Just a warning, there is smut ahead. Just a little.
Just a side note-for some reason, when I see pics of Viserion on Google I see a red dragon. BUT he is not red. He's CREAM COLORED with GOLD MARKINGS according to official descriptions. I don't see it. Thus the description of a "red face" in the last chapter. Maybe I should get checked out by a doctor.
I might eventually change it, but probably not anytime soon. I just wanted ya'll to know that I know it was messed up. If anyone noticed.
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Arya had been shaken at first. She'd crawled off as quickly as possible, being the only one who'd not been seriously injured in the fall. Daenerys had a broken arm at the very least, and Jaime, last she saw, was pulling something sharp from in between his ribs.
From her hiding place in a ditch, she'd peeked when everything suddenly went quiet. She'd known without actually seeing their eyes, that Dany and Jaime were no longer human. They just stood by as the Night King did as he pleased.
She'd watched as he also turned the dragon. That had been enough to make her feel fear she'd not felt in a long time. Dragons were the most powerful things on earth. The Night King had just casually walked over and turned him into … she didn't know what. Were they dead now?
She didn't know about that, but what she did know was that she had to keep walking. Find a horse and ride to King's Landing. Get there somehow and make Cersei help. Or else kill her and anyone else who got in her way.
In the back of her mind, she wondered if the soldiers at King's Landing would even be enough to beat the Night King. Would anything?
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Sansa was so cold. There wasn't anything she could think of right now that she wouldn't give or do to get warm again. Her body sat limply in front of the Night King, his cold legs pressing on either side of her. He was making it worse, she thought distantly.
Her head laid against his chest, lifeless. A low-grade fever had taken hold sometime after he'd turned Dany and the others (where's Arya…?) and she could feel her energy draining.
Please…
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Please…
The Night King twitched his head to look at her. She'd reached out to him with her mind, knowingly or not, to beg for her life.
For one moment, he considered turning her. Right then. Everything would then be solved for him. Humans needed so much to stay alive. He needed nothing.
His hand lifted-then dropped back down over the flat of her stomach and settled there firmly.
He was able to do a lot. More than any human. But he had no power to make fire, at least not with magic.
Go. Make certain the ruins are secure. He directed this command to his oldest lieutenant, the first he'd ever turned, and knew it would be obeyed without hesitation.
Keeping a firm grip on Sansa, he urged the dragon faster. She needed what he could not provide, but possibly inside the ruins of Moat Cailin there would be warmth and rest.
If he wanted her to bow to him of her own free will, then sacrifices must be made. The realm of man was not going to flee from his grasp anytime soon. It could be delayed for a little while.
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Sansa's dreams were feverish. Sometimes so dark and nightmarish she screamed aloud in her delirium. Other times, she dreamt of her family and days long past. Long, warm summers daydreaming of princes and white knights and true love.
The fever weakened the defenses of her mind and the Night King was easily able to slip in.
But he wasn't the Night King. Not at first glance.
She was in a beautiful place, more beautiful than anything in or around Winterfell, but somehow she knew she was home. The castle stood in the distance and in front of her was a garden edged by a forest. She picked wildflowers and hummed idly.
"Hello."
Sansa looked up and saw a handsome man dressed all in black approaching her from the treeline. A distant warning bell sounded far away in her mind, but she smiled anyway. This man was harmless. He had a friendly smile and beautiful blue eyes. Her breath quickened in her chest a bit.
"Hello," she responded.
He glanced around them and then at her. "What is your name?"
"Sansa. And yours?"
He paused and angled his head, contemplating.
She laughed. It was a delightful sound, rarely heard. "Do you not know your own name, Ser?"
"Sometimes I almost forget," he admitted, though smiling to let her know he was teasing. "Barron. My name is Barron."
"Barron what?"
He shook his head and came closer, glancing down at the bundle of flowers she'd collected. "Do you always barrage the men you just meet with questions?" His tone was light and playful.
"I hardly ever meet strange men, so I've never had the opportunity. Have you come to see my father?" He didn't answer. Standing so close to him, she had to admit he made her a bit breathless. "Have we met before? You look familiar."
"I would remember meeting a woman such as you, Sansa." He took her hand and raised it to his lips. She shivered as their skin made contact.
"I … must be mistaken then," she murmured, looking up at him, almost hypnotized. Those eyes… so blue… so familiar…
His features began to change ever so slowly. Above her, the sky darkened as if it would rain. She looked up and a raindrop fell onto her cheek like a tear. She winced at the cold feel of it. When she looked back at Barron, she gasped and shrank away. He released her hand.
He was no longer just a man, but instead, the Night King as she'd always known him.
"What is the matter, Sansa?" he asked, his voice sounding as it did before when he looked human.
"You-how?" She was frightened now. The sky rapidly darkened and rain had begun to fall.
"This is your dream," he said. "I simply came inside."
"And ruined it," she said bitterly. "My dreams are all I have left and now not even those are safe."
"I stayed too long," he admitted. "My presence can cause … certain effects."
"Who was that man? Were you him the whole time?"
"Of course. I did not want to frighten you. You are unwell."
"Unwell," she repeated. "If you would let me go I'd be fine." She vaguely remembered being on a dragon and feeling feverish. Something nagged at the back of her mind. "Who was that man you were pretending to be? I know him. He was … familiar."
The Night King didn't answer.
Suddenly, she grew very warm. Snippets of a previous dream flashed through her mind. The man… She'd dreamt of him the night she'd been taken and her brother killed. Is that why the Night King had taken his form?
But he'd seemed familiar even then, as if she knew him before the dream.
Her mind was in control again and the Night King disappeared, as did everything else. Flashes of a tent lit only by firelight, bodies entwined and moaning, undulating sensations of pleasure and warmth… She both saw the scene and was a willing participant at the same time.
Barron moaned into her mouth, pressing against her. "Sansa, come to me…"
Her legs tightened around his hips, urging him deeper and faster. His fingers dug into the side of her thigh.
"Please," she gasped, arching her back.
For one moment, she was Sansa, standing at the edge of the tent, looking on in horror, disgust, and just the tiniest bit of want. Then she was Sansa, a willing participant. It flickered back and forth, her mind feverish and not thinking coherently.
This is wrong, she thought, backing away, once more detached by the exit, on the edge of the dream. He's the Night King. He's not real.
"You have to choose one," Barron whispered seductively, close to her ear. One of his hands moved from her thigh to her waist and upward to cup a breast. She arched under his touch. "You can stay over there and just watch … or you can stay here … with me … like this." He pressed against her once more and she almost gave in to everything she despised.
No!
Her eyes flew open.
She was awake now.
And very angry.
"You," she seethed in fury, trying to sit up on whatever makeshift bed she'd been lying upon.
It was a struggle but she managed to get up onto one elbow. She fought back the dizziness that threatened to overtake her again.
He was there somewhere, she knew it. She scanned the dimly lit room and found him almost immediately. He sat directly in front of her across the room, staring as always, this time with a small look of irritation.
"You stay out of my head," she hissed.
The Night King stood up and approached her bed. Sansa didn't waver or back down.
"I'm not afraid of you."
Ever so slowly, his mouth turned up at the corners.
Good.
That was not what she expected him to say and a tiny bit of doubt crept in. Did she really know what he wanted after all? He was threatening her, trying to control her, and invading her mind. Of course he wanted her to fear him.
"You are him. The man from my dream … Barron. Don't try to deny it."
The Night King made no attempt to do so. Once.
She wracked her brain to remember details. A name he'd called her… Allana.
You … look like her.
She met his eyes in surprise and remembered the ends of red hair across pale sheets. "That's why you're doing this," she said, a new sort of understanding dawning. She'd been so wrong before.
She did know what he wanted from her.
Sansa grabbed a fistful of the old 'blanket' draped across her body and threw it aside. Her legs were shaky but she stood up anyway and faced him. "My brother… He showed me something. From the past." Everything Bran had told her and shown her before came flooding back, the pieces clicking into place.
The Night King didn't speak.
Sansa looked the creature standing in front of her over and saw him through new eyes. Barron Stark. The man from her dream was Barron Stark who was the Night King. Brother to Brandon Stark who built Winterfell. "You … were human once."
"Long ago," the Night King rasped out.
"Your brother… He was … heartbroken." If the Night King had any love left in his heart, she hoped to discover it now. If she could somehow persuade him to let her go…
Maybe he would even stop his army from killing everything in Westeros.
The Night King raised an eyebrow the barest of fractions. Humans are weak. He could not understand that his brother was no more. I became something greater. Something better. He could not live with that.
"And what about Allana? You loved her. I felt it," she whispered.
Yes, you did. The Seer created a link in your mind, which now remains, though I do not think he knew that he'd done so. What you saw … what you felt … was a memory of the past. Nothing more.
"What happened to her?"
What happens to all humans, eventually.
"She died."
The Night King turned away and she sensed he was done with the conversation. A wave of nausea passed through her but she couldn't give in. Not yet.
"Wait. Please, let me go. Your brother was my ancestor. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
He turned back and sneered. No.
"You are a Stark." That had to mean something to him.
He stepped closer to her, close enough to touch. I was a Stark. Now I am the Night King. Lord of ice and night and death. He raised a finger and traced the curve of her cheek. She shuddered. Bow to me, Sansa, and you will have power beyond your imagination.
"To be another one of your mindless followers?" she whispered, staying perfectly still as he placed his thumb over her cheekbone.
No. You would be … more.
She didn't believe him. "You promised her you would never leave. But you did. Why should I trust you?"
Bran's words came back to echo in her mind. When he'd shown her the vision of their ancestor at the Godswood, he'd said he was doing it "for him." The Night King.
So he could see it?
He'd already seen inside her mind and it hadn't worked. What then?
If I can feel emotions through those memories … can he feel the same way?
She acted without further thought, suddenly putting her hand on his face and closing her eyes. She didn't know quite what she was doing or if it would work, but she did know that there was some sort of bridge between their minds and if he could enter hers, then she was sure she could enter his.
The Night King gripped her hand hard but the onslaught of emotions was overwhelming. He hadn't felt anything this strong in thousands of years. It was blinding. He couldn't loosen her grip right away.
Sansa concentrated on him, his family, his wife. Anything from when he was human. Anything that could make him remember he'd been human once. She fell deeper and deeper into the past.
"Barron!" a child yelled across a field…
A wedding under a Godswood. Vows exchanged. A kiss… not the first kiss.
The first time he saw Allana… she was so beautiful. The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
The worst moment of his life…
Sansa saw that memory as if she were him. Shirtless, strapped to a tree-a Godswood tree-and gagged. There was no one to help. No one to save him from whatever the Children were going to do to him. They took him for revenge. It was what he deserved, in their eyes. The perfect justice against the Men who were killing them and raping their forests.
He would never see his brothers again. Bran who had been his constant companion since the day Barron had been born. Roric who had never wanted to be a warrior and had only loved books and daydreaming.
He would never see his wife again, Allana. Never hold her, never make love to her. Never see their child born.
His child…
He struggled hard against the bonds that held him. One creature came forward holding something sharp. She pushed it slowly into his chest, into his heart, and he thought he would die from the agony.
His last thought was of Allana.
But he didn't die. What they did to him was worse than death.
Somehow beyond the memory, the Night King managed to gain control and sever their tie.
Sansa sat heavily on the bed, her heart feeling as though it would break in two, and tears running down her cheeks to drip on the sleeves of her gown. She didn't notice the Night King until his hand was wrapped around her throat and she was shoved backward onto the bed. He dragged her further up onto the blanket and held her down with the weight of one leg over hers.
Sansa's mind was in shambles. Echoes of emotions and memories from ages ago rolled over her. "I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm so sorry." She was sorry, for the man he'd once been, for his family who'd loved him, for the destruction of so many lives.
Do not try that again.
His tone was cold and threatening but she barely noticed.
"I'm sorry," was all she could say.
He looked down at her in disgust and then released her throat.
You are fortunate that you did not completely lose yourself. You will if you ever attempt to go into my mind again.
He got up off her and then stared down briefly.
You don't know what you've done. But you will. Soon.
Sansa barely noticed he was gone. Overwhelming fear and grief blinded her to everything but it. She curled up onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to also shut out the pain of a man who'd been as good as dead for six thousand years.
Well, Sansa messed up, but really it was a good plan. The Night King did feel something, it's just that she felt it more. This was a very touchy-feely chapter full of emotions, BUT I am planning on these two forming a relationship. The key to that is feelings. Not just hot smutty memory sex.
So… Jon will finally catch up next chapter. I imagine that seeing Dany as a White Walker and Sansa as a captive will go much the same way as when Rickon was killed he decided to charge Ramsey's army all by himself back in season 6.
On another note, I do have the ending planned out. Hopefully, if I don't mess everything up or forget key details, it will all come together in the end. I had originally planned out 2 different endings, one happy-ish, one happy-in-a-different-way ish. I picked the one I wanted a couple chapters ago and just thought I'd let ya'll know.