Author's note: Sorry about the disapearing act. I've had a few hectic days, and I got too immersed in AC: Valhalla, and yes I am just playing it now two years after its launch because I didn't have much the time to play it back then. Anyway, because of the potent mixture of sudden errands and my gaming addiction, I kinda forgot to update the story on this site. So yeah... here's the chapters. Do enjoy.
...
The battle unfolded in a blur of movement and fury. Gale, his obsidian dagger gleaming with a malevolent intensity, lunged at the white walker with a lightning-fast stab. He aimed for the creature's heart, but the white walker was no ordinary foe. In a graceful sidestep, it gracefully evaded Gale's thrust.
After deftly dodging Gale's initial attack, the white walker retaliated with a swift, precise swing of its iceblade. The obsidian dagger whistled through the air as Gale was forced to retreat, losing valuable ground to the white walker's longer weapon.
Each swing of the white walker's iceblade seemed to command an aura of menace, threatening to close the distance and end Gale's defiance.
Gale was keen to get in close and launch another assault, but the relentless strikes from the white walker's formidable weapon continued to drive him back.
The reach advantage the white walker enjoyed became evident as Gale was repeatedly pushed into a defensive posture, fighting to fend off the relentless assault.
Realizing it had the advantage, the white walker took the initiative with blinding speed, slashing its iceblade through the air. Gale parried the attack with his obsidian dagger, sparks flying as the two blades clashed.
The white walker's strength and speed were evident as every time the young managed to block, he'd be forced to take several steps back.
Meanwhile, Threya and Tormund struggled to keep the relentless wights at bay, fighting off the relentless tide of undead. It was a desperate battle that required all their strength and determination.
Looking at them, Gale couldn't help but sigh, inwardly wishing he had Qhorin and the others with him instead of these unreliable wildlings. He firmed his resolve with a deep breath and charged the white walker, intent on closing the distance.
In a blur of motion and fearlessness, Gale dashed toward the white walker, ducking underneath the menacing arc of its iceblade. He scooped up a handful of snow from the frozen ground and flung it at the white walker's face, obscuring its vision.
His unexpected maneuver forced the white walker to raise its hand to shield its icy visage. Seizing the opportunity, Gale launched an aggressive stab at the creature's torso, his obsidian dagger gleaming with determination.
Yet, the white walker's reaction was swift and well-practiced. Despite the snowy distraction, it quickly shifted to protect itself. It dispersed the snow with a wave of its free hand and retaliated with a powerful downward swing of its iceblade, intent on crushing the young man beneath the force of its attack.
Unable to dodge, Gale braced himself as the obsidian dagger met the white walker's iceblade with a resounding clash.
The impact sent shivers down his arms, causing his boots to sink deeper into the snow with each passing moment. Despite his extraordinary strength and endurance, when compared to regular humans, Gale was keenly aware of the difference between him and the supernatural entity before him.
The white walker, with its superior strength and the advantage of leverage, exerted tremendous pressure on Gale, making it increasingly challenging for him to maintain his defensive stance.
Gale gritted his teeth and prepared to disengage and try again, but he had to halt as he heard a loud roar and noticed something in the corner of his vision.
Seemingly realizing Gale's plight, the giant roared fiercely as if to get his attention. It seized one of the fallen wights, its massive strength making the creature seem like a mere doll in its grasp. With a mighty heave, it hurled the wight at the white walker.
Not one to let such an opportunity slip, Gale prepared to take action. He waited for the wight's corpse to hit the white walker and promptly made his move once the ancient undead lost its balance.
Gale shifted his feet and slipped aside, allowing the white walker's iceblade to cleave the snow. Then, without hesitation, he drove his dagger toward his foe's heart.
Again, the white walker proved its resourcefulness as it let go of the ice blade and gripped Gale's wrist with both hands to stop his attack. The ancient undead attempted to leverage its superior strength to wrestle the obsidian dagger out of the young man's hand, but the latter merely smirked as he called on his power.
The obsidian dagger morphed and twisted, materializing into an iceblade that fused seamlessly with the obsidian core. And with a grunt of effort, Gale drove the icy tip into the white walker's chest with a swift, decisive thrust.
A chilling scream echoed from the white walker as the obsidian iceblade pierced its heart. In an explosive burst, the white walker disintegrated into a cloud of mist and countless shards of ice, vanquished by the unique properties of dragon glass.
As the white walker shattered, the wights surrounding it crumbled into heaps of lifeless, brittle bones. Gale spared no second glance for the defeated creatures.
Instead, he turned his gaze to the white walker's discarded iceblade, its once-imposing icy blade now cracked and perilously close to shattering alongside its master.
Arching an intrigued eyebrow, he knelt to retrieve the iceblade. Almost immediately, the ominous cracks ceased, and from the weapon emanated a frigid chill, strangely comforting and evoking an inexplicable familiarity in Gale.
His eyes widened with amazement as the cracks seamlessly mended, and he promptly scrutinized the iceblade in his grasp. The weapon appeared as a fusion of a spear and a greatsword, boasting a lengthy hilt that extended beneath the long, slender iceblade at its peak.
This icy blade seemed to be attached to the handle with delicate strands of hemp rope, which also dangled from the base of the hilt, swaying gently in the wintry breeze in several strands.
Tormund, his grizzled face breaking into a wide grin, couldn't help but notice Gale's actions as he approached the young man. "What you got there, lad?" he inquired, genuine curiosity lacing his rough voice.
Gale turned to face Tormund, his expression blank. "A souvenir and proof... can't have you lying about this when we get back to Rayder," he calmly explained, his words carrying a subtle weight.
Tormund chuckled heartily at Gale's response, though he feigned an affronted expression. "You don't seem to think highly of us, do you? You wound me, ser crow," he said in a mocking tone, shaking his head.
Gale's expression remained blank as he retorted, "No, I don't think highly of you two... the big guy's alright, though," he said, nodding toward the giant who had already returned to his stoic vigil, gazing off into the distant horizon.
Gale added, gesturing toward an old, rusty blade that belonged to one of the now-vanquished wights, "Make yourself useful for once and throw me that blade beneath you... there's something I want to try."
Tormund raised a bushy eyebrow at Gale's request but complied, bending to pick up the discarded blade. "Only if you say please," he remarked, his grin widening as he held the weapon aloft.
Gale couldn't help but roll his eyes at Tormund. "Please, make yourself useful for once and throw me the damned blade," he replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
Eager to see what the young man had in mind, Tormund promptly tossed the rusty blade in Gale's direction, his large hand sending it spinning through the cold, wintry air.
The rusty blade embedded itself into the snow, its tarnished surface glistening with flecks of ice. Gale picked it up with his left hand, his right still tightly gripping the white walker's iceblade. He calmly raised the rusty sword, holding it in the air as he gently tapped it against the icy blade.
Much to his, Threya's, and Tormund's shock, the rusty sword was instantly seized by the frigid touch of the iceblade. A brittle chill raced through the blade, causing it to freeze and shatter into countless pieces upon contact with the supernatural cold.
The shards scattered on the snow-covered ground, twinkling like deadly stars.
Tormund couldn't help but mutter under his breath, his voice tinged with amazement, "Well, that's a fancy trinket..."
With a sly grin, he pried off a rusted helmet from wight's head and presented it to Gale. "Care to make a trade?"
Gale scoffed, his eyes narrowing in amusement. "Nah," he said firmly, his grip on the iceblade firm and resolute.
"I reckon you might struggle with this one," he added, his free hand brandishing the impressive iceblade with an air of quiet superiority. "By struggle, I mean you'll be frozen solid..."
.
Gale shifted his attention back and forth between Tormund and the iceblade, a glint in his eyes as he considered an idea. "You know, I'm having second thoughts," he remarked, a smirk playing on his lips.
With a casual flourish, he extended the iceblade in the direction of the wildling. "How about you give it a swing? See how it feels, Just for fun. I promise you won't die. Well, probably," he added with a chuckle.
Tormund cast Gale a deadpan look.
He gave the rusted helmet in his hand a thoughtful knock with his knuckles. "As much as I appreciate the offer, I think I'll stick with my new friend here," he said, referring to the helmet.
Impatient as she was, Threya opted to be the voice of reason for once, scowling at their banter. "You two... get a tent already," she muttered under her breath, a hint of exasperation in her voice.
She addressed them more loudly, "Let's wrap this up and get out of this freezing hellhole before more of these blue fuckers show up," Her sense of urgency was palpable.
Gale was about to nod in agreement with Threya and voice out his desire to leave these lands.
However, his response was interrupted when Melorian's voice suddenly emerged from behind, startling him. "To think you'd manage to slay the white walker... how unexpected," Melorian remarked, his applause filling the air.
Gale swiftly turned to face the source of the voice, a reflexive motion that almost led to him swinging his new iceblade. It was only by sheer willpower that he restrained the instinctual reaction. The sight of Melorian's undead, rotted face staring at him from such close proximity was unnerving, to say the least.
With cautious composure, he regarded Melorian and spoke, "I thought you'd be long gone by now. Whether we'd killed the white walker or it killed us, we wouldn't be your problem anymore."
Melorian nodded, his decaying features showing signs of contemplation. "More or less... though I must admit, I brought you here expecting you'd all die," he replied in a calm, measured tone.
He continued, "But now you've slain a white walker, and that changes things." As his hollow eyes bore into Gale, it was evident that Melorian was assessing the situation and its implications with keen interest.
Gale's eyes narrowed as he interpreted Melorian's words with suspicion. "Oh? You think you'd fare better than the white walker?" he challenged, his tone assertive.
Melorian appeared momentarily perplexed by Gale's response, but a dawning realization brought a wry chuckle to his rotted lips.
"You've misunderstood me. As long as you depart these lands, we'll have no quarrel – or so I'd like to say..." Melorian stated, his words laced with an enigmatic quality. Then, he shifted to an inquisitive tone, "But I must ask, why come here? Why hunt a white walker?"
Gale, cautious but intrigued, furrowed his brow as he considered his response. He couldn't discern Melorian's true intentions, but he decided to offer an explanation, hoping to gleam more from the creature in exchange.
"Let's just say it's part of an effort to forge an alliance between the wildling tribes and the Night's Watch," he replied, his words measured. "With the Night King looming as a common threat, I figured that our chances would be better if we stopped tearing each other's throats."
Finally, he countered with his own question, "What got you so interested?"
"A united front of free folk tribes and the Night's Watch to halt the Night King's march... how unusually reasonable," Melorian remarked with an almost mocking tone, his rotted visage betraying his skepticism. The idea of finding logic in these untamed lands seemed almost ludicrous to him.
"Indeed... this changes things, it changes a great deal," he added cryptically, further confounding Gale.
Melorian's next words took on a sinister allure as he regarded Gale with a smirk. "Tell me, lad... how would you like to return home with one more souvenir?" Melorian's voice oozed with intrigue. "Granted, you could claim it, that is..." He left the offer hanging in the air, a veil of mystery surrounding his intentions.
...
Winterfell sprawled across several expansive acres, its colossal castle complex characterized by two towering walls separated by a deep ditch, with a bustling village situated just beyond its fortifications.
The structures within the complex varied in age and condition, with some exhibiting ancient decrepitude and others standing in stately repair.
According to the annals of legend, Bran the Builder had commissioned the construction of Winterfell some eight thousand years ago. Tyrion gazed in awe at the sheer magnitude of the stronghold, its history palpable in every stone.
His attention shifted to the approaching contingent of soldiers, their heavy armor emblazoned with the sigil of House Stark—a grey direwolf set against a pristine white backdrop, framed by vibrant green.
At the forefront of the welcoming party rode two men, one in his mid-thirties and the other in his late teens or early twenties. The older man, tall and robust, sported long brown hair and a neatly groomed beard, while the younger had shorter, darker locks.
The soldiers, recognizable as House Stark's banner-bearers, soon bridged the gap and brought their steeds to a stop before Tyrion, Ser Barristan, Lord Reed, and their accompanying escort.
The older man, none other than Lord Eddard Stark, advanced on his steed to offer his greetings. "Ser Barristan, Lord Reed, Lord Lannister, welcome to Winterfell," he said in a tone that bore the gravitas of both host and lord, punctuating his words with respectful nods to each of the visitors.
"I've heard of the trouble you encountered on your journey. Rest assured, whoever was responsible will be held accountable by my own hand. But let's leave that for a later discussion. Once you're all well-rested and nourished."
Tyrion and Lord Reed reciprocated the greeting with solemn nods, while it was Ser Barristan who chose to respond. "I lost some fine men at Moat Cailin... retribution may not bring them back, but their families deserve justice, at the very least," he stated somberly.
"I will ensure they receive the justice they seek," Lord Stark affirmed with a respectful nod. "For now, follow me." He turned his horse, leading the way back to Winterfell, with his entourage falling in behind him and Ser Barristan's party following suit.
The young man in Lord Stark's escort approached Ser Barristan's group, introducing himself as Robb Stark, the son of Eddard Stark, and extending his willingness to answer any questions they might have.
Lord Reed and Ser Barristan, however, declined the offer, with Ser Barristan's lack of interest being evident and Lord Reed being well-versed in the castle's history, having served the Starks faithfully for many years.
Tyrion, on the other hand, was brimming with curiosity and took the opportunity to inquire about a multitude of topics, providing Robb with more questions than he might have expected.
After a period of rest, during which Ser Barristan's party was treated to a sumptuous banquet, Lord Stark swiftly transitioned to more pressing matters.
He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of those present. "So... it seems you believe the men who attacked you were not mere bandits but trained soldiers?" he inquired, his gaze fixed upon Ser Barristan.
"Aye, they moved with discipline and were too well-armed to be some band of brigands. I should know," Ser Barristan replied with a tone of authority. "What's more, there were too many of them... a group this large couldn't have survived for so long in the bogs under Lord Reed's watchful gaze," he added, shaking his head to emphasize the peculiarity of the situation.
"As for why they chose to attack us, or why they picked such a time... I'm afraid your guess is as good as mine..." He continued, shifting his gaze toward Tyrion. "However, Lord Lannister here seems to have some intriguing theories," he concluded, his expression hinting at his curiosity.
Tyrion could hardly contain the urge to grin at those words.
Throughout his life, he had been met with disregard and ridicule due to his dwarfism. However, Ser Barristan not only treated him with respect, but the experienced knight also recognized his talents and even sought his advice from time to time throuout their journy.
He had never experience this level acceptedness from anyone else despite spending such little time with Ser Baristan. It was a strange filled him with warmth. Nevertheless, he quickly composed himself and cleared his throat."Lord Stark... if I may speak candidly..." he began, his tone serious.
Lord Stark appeared momentarily surprised and cast a lingering look toward Ser Barristan before turning his attention to Tyrion. "You may speak freely, Lord Lannister. If Ser Barristan values your opinion on the matter, I trust it will be insightful..."
"The attackers were most likely soldiers of a northern house, as it's highly improbable for anyone from the south to send a force this deep into the north unnoticed," Tyrion explained, his words earning a knowing nod from Lord Stark, who had already arrived at a similar conclusion.
"The way I see it, the attack on us was a means to an end, and that end likely concerns House Stark," he continued, prompting a frown from Lord Stark as he considered Tyrion's words.
"Now the question is... why, and what do they hope to accomplish?" Tyrion inquired, trailing off at the end of his sentence.
Lord Stark's expression held a hint of amusement as he responded, "I have no doubt you'll soon tell me."
Tyrion nodded and carried on. "There are only two obvious reasons. It could be a petty attempt to undermine House Stark by killing their guests and diminishing their authority," he began to explain.
"Alternatively, it might serve as a distraction... Lord Eddard Stark has many admirers, but I can imagine he has no shortage of enemies to match them." Tyrion went on, his tone growing more certain as he spoke.
"Many will point their fingers and blame you for this incident, thereby providing the mastermind behind the attack with an opportunity to execute whatever scheme they might be planning," he concluded.
Upon hearing Tyrion's assessment, Lord Stark turned to his son Robb, seeking his opinion. Robb, however, simply shook his head.
The Stark father-son duo were natural-born warriors, excelling in various forms of combat, be it swinging a blade or leading men into battle. But like most Starks, they lacked an aptitude for political scheming.
"I will take your words into consideration..." Lord Stark stated with a firm nod. Even he could see the merit in Tyrion's argument, though he might have preferred to believe otherwise.
Nonetheless, his sense of honor prevented him from readily agreeing with Tyrion's assertion.
"Yet, the northern houses are known for their steadfast loyalty. Though, it's not unusual for you to doubt my vessels, given your unfamiliarity with our traditions," Lord Stark solemnly emphasized. "Nevertheless, I will thoroughly investigate the matter. Whoever was behind the attack will face the consequences as northern justice dictates," he concluded, his tone resolute.
Tyrion's brows furrowed at Lord Stark's words. Initially, he considered offering a rebuttal, but he thought better of it, realizing it was not his place to push further. The unmistakable finality in Lord Stark's tone and the stern expression on his face dissuaded any argument.
Turning to Ser Barristan, Tyrion found the knight offering a wry smile, well-versed in the resolute nature of Lord Eddard Stark.
"Well, I believe I speak for all of us when I say we couldn't ask for more," Tyrion responded, stepping back and taking a seat.
Lord Stark acknowledged his statement with a nod before surveying the hall, finally resting his gaze on Ser Barristan.
"Now then, it's time to address the reason for your presence here," Lord Stark declared.
...
As Gale and his group approached the edges of the Haunted Forest, relief washed over them. The unforgiving landscape of Always Winter was nearly behind them. However, Gale's joy was tainted by the persistent presence of Melorian, who shadowed him like an ever-present specter.
"For your own benefit, lad, you should consider following me to claim the Lord of Light's relic," Melorian urged, his voice laden with earnestness. Gale, though, chose to continue ignoring him, his frustration growing with each step.
"If you intend to stand against the Night King, you will surely need it," Melorian pressed further, but once again, his words fell on deaf ears.
An exasperated sigh escaped Melorian's lips.
"Hey! Are you even listening to me?" he exclaimed, causing Gale to halt abruptly. With a quick, fluid motion, he swung his newly acquired iceblade toward the intruder, causing Melorian to jump back in surprise.
Gale's voice was laced with irritation as he spoke, "Will you stop following me already? My head is about to burst!" He shook his head with twitching eyes. "I have no intention of becoming entangled with your god, and I don't think I need his relic, whatever it might be."
Finally, Gale concluded firmly, leaving no room for discussion. "Dragon Glass will serve just fine for my purposes."
Melorian sighed, running a hand through his matted hair. "I see there's no changing your mind... oh well," he conceded with a shrug. "I only wanted to spare you the effort of another journey through the lands of Always Winter, but suit yourself." His grin returned, displaying his skeletal teeth.
Gale couldn't hide his relief. "Fucking finally," he muttered, letting out a long breath. "Hurry up and be on your way," he added, waving his hand dismissively, much like one would shoo away a pesky stray dog.
Gale remained steadfast in his decision not to follow Melorian any further. He had no inkling of the creature's intentions, nor did he trust the motives of the Lord of Light's followers or their god.
Whatever relic Melorian spoke of, it wasn't worth the risk. Gale firmly believed that fire, dragon glass, and Valyrian steel were more than sufficient to combat the wights and white walkers, including the Night King himself.
"And here I thought we were finally starting to get along..." Melorian said with a hurt expression, but it was clearly and almost comically fake. "Still, we'll meet again one day. I'm sure of it..." he continued with a chuckle, then turned away and began to walk in the opposite direction.
Melorian's confidence struck a chord of unease in Gale, causing a frown to appear on his face. He had no intention of crossing paths with the mysterious creature again. "I certainly hope not," he scoffed, then turned around and resumed his brisk pace.
Threya and Tormund exchanged puzzled looks, having observed the strange interaction. However, like Gale, they shared a distrust of Melorian and were eager to leave the desolate lands of the Always Winter, so they silently followed in Gale's footsteps.
The giant, too, lumbered along in their wake.
...
Meanwhile, in King's Landing, King Robert Baratheon was indulging in his usual vices, drowning himself in alcohol and surrounded by whores in his private quarters. His revelry was intentionally raucous, and he made sure it was loud enough for the Kingsguard standing at the door, Jaime Lannister, his wife's brother, to hear.
Jaime struggled to maintain a calm expression as he stood watch, unable to even grit his teeth to show his frustration.
However, Jaime's suffering didn't last long, as a bald man dressed in rich purple robes came striding down the hallway. "Make way, Ser Jaime. I have urgent news for the king," the man, Varys the Spider, stated with a sense of urgency.
Jaime wasted no time moving aside, already weary of the moans and groans emanating from the king's chamber.
To Varys' credit, he knocked on the door, even with the pressing nature of the situation.
Suddenly, the moans ceased, and King Robert's irate voice echoed from within. "Who the bloody hell is it?! Jaime, you useless bastard! Can't you even guard a door properly!" King Robert exclaimed.
"It's me, Varys, my lord... Lord Arryn has been poisoned, and he has urgently requested your presence," Varys replied, taking the initiative to convey the important message on Jaime's behalf.
"What?! Someone will hang for this!" King Robert exclaimed in a fit of rage. "Hold on, I'll be out in a moment!" He added, quickly pushing the women on his bed aside and scrambling to cover himself.
After urgently dressing, he moved to the door, flinging it open to find Varys standing there. "What happened? How is Lord Arryn? Who did this?" Robert questioned the spymaster, his face contorted with concern and anger.
"I will explain along the way... please follow me, your grace," Varys said, waiting for Robert to nod before turning around and walking.
As they proceeded through the corridors, Varys continued, "Lord Arryn suddenly collapsed. We called on Maester Pycelle, who surmised he was poisoned. The maester didn't seem awfully optimistic regarding Lord Arryn's condition, which is why I immediately came to you once he asked for your presence..."
Robert's face grew more serious as he listened. "And who did this? Any idea yet?" he asked.
"As for who did this... I'm not yet certain, but my spies are looking into it. Sooner or later, we'll find the identity of the culprit," Varys assured the king.
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