"-no other dragon in the history of House Targaryen or of Valyria, for that matter, possessed the same qualities as the dreaded Nightfury, Lord Jason Lee's infamous black dragon, known across the world as the Winged Death or the Black Cataclysm. It's a fearsome beast. I know, because I was there when Lord Jason Lee set the Crownlands ablaze, when he razed King's Landing to the ground and bathed it in fire. Nightfury was unlike any dragon. Its flames burned hotter, brighter, and, most terrifying of all, was its ability to unleash its fire for as long as it wanted. Where even Balerion the Black Dread could not sustain its breath of flame for more than fifteen seconds, at the most, according to the accounts of Maesters; Nightfury could sustain it for over an hour, which he did over King's Landing, reducing even the land upon which the city was built into molten rock."
-Excerpt from the Fall of House Targaryen, by Daemon Blackfyre

"Lady Mormont," I lightly tipped my head down, showing respect even as Lysa Mormont shuddered at the sight of my Undead Horde and, of course, the great big black Dragon right behind me, Nightfury, whose claws and teeth were sharper and stronger than any sword. And, more importantly, the Fatalis Fear Aura was fucking up her flight or fight response and it showed in her constant fidgeting, even in the face of victory. Despite that, however, Lysa Mormont stood tall and proud, smiling as Halga knelt before her and held up Longclaw, the ancestral sword of House Mormont. "Bear Island is yours once again. What little remains of the Wildlings will be easily dealt with. Mormont Keep has been reclaimed, its prisoners freed and its invaders slaughtered to the last and forced to serve me, even in death."

I'd do a whole lot more if I could.

The crowd that gathered around us, however, was deathly afraid of me. I felt it... tasted it, even, and it wasn't just a feeling, either, but an almost tangible force that I could almost reach out and touch and bend to my will – almost.

"Thank you... Lord Jason," Lysa said, tears streaming from her eyes as she held Longclaw to close to her chest, like a child who'd lost and recovered a beloved toy. The sword, I suspect, belonged to either her mother or her father – both options being a distinct possibility, given that the Mormont women in the books were also warriors. I leaned in and reached out to her, wiping the tears from her face with a finger. Her skin was warm and smooth, almost like porcelain, honestly, like someone who spent an hour every morning and every night on skin care routines and whatnot. Unlikely. She lowered the sword and held it with one hand, while raising the other to hold mine. "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"Walk with me," I said, smiling as she looked up to me with what I could only describe as puppy eyes. Hm, in hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have done that, but whatever. I was going to leave soon anyway and Lysa was gonna have the time of her life managing this island back into shape. Yep, a lot of people died, but I do not think the Wildlings are going to try anything of this scale for a very long time. As far as I recall, those guys didn't really have the highest population – or a high population at all – and hundreds of them just died here. It was safe to conclude that these barbarians wouldn't be coming back – not for a long time. "It's only proper that I escort you back to your home, yeah?"

She smiled and nodded, a clear blush over her face. Ah, I really shouldn't have wiped that tear.

Walking back the way we came did not sound particularly thrilling, which was why Halga was quick to sneak out, but I figured it was only proper to escort her. And so I did.

Lysa Mormont held onto my arm as we marched back, an army of the undead surrounding us, alongside Nightfury, who – fortunately – didn't care too much about walking back and forth. If anything, Nightfury was happy to just move. We didn't talk much on the way to Mormont Keep. Lysa, strangely enough, kept her mouth shut. Though, if I had to guess, it's probably because of the skeletal solders and the dragon, creeping her the fuck out, which was probably also why her grip was so tight. Fortunately, it didn't take us long to get there, since all the Wildlings were dead and there was nothing to slow us down, but it was nearly sunset by the time we got there. So, I had my skeletons hold up torches and light the way.

"And, here we are," I said, smiling as I dramatically gestured at Lysa's home. "Mormont Keep... it needs a few repairs, but nothing that can't be fixed."

Lysa nodded, her eyes murky and sad, but still hopeful. This was her home. To see it in such a state would've been heartbreaking. I mean, I'd feel the same way if my childhood home got invaded and looted and desecrated. "Yes... it can be repaired. All of it. I will see to it that House Mormont shall rise from the ashes... someday."

I frowned at that last bit.

Actually, now that I think about it, I might have to stay a little longer than I'd like. Lysa was alone. It was safe to assume that every person who may be able to help her was dead. So, no engineer or architect, no Maester, no parents, no household guard or household. She was completely and utterly alone. And so, as much as I hated to admit it, this teenager was going to fucking die if I left her all by herself – not by the Wildlings, but definitely by something that could've been avoided if I was just present. In the original timeline, she must've surely received some manner of help from the Starks, something that'd allow her to rebuild her House.

Now, without the aid of the Starks, she was... well... fucked. So, I had no choice in the matter, then. By helping her, I sort of made her my responsibility. And so, as much as I wanted to, I couldn't leave just yet. And so, I sighed. Fuck it, I'll stay for a month – at most. My skeletons could be used for manual labor, which would be good practice for my fine control, anyway. I could help her find food, rebuild the broken parts of the castle, and whatever else I could realistically help with. "I'll help you."

"Before anything else, Lord Jason, I'd like to check the rookery." Lysa said, turning leftward, towards a single tower that I assumed was the rookery, where the Maester likely kept the ravens. I smiled at her quick thinking. It meant she wouldn't be approaching this with her emotions first. There was a time to grieve, of course, plenty of time, but, before anything else, she had to ensure that the most basic means of communication, especially considering that Bear Island was cut off by water, still existed. With an absent mental command, I had my skeletons light up the torches and braziers. Meanwhile, I followed Lysa.

"This is where Maester Bernard spent most of his days in," She said, guiding me inside. I had a bunch of my skeletons follow us, lighting up the shadowed tower with the torches they held. The second floor was a small library, which had a single bed and a chamber pot. Funnily enough, this place looked pristine. Somehow, the Wildlings had neglected to pass through here, during their occupation. The books were untouched, alongside the silverware and other things that would've fetched a pretty price. As expected of the dumb brutes, honestly. Though, to be fair, the Wildlings probably didn't care much about material wealth. They'd go after the larder first and foremost.

I glanced around and, true enough, the were sacks of grain here, and dried meats. Weird. I wondered if this Maester Bernard had managed to survive. Unlikely, but certainly possible. If the Wildlings somehow completely missed this place, then there was a slight chance. And there were still two other floors and I was a bit anxious to check if the ravens were still alive and kicking.

I turned to Lysa, who'd been standing at the center of the room for the last five minutes now. "We should keep moving."

Lysa nodded. And so we headed up the stairs. The next floor was filled with a ton of paper, half-written letters, notes, and a fuckton of messages and little envelopes, sealed with wax – some were, strangely enough, etched with the sigil of House Lannister. I also saw a whole quiver of quills and bottles of ink. The floor itself was small enough that there honestly wasn't much to see. Lysa fiddled with a few of the letters, but didn't stop to read any of them. Whatever the case, Maester Bernard wasn't here, either.

The sound of flapping wings and caws told me that the ravens were still alive, before we even reached the highest floor. Lysa released a sigh as we walked into the rookery, where dozens of ravens were kept within secure cages. Smiling faintly, Lysa spoke, "I will send a raven to House Stark... tomorrow, when I have the mind for it. But it's good to know the ravens still live. I wouldn't have to worry as much with the backing of my liege."

I nodded. Well, that was settled, at least. It also helped me decide how long I was gonna stay here, which was however long it takes for House Stark to send aid. "Now what?"

Lysa turned and gave me a sad smile. "Now, I... walk into what remains of my home."

"I found some people in the dungeons." I said, catching her attention. I shuddered at that particular memory, honestly. The Wildlings would've been far more palatable if they didn't act like a bunch of coked up rapists and serial killers. "The Wildlings... tormented them. I opened their cells for them, but they refused to come out. Maybe, you'll recognize some of them; I don't know. But I think they'll definitely recognize you."

We went straight to the dungeons, after that, where I had a few skeletons move into before us to light up the way. I had never thought I'd ever be using my minions as mobile flashlights, but here we were. Lysa gasped as we walked in, her eyes widening when she saw the horror endured by those who were still here. The cells were open wide, but not a single one of them had walked out. Lysa rushed forward, "Ser Holmer!"

I raised a brow – a knight, then? She then went from cell to cell, yelling people's names. I was right. She knew all of them and, from the look in their eyes, they knew her too. As she did that, I began entering the cells. The people inside were afraid of me, but I didn't care too much about their fear. They were injured. They needed help. And I just remembered that I had a healing spell now, [Natural Healing]. So, while it felt kind of wrong to force it on them, I also wasn't feeling very patient. They could heal their minds when they weren't dying from some kind of infection or some other shit from their open wounds. And so, I healed the shit out of them, no matter how much they struggled or tried to push and or kick me away. The worst part was that [Natural Healing] actually took a while to kick in and so I was forced to use my skeletons to hold a few of them down.

I also found out that I might been a great deal more durable compared to a normal human being, seeing as kicks and punches didn't seem to matter that much to me.

"You can use your magic to heal people, Lord Jason?" I heard Lysa behind me. And standing beside her was a lightly bruised, but otherwise alive, old man in gray robes. This must've been Maester Bernard, whose eyes were wide and whose mouth was agape. Ah, right, Maesters hated magic or some shit and here I was.

I smiled, even as the man I was healing screamed and raged against my skeletons. "Yes. I can."

AN: Chapter 22 is up on (Pat)reon!