I'm sorry it took me so long to update. But I suffered from choice paralysis, meaning I had so many ideas what I wanted to include in this chapter, that it was an extremely slow process of deciding what eventually should appear in the final version of this chapter.
Just like in my previous story for ASOIAF this whole story includes motives and themes from music that is very dear to me.
Blashyrkh
Sansa's heart was still racing when another ear-splitting shriek assaulted them. This time there was no doubt - it emanated directly from the blood-red crown of the colossal weirwood.
The preternatural cry hammered painfully in her ears. Sansa gritted her teeth as the sound washed over her, almost physical in its intensity.
Yet underlying the auditory torment, she sensed a strange resonance in the screech, like a voice calling specifically to her. The tree itself seemed focused on Sansa, its ancient consciousness fixated on her presence.
Glancing at the others, she saw only pain and confusion on their faces. To them, it was only an agonizing din.
But Sansa perceived nuances in the shriek meant for her alone. Slowly, hesitantly, she took a step toward the carved face. Then another, drawn inexplicably closer.
"My lady! Do not approach it!" Brienne cried urgently, but her voice sounded muffled and distant.
Brienne's warning was muted, barely penetrating the clamour ringing in Sansa's head. She moved as if hypnotized, eyes locked onto the weirwood's carved snarl.
More deafening shrieks battered her ears as she approached. Yet beneath the auditory onslaught, she sensed the tree's awareness focused on her with intense curiosity.
Ancient alien intelligence peered out from within the weirwood, powerful and inhuman. But Sansa felt no malevolence from it. Only a recognition of something kindred within her own blood.
Emboldened by this strange resonance, she slowly reached out to press her palm against the weirwood's bone-white trunk. Its craggy bark was oddly warm to the touch.
As Sansa's palm met the weirwood's craggy bark, a strange warmth emanated from within. The deafening shrieks cut off abruptly at her touch.
In the eerie silence, a heavy rustling sounded from the weirwood's blood-red crown. An unnatural chill permeated the air, and giant azure feathers began drifting down all around Sansa.
Sansa gazed up in awe as the giant, icy blue feathers drifted down around her. Each was nearly as tall as herself and shimmered with an otherworldly iridescence.
Reaching out, Sansa gently brushed her fingers over the plumes as they floated by. They were impossibly light, almost weightless to the touch. Glittering flecks of ice and delicate snowflakes adorned the barbs and shaft.
Sansa caught one of the colossal feathers in her hand, marvelling at its texture. It was smoother than the finest silk, yet emanated a subtle chill. As she twirled it, refracted light danced hypnotically over its azure surface.
Sansa's eyes were drawn back to the weirwood's carved visage, understanding now the feathers' origin. Some mythical being tied to northern magic had shed them, stirred by her presence.
Another cry sounded from above, though less jarring than before. Sansa peered upward along with the others, searching for the source.
Movement in the crimson canopy caught her eye. An enormous shadow rippled through the leaves, giving a glimpse of something massive gliding within.
Sansa's heart pounded as the ancient being begun emerging, roused by the weirwood. She gripped the giant feather tightly, feeling primal magic surging around her.
A great rush of wind and an earthshaking thud sounded behind Sansa. She turned to see the very air freeze where the magnificent creature had landed.
Through the mist it strode - a bird of mythical proportions nearly as massive as Daenerys' dragons. Its feathers glimmered sapphire blue, while its wings shone translucent as crystal. An imposing black beak and piercing azure eyes gazed down at Sansa knowingly.
Sansa stood enthralled before the magnificent creature, simultaneously awed and frightened by its ancient power. This was a being of pure northern magic given flesh, she could feel it resonating within her blood.
"Gods be good..." she heard Brienne gasp behind her. Sansa sensed her companions' shock at the mythical sight, but her gaze stayed locked upon the mystical bird.
It stared back unblinking, whirling eyes boring into her very soul. She felt the inexorable pull between them, a bond carved into her lineage. Tendrils of frost swirled around its massive talons.
As if in a trance, Sansa slowly reached out to touch the mystical bird's glittering beak. The surface was lethally sharp yet icy cold against her fingertips.
The instant her skin made contact, a jolt like pure frozen lightning arced through Sansa's body. She gasped at the torrent of frigid energy surging into her veins from the connection.
Her senses heightened acutely - details sharpened and sounds amplified. The rich scent of pine and earth surrounded her. Sansa could taste the ancient magic saturating the air.
Visions flashed through her mind in vivid detail - she soared over snow-covered forests, the land stretching endlessly pristine below. The perspectives shifted wildly, at times seeing through the bird's eyes, then her own.
Their consciousness merged seamlessly, two halves made whole. Sansa glimpsed the distant past and veiled future simultaneously. Time held no meaning in this communion of souls.
She saw her ancestors - Stark kings and queens ruling the frozen North, clad in furs with wolves and ice birds at their sides. A pact forged in blood linked their fates irrevocably to the old gods and the children of the forest.
As Sansa's consciousness returned from the vision, she was left breathless and electrified. That brief communion had forever changed her, unveiling her true purpose - to command the lethal magic of the North.
Blinking, Sansa was shocked to see Val and the wildlings now kneeling in a circle around her and the mystical bird, their heads bowed reverently. Her companions from Winterfell stood gaping at the spectacle, as confounded as she was.
"The queen rises!" Val proclaimed loudly, her voice ringing with devotion. "Behold the ancient pact renewed!"
Sansa stared at the kneeling free folk, then back at the towering ice bird surveying the scene impassively. She had become more than just a Stark in their eyes. Now she was the physical embodiment of Northern magic.
"Val...I don't understand," Sansa said uneasily, shifting as the wildlings knelt before her.
Val gave an understanding chuckle and smiled warmly. "There is an ancient northern myth, passed down among the free folk," she explained. "It tells of a legendary frost bird named Blashyrkh, an avatar of the old gods of winter; the rightful king of highest halls. It is said Blashyrkh resides far in the frozen north upon the Icy Throne, the heart of winter."
She gestured reverently to the towering sapphire-feathered bird. "The myth speaks that one day the bird will appear to the promised one, renewing the pact of magic when needed most. You are that chosen champion, Sansa Stark. Blashyrkh has bonded with your soul and bestowed its blessing."
Sansa looked up at the mystical bird in growing awe as Val's words sank in. Blashyrkh gazed back, eyes whirling with ageless sentience. She could feel its ancient power resonating through their link.
"A new age dawns for the North," Val declared. "With Blashyrkh beside you, none shall conquer us again. The queen of winter has come!"
Sansa absorbed this, feeling the weight of destiny. But Brienne, Jaime, Meera and Tormund still appeared uneasy, struggling to comprehend the mystical events.
Just then, Gwenhwyfar cried out and collapsed to her knees, clutching her head in agony.
Sansa rushed to her side. "What's happening?" she asked urgently.
Face contorted in pain, Gwenhwyfar gasped, "I see...terrible visions...death and destruction..."
Sansa gripped Gwenhwyfar's shoulders tightly. "Tell me what you saw!"
Slowly Gwenhwyfar's agony passed, though she looked shaken. "I possess the third eye - visions come to me unbidden," she explained uneasily. "I witnessed a knight in black armour astride an enormous red dragon, laying waste to a great city by the sea, with a huge lighthouse at its centre."
She met Sansa's gaze. "This same knight has haunted my visions before in Albion. He brings only death and destruction wherever he rides. The dragon burns all in their path."
Gwenhwyfar shuddered as she described the vision. "But most chilling was when I glimpsed the knight's face beneath his black helm. It was Laundsallyn, once my dead husband's most loyal retainer. Yet something had corrupted him, his blood red eyes were burning hellfire and wicked."
She paused, gathering herself. "In life, he...attempted to force himself upon me, but was stopped. Now in the vision he felt more dangerous than ever, twisted by dark forces."
Sansa comforted Gwenhwyfar as she continued. "The dragon was equally dire - it resembled Gwrtheyrn, the great red beast that plagued Albion until my husband's father, Ythyr, slew it long before Arthur's birth."
Gwenhwyfar's face was grave. "I know not how, but Laundsallyn now commands that fiend reborn. Together they sow only death and chaos, just as in ages past."
Sansa's mind raced as she tried to make sense of Gwenhwyfar's disturbing visions. Though she did not fully grasp the complex history referenced, Sansa could see the seer's warnings were earnest.
She wracked her memory, trying to recall her early history lessons about the Targaryen dragons and their riders. But no dragon or rider from those tales seemed to match Gwenhwyfar's vivid description.
Perhaps this winged terror was not of their world at all, but some malignant force from another plane of existence. Its reappearance with the corrupted knight threatened catastrophe if true.
Sansa met Gwenhwyfar's troubled eyes. "I do not grasp your visions fully," she acknowledged. "But evil reemerges in unexpected guises. We must stand ready."
Inwardly though, Sansa knew action must be taken regarding this ominous dragon and its rider, whether of Targaryen blood or not. Such a threat left unchecked could bring ruination.
Yet she felt the nascent bond with Blashyrkh pulling her north urgently. The ancient frost bird's power was still awakening within her, and needed guidance to control.
Sansa weighed these competing needs. Gwenhwyfar's nightmarish visions could portend catastrophe, but her own magic was still wild, unfamiliar. She required answers only the far north could provide.
Turning to Gwenhwyfar, she said "I must journey with Blashyrkh to understand my awakened gifts. But this dragon cannot be ignored."
Sansa thought carefully before speaking. "Send ravens across the lands. Warn all to watch for this dragon and rider." She gestured to Blashyrkh. "I must go north to understand my powers. But I will return stronger."
Her companions murmured agreement.
Val approached Sansa. "My queen, stay this night. Rest and take a warm meal before your journey." She motioned to the others. "Your people need respite as well. Let us support you."
Sansa considered, then nodded. "Your offer is kind. One night of rest, then we depart."
Val grinned and turned to the free folk. "Put up tents! Build fires! Bring meat and drink for the queen!"
The wildlings jumped to obey, eager to aid Sansa. Soon tents circled the grove and fires blazed, warming the chill air. The rich scent of roasted game filled the camp as ale was tapped and poured.
Sansa sat with her friends around one large fire. She sipped hot mead gratefully while Brienne inspected her sword and Tormund gnawed on a rabbit leg.
Val came over and offered Sansa a heaping bowl of stew. "Eat up, Your Grace! We've got plenty!"
Sansa smiled as she accepted it. "My thanks, Val. You are too generous."
Val shook her head. "It's the least we can do. You've given us back our purpose." She gestured to the lively wildlings. "For the first time in years, we have hope again!"
Sansa felt encouraged by the cheer in the wildling camp. Their rough faces were alight with renewed purpose as they served their prophesied queen eagerly. She knew with the strength of these hardy northerners beside her, much could be achieved.
Around the fires, men sang old songs as women stirred pots and passed mead. Children laughed and chased between tents, reminding Sansa of Winterfell long ago. The wildlings' cheer filled her with joy.
Glancing around at the revelry, Sansa noticed Gared Tuttle sitting by one of the fires. Next to him was a pretty pregnant girl with white hair, using a spear as a walking stick. She smiled sweetly at Gared as they talked.
Sansa approached and Gared quickly stood to greet her. "Your Grace," he said with a respectful bow.
"At ease, Gared," Sansa replied warmly. "Who is your companion?"
The girl rose gingerly, one hand on her swollen belly. "I'm Sylvi, Your Grace. Gared's wife."
"Well met, Sylvi," said Sansa. "How far along are you?"
"Eight months now," Sylvi answered, rubbing her stomach. "Any day this little one will be here."
Sansa smiled and squeezed the girl's shoulder. "A new generation for the North. You must stay safe until the babe is born."
Sylvi nodded gratefully. "With Gared at my side, I'm not worried." She gazed up lovingly at her husband as he put an arm around her.
Sansa noticed the ironwood pendant around Gared's neck, the one he had shown her back in Winterfell. Its discovery had led her to seek out the weirwood grove beyond the Wall.
She reached out and touched the carved pendant. "Gared, I never properly thanked you for bringing this to me. You set me on the path that led us all here."
Gared shook his head modestly. "I only did my duty, Your Grace. I knew the pendant's markings were important, but didn't understand why."
"It called to your northern blood," Sansa told him. "You helped unlock a great magic slumbering within these lands."
She motioned to the frost bird Blashyrkh and the kneeling wildlings. "Without you, none of this would have come to pass. You may have helped save the North itself."
Gared looked amazed, glancing from Sansa to the pendant and back. "I was just a simple ranger. Never imagined I'd be part of something so big."
Sansa clasped his shoulder warmly. "Sometimes the greatest change starts with the smallest act. I shall never forget what I owe you, Gared Tuttle. You will always have a place by my side."
Gared bowed his head, overcome by her words. Beside him Sylvi beamed with pride for her husband.
As night deepened, the chill returned to the grove. Sansa bid her companions goodnight and retired to the tent provided for her. Most of the other wildlings also sought out their shelters as the fires died down.
Inside her tent, Sansa found a pile of furs and blankets to ward off the cold. She wrapped herself up gratefully, the long day catching up with her. Her mind still buzzed with thoughts of destiny, magic, and the trials ahead. But exhaustion soon took over.
Just as she drifted off, Sansa glimpsed the frost bird Blashyrkh outside her tent. Its glowing blue eyes peered through the opening, watching over her. She could sense its ancient presence connected to her own.
Sansa slept deeply, comforted knowing the avatar of northern magic kept guard. She dreamt of flying over snow-capped forests and mountains, soaring tireless through the icy night beside her mystic companion.
When morning came, Sansa awoke feeling rested and prepared. This day their group would split up, each embarking on their own journey. But they would come together again when the time was right, united by fellowship and purpose.
Brienne, Jaime, and Meera would head back south to Winterfell. Gwenhwyfar would go with them, viewing the dragon rider from her vision as the greater threat for now.
Sansa approached Val. "You and your people are welcome to settle south of the Wall," she offered. "Winterfell could be your new home."
Val considered carefully. "That's generous," she replied. "But the true North is our home. Not sure we'd fare well south of the Wall."
Sansa nodded in understanding. The free folk belonged here in the rugged wilds. "Very well," she said. "But know you will always have allies at Winterfell. And you are free to roam these lands without fear."
Val smiled gratefully, clasping Sansa's arm. "Thank you. It heartens us that a Stark finally sees us as kin, not foes."
Sansa and Val grasped each other's arms firmly. For ages, the Starks and free folk had viewed each other with suspicion and hostility. But that rift was now mended.
Val met Sansa's eyes with solemn respect. "The North remembers. House Stark and the free folk will stand united."
Sansa nodded. "Now and always. We are one people."
Their alliance would be tested soon enough. Dark forces were stirring, portents gathering, as Gwenhwyfar's vision foretold. But Winterfell and the tribes beyond the Wall would need each other to survive the long night ahead.
As her friends prepared to travel south, Sansa readied herself to head north with Blashyrkh. She knew the road ahead would be arduous, but felt hopeful facing it.
Approaching Jaime and Brienne, she clasped their hands warmly. "I cannot thank you enough for your stalwart company. Ride safely back to Winterfell and take care."
The two warriors nodded respectfully. "We will await your return, my queen," pledged Brienne.
Sansa next went to Meera and squeezed her shoulder. "Give Bran my love when you see him again. Tell him I think of him often."
"I will, Your Grace," Meera promised. "The ravens will fly when you are needed."
Finally, Sansa came to Gwenhwyfar and met her piercing gaze. No words were needed between the two women. They had come to understand each other on this journey. Gwenhwyfar gave a simple nod of acknowledgment which Sansa returned. Their paths would cross again when the time was right.
As Sansa prepared to mount her horse, Tormund suddenly strode up and swept her into a big, unexpected bear hug. Sansa yelped in surprise as the wildling leader lifted her off her feet.
"Goodbye, little queen!" Tormund bellowed jovially. "You're a good one, just like your brother. I'm glad the cold winds blew you to us."
He set Sansa down and she caught her breath, adjusting her cloak. "Thank you, Tormund. Your people have been most kind."
"Aye, you Starks belong up here with us free folk," he grinned. "The North suits you, lass. Almost makes me wish you were staying instead of flying off on that icy bird of yours."
Sansa smiled at the thought. "My place is at Winterfell when I've found the answers I seek. But we are allies now. I will return to the true North when needed."
Tormund nodded and squeezed her shoulder with one big hand. "I'll hold you to that, little queen. We'll keep your tent warm and the mead flowing for when you visit again!"
With an earnest handshake, he released her. Sansa once more prepared to mount up. She knew she would miss the wild man's humour and fighting spirit in the cold days ahead.
As Sansa prepared to depart, she suddenly realized the frost bird Blashyrkh had moved near and was gazing at her intensely with its bright blue eyes. She met its ancient, otherworldly stare and felt something primal awaken inside.
A powerful instinct welled up, urging her to climb onto the great bird's back rather than her horse. Sansa was hesitant, but the desire felt natural and right. She carefully approached the frost bird's side.
"Do you mean for me to ride you, mighty Blashyrkh?" she asked quietly. The bird slowly blinked its shining eyes in response.
Heart racing, Sansa grasped the frost bird's icy blue feathers and heaved herself up onto its back. She settled between the massive wings as Blashyrkh held perfectly still. Sansa took a deep, bracing breath, gripped the feathers tight, and gave a nod.
She was shocked by how soft and downy the feathers felt, not icy as expected. They were chill but supple, and seemed to gently conform to her hands. Sansa marvelled at their texture as she held on.
With a rush of wind, Blashyrkh's enormous wings unfolded and began rhythmically beating the air. The force lifted them swiftly upward, the grove floor dropping away. Sansa's hair whipped wildly as she gasped at the exhilarating sensation.
Higher and higher they climbed, trees and tents shrinking to dots below. Faint shouts reached Sansa's ears from her companions witnessing their ascent. She shared their awe - riding this mythical being exceeded her wildest dreams.
They levelled out, Blashyrkh's wide wings extended as they cruised northward over snow-blanketed forests and mountains. Sansa relaxed into the flight, adjusting to the creature's smooth motions. Its soft feathers cushioned her ride.
Gazing at the passing scenery far below, Sansa felt fully connected to this ancient land. With the frost bird as her mount, their fated journey had truly begun. Onward to their destiny they soared, the wind carrying them forward.
For those of you who are familiar with Warhammer Fantasy Sansa got herself a Frostheart Phoenix; for those of you who are not familiar with Warhammer, Sansa got an Articuno.
I'll promise the next chapter will come faster than this one.
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