their wounds, only they are harder than before and feel no pain. On top of which their eyes, they are now bluer than the sky."
"White Walkers?" Ned asked, his tone strained as he attempted to keep away the note of disbelief from it. He had seen the magic that Tytan was capable of and had seen the king's dragon. If anyone should keep an open mind it should be him.
"Aye," Jeor nodded grimly. "I didn't believe it at first either when my scouts first started telling me of the dead rising up, and the winter winds becoming stronger and fiercer than ever before. But then I saw the dead rise for myself, young Jon and his friends even managed to wrangle one when they were out on patrol, and bring them back into Castle Black as proof."
Ned frowned at that. "And you know for sure he was dead?"
"No man can live with his guts frozen and hanging out of his chest, nor without his jaw. The Wildling they brought in had been killed in a raid, only like the others, this one had risen up to attack them anew. Forty three brothers we lost that day because of those fuckers!" Jeor hissed, his expression turning hateful.
Ned sat back in his chair at this, his eyes wide. "How did they kill them?"
"With fire, it is the only way we know of!" Jeor shrugged, moodily poking his own fire with his poker again as he did so.
"Do you think that this is why the Wildlings are coming south, and gathering in such numbers?" Ned asked, linking up the two issues in his mind.
Jeor nodded in response. "From the few that we've managed to capture and interrogate. The Walkers have been active for years, gaining power every year that passed. As far as I can tell they've been active for more than eighteen years, slowly but surely growing in strength and moving south, slowly amassing their army of the dead as they did so. Only with things being as remote as they are out there, it took the Wildlings a while to discover what was going on."
"What do you mean?" Ned asked a slight frown on his face now.
"Those Wildlings just outside the Walls, Ned, the ones with Mance. As far as we can tell, they're the last of the Wildlings beyond the Wall. The rest have all been massacred and are no doubt shambling south as we speak." Jeor grunted, his expression once again grim. "Of course, we only really discovered what was happening a few months back. Apparently, something has reinvigorated the bastards, they're moving faster than ever! Soon enough we'll have to stop sending patrols out because of the danger!"
Ned nodded at that, unable to really say anything as he digested what Jeor was saying. This had apparently been going on for years, all under the nose of the Night's Watch, without them being aware of it. And then for some reason the Walkers, if this truly was them, started gaining strength faster than ever just a few months ago. Why?
"The king?" Ned said suddenly, looking up at Jeor now. "Does he know? Has he been told of the impending danger?"
"No, not that I know of anyway." Jeor shook his head. "I need evidence first Ned, before I or one of my men head south to tell him in person. You know what those Southerners are like after all! They have no faith anymore, they don't believe unless they see. I sent reports south before when I first saw one of those Wights, I doubt any of them even made it to the king's hands!"
"So what are you going to do?" Ned asked, his brow furrowed as he looked questioningly at Jeor. This was a lot of information to digest, with it having been delivered in a very short amount of time.
"We're heading out on one more patrol when the current one gets back. The largest one yet, and whilst we're on it we are going to capture one of the Wights and bring them south so we can show the king absolute proof of the threat!" Jeor grunted, shifting about in his seat now as he gave Ned a steady look. "And you'll be coming with us!"
Ned nodded at that, still trying to wrap his mind around everything he had heard as he did so.
( - )
AN: So what did you all think? Honestly this chapter was just getting me back into the story and setting out some big events which will be going off in the next few chapters. Both in the north, the south, the east, pretty much everywhere but the west. Suffice to say things are moving fast in all areas, and yes this does involve me touching on several different points of view in order to touch on or outline some of the many plots and story lines that are going on. Otherwise, it would just confuse matters.
That said I am quite pleased I didn't write that Winterfell accidentally burnt down in a freak accident involving a poorly maintained fireplace, and the unfortunate deaths of most of the Stark children and their mother. After all killing of so many characters without a reason, other than my own satisfaction, probably wouldn't' have been very good for the plot. Similarly having Jon Snow choke on a fish bone and die, and Tyrion being hit by a falling brick and die, wouldn't have been all that good either.
Again I feel I needed to wait a while, before I wrote in order to not pettily kill of characters I dislike because of their canon storylines. Even if some of the anticlimactic and embarrassing deaths I thought up would have been amusing, if only because of the reaction they would get.
But no, the next update won't take as long. So now I am back and working at it again. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and leave a review! If you have any questions please feel free to PM me.
Thanks a lot of reading.
Greed720.