Warg Maiden

Edited by xXFallenSakuraXx52

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones

Warning: This chapter is rated M for violence against women, rape, and language.


Chapter 12: The Abandoned Children

The past

Imogen's POV

Their numbers started out small. Eight thousand years ago, a massive army was created in his image. The majority were the living dead, once alive and then resurrected with blue eyes. They were slowly decaying on the longest night in Westerosi history. They were called wights—the living who have become the undead—mindless creatures that obey their alpha. While others, the small minority, were not wights. They were called the Others. They were once mortal, except they never died.

They were once born in a mother's womb; they lived their lives crying and wailing, filled with abandonment and fear. Instead of a mother's hands to comfort them, cold, icy hands caressed the abandoned child as a talon finger pressed along his or her cheek. Whatever the child's eyes color, they turned to the same shade of icy blue as their new father. And slowly, they became the image of their father.

That was how the Others were created—in the image of their father. They are tall as if they have giants' blood in their veins, and their skin is white as snow. Their bodies were carved like dripping ice that had been frozen. Their hair nearly crystalizes. Lastly, their eyes are like ice.

After his birth from the Children, the Night King took his time creating his army. When the Children created him, they helped him learn how to fight and use his powers. However, becoming this entity took away his bodily functions and emotions as he watched two people mating in the distance. Deep down, he knew he was unable to conceive a child. However, the longing was there. All living things, despite their species, crave a legacy.

The Three-Eyed Raven and I stood there in the distance. Watching the Night King's beginning. For years, he discovered himself and the destiny the Children had planned out for him. We observed as I asked questions about why? As usual, the old Raven would say:

"Every creature has an origin."

I watched until the sound of crying could be heard in the distance. The Night King paused from wandering in the forest. Curious, he went out to investigate. He followed the cries until coming to a tree where a nestle babe wailed — a changeling. My ancestors believed in the fay, tricksters whose babes can't survive easily and switch their own with a newborn. When the human mother relies upon this or believes their child has been switched with a changeling, they nurture it for a few days before taking the changeling out to the forest. Hopefully, the fay can return their child back. Only, it was not the fay that found this babe. No, it was the Night King.

He took the child out of the tree and stared at him. The babe cried under his cold touch, wailing in fear, coldness, and hunger. Based on the appearance, the babe appeared to be a season old.

Trying to be human, the Night King gave the babe a smile. Although it was not quite appealing, he revealed a dark abyss with white teeth. The babe continued to cry. The immortal did not know what to do until caressing his right hand on the child's face. The deep magic swirled into the babe when his talon touched those chubby cheeks. The babe no longer cried as his fair skin turned white, and brown eyes swirled into blue — the firstborn of the Others.

No longer did the baby cry. No longer was he afraid. The thirst and hunger vanished, leaving a hollow shell. However, the Night King stared at him like a father greeting his firstborn son. Pride and joy, though the expression was limited. The Night King took the babe and brought him back to the Children. The Children were surprised by this, yet if their living weapon could populate, they could defeat the First Men quicker.

Therefore, over the centuries, the Night King searched for unwanted children. Boys and girls, abandoned in the woods or lost. He did not speak but offered a hand. Naïve or too young to comprehend took his hand, and unknowingly, all memory of their mortal life had come to an end. That is how the Others came to be. Forgotten children were raised to be warriors to attack their once-mortal past. Alongside the wights, the White Walkers fought for their King, who served the Children.

Until everything changed.

A trail of winter and bodies.

Thus, it started the Long Night.

The Children of the Forest did not anticipate this. Their creation and his army were supposed to kill or push away the First Men out of Westeros. But as the bodies piled up, the wights could not separate the Children and other original species from the humans. Anything that had a pulse was to be eliminated. The Children had no choice but to form a truce with the humans to destroy their own creation.

A war that lasted a generation.

A war that cost the Night King his children.

The Night King and his children were pushed into the far North, back into the Lands of Always Winter. His children were decimated, leaving several dozen trapped under a spell in an eternal slumber.

"If they were put under an eternal sleep all this time, what woke them up?" I asked.

The Three-Eyed Raven stared at the chambers in which the White Walkers slept. The First Men and Children of the Forest had created their tombs to hold them. Something must have woken them up.

"Not all of them were trapped in the ice," the Raven said. "Some of the Others escaped and wandered through the North, hunted down by your ancestors. Until one day, the thirteenth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch fell in love with a female Other, the Corpse Queen."

The Three-Eyed Raven showed me the once legend. I remember this one, and it was about the 13th Crow who fell in love with the Others, trying to reunite the two species only to fall into power.

"Do you remember how the legend goes?" The Raven asked.

I nodded, for the elders used to talk about it.

"A woman was his downfall; a woman glimpsed from atop the Wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars. Fearing nothing, he chased her and caught her and loved her, though her skin was cold as ice, and when he gave his seed to her, he gave his soul as well. He brought her back to the Nightfort and proclaimed her a Queen and himself her King, and with strange sorceries, he bound his Sworn Brothers to his will."

"Such atrocities were committed during this union," the Raven said. "Thirteen years of darkness. It wasn't until Brandon the Breaker, the King of Winter, and Joramun, the King-Beyond-the-Wall… two Kings of each side of the Wall, knowing their truth, joined forces and freed the Night's Watch. Ending their reign for the Blood sacrifices couldn't awaken the First."

"So, what awakened the true Night King?" I asked.

The Three-Eyed Raven turned his head and looked at me.

"Ancient magic can be awakened by new magic," he answered.

I was confused until the scenery changed to a barren rock island. It took me a moment to remember my visits with Bloodraven. We were on Dragonstone as the volcano remained dormant. I stared out into the east, seeing massive ships across the narrow sea. Above them were massive dragons. Bloodraven talked about the dragons. I have seen the illustrations in books, carvings, and the sigil. But seeing the dragons with the Three-Eyed Raven showed me these gigantic creatures of fire.

"Their magic awakened the Others, waking the Night King. But they waited until their strength returned and began the search for abandoned children lost in the forest."

The scenery changed back to the haunted forest. There was a small keep. It took me a moment to spot a man carrying a newborn out into the forest while the wife wailed, surrounded by her two daughters. Birthing blood drenching the floor. It took me a moment to realize this was Craster's Keep. One wildling who has been ostracized from the community for doing a forbidden sin. The Free Folk exiled him, for what he did to his daughters, granddaughters, and so forth to all the women in his clan is disgusting. He rapes and marries them. It brought back the discussion with Bloodraven, who told me about his family performing incest to keep the bloodline pure. However, a father or mother cannot breed with their children. Nor siblings or close family relations.

We watch Craster taking his newborn son out in the snow.

"Decades ago, an Other was wandering around and was about to attacked Craster. Craster made a deal to spare his life, an offering… his sons to the Others. This allowed the Night King to restore his children. Since no one else would abandon their children."

He was right. The Free Folk took survival seriously, ensuring all couples were not related by blood. Let alone our environment would either kill the newborn or help them adapt to the cold. No longer did the practice of changeling's switch continue. It died out long ago. If a child was sick, a mother would comfort him or her until their dying breath. If the child somehow became deformed, the cold would take them away, or the father would silently smother them in their sleep as the mother slept. Knowing a deformed could never survive in the True North.

We watched as Craster abandoned his son in the woods. A part of me wanted to rush over and help the boy baby, but just as I was about to step forward, the Three-Eyed Raven grabbed my arm.

"No," he said.

"Why not?" I asked. "We can't let him die or become one of them."

"The past is already written. The ink is dried. What's done is done," he murmured. "He will not be alone for much longer."

I turned around, seeing a White Walker coming forward, gently collecting the baby. I have seen them—violent stone creatures. However, when it comes to a baby…they are gentle. They don't gush over the child like humans do. But their gestures are soft and tender, ensuring the baby is safe and brought to the Night King, where he turns them into one of them.

"Are there any more women?" I asked.

"No, all the daughters perished by the First Men," The Raven answered. "He lives with his adopted sons, waiting for the time to strike. It was through this bargain that the numbers started to grow."

The White Walkers were revived three centuries ago, and the curse started for twenty to thirty years.

It makes you wonder if Craster was the one who condemned our lands?

As I turned around, watching the ritual being performed.

The Night King looked up from the babe in his arms.

For once, I felt like he was staring at me, deep into my soul.

The Three-Eyed Raven placed his hand on my shoulder, bringing us back to the present.

.o0o.

I gasped awake from the dark memories rushing through my veins as I clutched the bedroll and took several deep breaths. I hated these memories. They reminded me of who I almost became, the pain of losing friends and a lover, all because I wasn't good enough. During my time with the Three-Eyed Raven, he focused my training on the past. Not once did he show me the future.

Whatever my possible future showed to him had him disregard me.

The worst dreams I had from the past were when observing the White Walkers. More importantly, …watching the Night King. Every time I watched his past, there was a sense he noticed me. The Three-Eyed Raven stated in his damned life that he could sense us but couldn't see us. However, there were a few incidents. I had a vision of encountering this immortal creature. He tried to touch me; with each attempt, he failed.

I remember I was at the Lands of Always Winter in one vision. It was night; the dark sky was illuminated by the Northern Lights. It was rare to see these magnificent lights, for they barely reach the Frostfangs except during our winter summers. I thought it was a dream. A peaceful dream. That is until hearing the crunching of the snow. I thought it was the Three-Eyed Raven, about to give me a lesson about the lights.

When I turned around, I saw it was the Night King. I gasped, for this was not possible. He stared at me and tried to reach out, about to grasp my hand. I stepped back, avoiding his grasp, before falling into a chasm and waking back to reality. The Three-Eyed Raven warned me never to let the Night King touch me. If he did, then he would know everything.

Frigg flew down and landed on my chest. I sighed, petting carefully on her feathers as she helped me calm down. I remember how I got her. It was the day after I found myself abandoned in the forest. Only Skadi and I were out and alone. Not sure where to go. We needed to find shelter or a village with which the Dires traded. However, I didn't know where I was. That is until I spotted a Snowy Owl perched on a tree. She was the only bird nearby. I had no intention of keeping her; I just borrowed her body to find help.

However, when I saw the sighting of the nearest band of travelers, I calculated the distance. Once I was done with her, she would follow us. I tried sending her away, letting her be free. Unfortunately, she kept coming back. In the end, I named her Frigg after one of our folklore. Of a beloved Queen. I do miss Skadi. I could sense her through our bond. She is fine, although she was annoyed by something. I assumed some of her prey got away.

It was still early hours. Dawn was slowly approaching. I got up and quietly rolled my bedroll before scouting the area, checking the traps to see if any rabbits or animals were caught for today's meal. As I checked, I stopped to stare at my hand, seeing the cut from several weeks ago. I hope Bran has taken my advice and doesn't see the Three-Eyed Raven. He is a threat to all wargs and greenseers. All he wants is our bodies.

A memory of Brynden popped up.

"No," I hissed, clenching my hands, and closed my eyes.

I will not remember our last conversation.

"He made a choice," I growled through clenched teeth.

I will never forgive Bloodraven.

I may have forgiven Leaf and the Children. But I could never forgive Bloodraven and the Three-Eyed Raven.

"Imogen," a voice whispered out.

I turned around, seeing it was Ygritte.

"Memories from the past?" she asked.

I nodded sadly, looking down.

She came over, placing a hand on my shoulder, "You need to move on."

"I do," I whispered. "Only the past haunts me."

Ygritte nodded.

She knows the past is part of me. She is dealing with the same pain after what Jon did to her. Men are selfish and cruel. All they do is take.

.o0o.

Craster's Keep

The gods' forsaken Keep was filled with utter dismay. The pain was replaced with agony. The women thought Craster was a living hell. He was a selfish man who would rather rape and marry his daughters instead of letting them grow up and find a better husband. His first wife and daughters suffer through his abusive behavior. Comforting each other from the sexual and physical abuse if defy him. Comforting each other when a newborn son is taken away. Their souls were hollow, manipulated by the cold gods that took their sons.

That was until the Night's Watch came for their expedition. The girls ignored them to the best of their ability. They try their best not to stare at the men. They did not even talk to them, yet they merely stared down at their leather boots and responded with a shake or nod. If Craster sees them utter a word to the Crows, as Craster calls them, he will beat the girls. Only the elder Morag, the first wife, was allowed. The mother, grandmother, sister, and basically all familiar female titles are allowed to talk to the men. Morag, being elderly, doesn't give the men interest in her. Most of the communication she had with the men involved going over herbs, supplies, and where to put things when the men were obligated to help.

However, everything changed when the mutiny happened. Morag tried her best to get her daughters and grandchildren out of the way, as brother fought against brother. In the chaos, Karl Tanner fought Jeor Mormont, yet it was Rast who gave the Lord Commander the final blow. Fourteen men survived. Two were prisoners, while the rest were deserters.

At first, Morag tried to talk with the deserters, giving them all supplies so they could leave. Craster was dead, and the women and girls thought they were free. Sadly, the twelve men thought differently. They were no noblemen. They were monsters.

Men take.

So for weeks, the women were raped.

Morag tried her best to protect her girls. She kept tabs on each moonblood and gave them tea so they wouldn't bear their children. So far, the mutineers did not rape the children. However, the girls who were fifteen and older were targeted. Desperate to save her girls, Morag thought of the two prisoners. She thought that if she could get the two men out of there, the other Crows would come to retrieve the deserters, and the women would finally be free.

But Grenn and Edd haven't returned.

Therefore, Morag could do nothing but try to keep her daughters alive. Despite everywhere she turned was her beloved family being raped and tortured.

Men only take.

As Morag was tending to one of the girls giving birth, the men were in the Keep feasting on all flesh and ale. Karl sat by the fire, his hand combing through Sissy's hair as if she was a dog. Sissy remained quiet, staring at the fire, trying not to think about anything. Karl made Sissy his bitch. None of the men dared touch her. Her face and loins hurt, yet she remains silent. Despite the fact, she was holding a cracked skull.

Karl grabbed the skull filled with wine and brought it up to his lips, and the wine splashed across his face and fingers. He turned the skull around, staring into the empty sockets where blue eyes once remained.

"Karl Tanner from Gin Alley… drinking wine from the skull of Jeor fucking Mormont," the man murmured in a dark pleasure, bringing the skull to his lips, pouring the red liquid upon his lips, gazing at it. He then stared at the face. "Any commands for us, Lord Commander?" as he brought the skull to his ear. "What's that? Fuck 'em till they're dead? Did you hear that, boys? Fuck 'em till they're dead."

The men laughed, fucking, or molesting the women they had. Karl grabbed Sissy by the hair, yanking at it in his glee, before shoving her to the ground hard. The sound of a canine squeal caught Karl's ears. It was Ghost. Being in charge, Karl had Ghost caged, knowing that the direwolf would come into use one day. Although the shed was somehow damaged, they had to forge a new one to keep the beast contained.

"Rast," Karl called out.

Rast was by the fire, having a girl on his lap. Her back was to him as he kissed her flesh and fondled her breasts. Karl reached over, grabbed one of the organs, and tossed it at Rast.

"Go outside and feed the beast," Karl ordered.

"We should kill that thing," Rast muttered, still kissing the girl's body.

"You should shut your fucking hole, ugly little cunt," Karl countered.

The men who weren't fucking watching this. Knowing Rast was in big trouble.

"You look like a fucking ball sack, ugly. Look at your stupid cunt face," Karl continued his insults. "I could piss in any gutter and soak five of you. Know how much they paid me to kill a man in King's Landing? Seven Silvers. They told me a man's name, and that man never saw daylight again. None of them cocksuckers got away from me."

Karl stood up, kicking his chair before leering over Rast. He gestured for the girl to get off, and she did so. Rast scowled, turning his direction to the firepit.

"Haven't lost a fight since I was nine. Maybe it's time," Karl said, giving Rast a nudge with his foot. "What do you think, eh? Maybe you're the man. Eh, cunt?"

As he kicked him again.

Rast glared at Karl, "I wouldn't stand a chance. None of us would."

"I was a fucking legend in Gin Alley. A fucking legend!" Karl bellowed. "I would take any knight – any knight, any time. Fucking cunts in steel plate. Fucking cowards."

The door opened as Mogar entered, holding a newborn. All eyes were on them. The girls wondered about the gender of the newborn. If it was a girl, the child would grow up in suffering, but if it was a boy… Mogar's expression gave the girls the answer. They murmured the same phrase repeatedly like it was a prayer.

"A gift for the gods."

"A gift for the gods."

"A gift for the gods."

Karl stared at Mogar, confused, "What the fuck is that?"

"Craster's last child. A boy," Mogar replied.

"What am I supposed to do with him?" Karl asked.

Then Karl realized something. On occasion, there is a family that is gifted and has only daughters. But as Karl looked around, there were twenty daughters/wives. What is the chance of a man siring only twenty daughters? He tried not to think about the granddaughters/daughters. His head hurts that basically all the women were considered daughters.

"What did Craster do with 'em?" Karl asked. "Kill 'em before they could grow up and do the same to him?"

Mogar continued to rock the fussing babe, not answering.

"All right," Karl said as he came over, drawing a dagger. "Don't need another mouth to feed. Hand him over."

"He didn't kill them," Mogar corrected. "He offered them."

"To who?" Karl asked.

"To the gods," Mogar answered.

"The White Walkers," Karl whispered.

"A gift for the gods," the women chanted.

It makes sense how Craster and his clan survive decades out in these woods. He sacrificed his sons to the White Walkers, and they left them alone.

Smart man, Karl thought.

He wasn't going to risk breaking that tradition after seeing the White Walkers and Wights at the Fist of the First Men. The women continued the chant, which disturbed the men.

"Shut up!" Karl ordered.

Silence engulfed the room.

Karl stared at Mogar, neutral about all this.

He put his dagger away and took hold of the newborn, "So . . .if it worked for him. . . Let's give the Walkers what they want."

The baby cried in Karl's arms. Karl looked at the newborn in disgust before handing him over to Rast. Rast was surprised, not expecting that, as he held the babe, unsure how to hold a newborn properly.

"Rast is headed that way," Karl murmured.

Why am I always the one given the tough jobs, Rast thought as he stood up.

Karl shoved the stiff organ on Rast's belt before sending him off. Rast took a deep breath, ignoring the stares as he left the Keep and headed out to the woods. Mogar, having sympathy, pointed in the direction of where to place the child, informing him of a small circle patch. Rast nodded as he headed that way. He muttered, hating this. Confirming wildlings are savage people.

At least the baby stopped crying.

He walked through the snow, the cold air not affecting him as much from the wine in his veins. The baby looked at him, scared. Rast would rock him now and then. It wasn't long before Rast found the small clearing, as the trees were in a circle. He stopped staring at the boy. Based on his knowledge, the boy would hardly survive being a product of incest. Craster fucking his daughter or granddaughter. He stared at the baby as the newborn did the same.

Carefully, he set the newborn down on a pile of snow. There was some guilt since this child did no wrong. Rast wished there was a Sept or an orphanage; he could drop the baby off and run away. Yet this was not his son. In order to protect the Keep and prevent the White Walkers from coming, a sacrifice had to be made. However, murdering a baby would be on his conscience. So Rast adjusted the blanket on the boy's face, covering him up before leaving. He ignored the wails, rushing back.

.o0o.

Skadi's ears twitched when hearing the sound of a baby crying. Ghost did as well, giving a whimper. Having a bad feeling, Skadi stared at Ghost before leaving to investigate it. Ghost watched the black she-wolf leave, disappearing into the darkness.

Several minutes later, Rast appeared, staring at him through the cage. Ghost growled at Rast. He saw how Rast treated Jon and Samwell. Remembering the time, Jon had him climb on Rast and growled at the bastard to shit himself. Rast glared at Ghost in return.

"Pink-eyed fuck," Rast muttered. "You thirsty?"

He bit off the cap of the waterskin and took a sip of water. Despising the beast, Rast poured the clear liquid right in front of Ghost. The puddle by his feet spilled towards the cage, only to turn into ice. Ghost snarled and growled at him. He growled again, scratching at the cage. It scared Rast, causing him to fall back into the snow.

"Fuck," Rast growled, standing up and glaring at the direwolf.

The sound of cawing caught his attention. The wind howled, and snow began to fall. Let alone the newborn cries were becoming faint. He stared at the puddle and noticed it was solid ice. A White Walker was nearby. Not wanting to risk it, Rast tossed the organ at Ghost before rushing back inside the Keep.

.o0o.

Meanwhile...

Bran, Jojen, Meera, and Hodor were huddled by the fire. They have spent roughly a month or so traveling sixty miles up North. When darkness came, they stopped to make camp. They huddled together to stay warm and block the small winds from extinguishing their fire.

Suddenly, the sound of a baby crying caught their attention. They were utterly confused. They had reached several abandoned wildling villages, finding no signs of life. They took the opportunity to find some proper winter gear and supplies, yet no wildlings. So, to hear a baby crying out of nowhere had them disturbed.

"Hodor," the giant man mumbled.

Meera turned her attention to the sound of the cry.

"Do you hear that?" Bran asked.

Meera stood up, her hand resting on her dagger, "Is that a baby?"

Jojen turned pale and had a bad feeling, "It's coming."

Bran adjusted himself, "I'm going out there."

"No, we need to stay together," Meera disagreed.

"I'm going," Bran said as he warged into Summer.

His body went numb while his dark eyes rolled to the back of his head. Meera stared at Summer, seeing the direwolf's eyes change from amber to a dark shade. He whined briefly before nodding at Meera and took off into the forest to find the baby. See if it was a band of wildlings or a family nearby. They didn't hear any women wailing from childbirth, so something terrible was happening.

As Bran went to investigate, he found a trail of human footprints and the scent of a man. The baby continued to cry, followed by a new sound—a wolf howl. Something inside Summer's memory sounded familiar, as if he was hearing a sibling's voice. Summer's emotions took control as they searched for the wolf. Both went fast until they spotted Ghost in a cage. Bran ran faster, going after Ghost to free him, when all of a sudden, he fell into a ditch.

The sudden fall startled Bran back into his body. Bran panicked, startled by all this.

"Bran. Bran," Meera called out, rushing over to him.

Meera placed her hand on Bran's shoulder, "Bran, what happened?"

"Summer, he's hurt," Bran panted. "They've caught him in a trap."

"Who?" Meera asked.

"I didn't see, but they have my brother's wolf," Bran said, catching his breath. "They have Ghost."

.o0o.

Skadi found the source of the crying to be a baby. She knelt down, sniffing at it, smelling blood, amniotic fluid, and pee. No doubt, the baby was a newborn. Barely an hour old. She glanced around, trying to figure out where his mother was. It was strange to find a baby abandoned out here in the forest. The baby continued to cry, being cold, scared, and hungry. Skadi tried to figure out a way to carry the baby and take him somewhere safe. She tried lifting him up by the blanket, but it started to unravel. Immediately, she stopped.

This was not good. If only Imogen were here to pick the baby up.

Suddenly, the crunching of snow caught Skadi's attention. She smelt it—frozen death. She turned around to see the source, none other than a White Walker. It was tall and gaunt, with flesh pale as milk. Its eyes were a cold blue, almost burning. It wore black armor while holding an ice sword. The black direwolf growled at the White Walker to stay away.

The White Walker tilted his head before releasing a blood-curdling scream. Skadi whimpered from the sound, still standing between the baby and the Other. The White Walker frowned, drew his blade, and attacked. Skadi had to think quickly and lunged forward, pouncing on the enemy. She barked, snapping for the Other's neck, ready to tear it out. The White Walker maneuvered his leg and kicked Skadi off him with unexplainable force. Skadi fell but quickly recovered, ready to attack again. She charged at him with full force. The moment her teeth were about to snap at his head, the White Walker spun around and punched her, sending her across and colliding into a tree. Her head made contact with the bark, then fell into the ground.

A whimper escaped as she tried to stand up, yet her vision was clouded.

Through a haze, she saw the White Walker pick up the baby. He turned around, watching the direwolf, trying to get up but couldn't. The beast collapsed, falling unconscious. Nodding his head in approval, the White Walker left to find his horse and head back to the Land that is Always Winter.

.o0o.

The following morning, Bran, Hodor, Meera, and Jojen went in search of Summer and Ghost. Bran thought Jon could be out here. If Jon was, then he could help them on their quest to find the Three-Eyed Raven. They soon found Craster's Keep, hidden amongst the trees and bushes. They could see men and women there tending to the Keep. Bran got a better look, seeing the men were wearing black.

"They're Night's Watch," he noticed. "Look."

Jojen nodded, although he was not feeling well. Sweat was coating his skin, and his face was a bit pale. Meera knew her brother was going to have another seizure soon. Although it had been a few days since the symptoms started showing, this was going to be a stress-induced seizure and not a vision. Meera observed the Keep, noticing something was not right. With sharper eyes, she saw one of the Night's Watch grabbing hold of a woman.

"Jon might be here," Bran said hopefully.

"If Jon was here, why would they put his wolf in a cage?" Meera asked quietly.

The mutineer took hold of the woman, shouting at her, before dragging her away.

Disgust swept through Meera. She knew what was about to happen.

"They might have been Night's Watch once, not anymore," she said as she stood up. "We're not safe here. We need to go."

"No," Bran gasped.

Meera placed her hand on his shoulder, "Bran, we need to go now."

"I'm not leaving without Summer," Bran argued.

Meera looked at Jojen to help her. Jojen nodded in agreement with Bran. They needed Summer. The Direwolf has been their source of protection since the Wildling attack below the Wall. Let alone Summer catching some game now and then for them. Meera sighed as she stood up.

"Can you remember where the cage was?" she asked.

Bran paused, trying to remember, "The east side of the Keep."

Meera nodded, heading out. "If I'm not back soon, we'll meet—"

The blunt handle of a sword made contact with her face, knocking her unconscious. Four more mutineers appeared, surrounding the small party of children. As the one who attacked Meera grabbed hold of her. Three went over to Hodor, pinning him down and shackling him, while the last one grabbed Jojen and Bran. More mutineers came in, dragging the group back to the Keep. Rast and four others separated Hodor from the others, wanting to play a game.

The three were dragged into the Keep, where Karl sat on a makeshift throne, staring at the prisoners. Meera and Jojen were forced onto their knees while Bran slumped to the ground. Karl could tell the boy was a cripple and told his man to help him up. The mutineer nodded, leaning Bran onto a post.

Karl stood up, inspecting the intruders. He came over to Bran first. At first glance, it appeared the boy was a wildling. However, as he knelt down, looking past the fur coat, he noticed a fine leather jerkin. One craftily made, if not expensive.

"This is nice," Karl murmured, touching the collar. "Fine leather. You're no wildling. Important. Highborn. Who are you?"

Bran stared at him, not going to answer.

Karl stood up and smacked Bran across the face hard. The impact caused the boy's bottom lip to split. Bran grunted, feeling the sting on his right cheek and blood filling his mouth.

"You see, where I come from, a commoner like me slaps a little lord like you. I'd lose my right hand," Karl warned, then glanced at the other two. "But we're a long way from home, aren't we? And the two of you, fancy-looking folks north of the Wall, creeping through the woods." He knelt into Jojen's face, "Isn't that a bit odd?" he then focused on Meera touching her hair, "I like your curly hair. My mom had curls like that. Beautiful brown curls. Why'd you drag a crippled boy all the way up here?"

Meera glared at him but didn't answer. He shoved her head, trying to figure out the odd situation.

"See you haven't played this game before," Karl murmured. "A highborn hostage, that's valuable. But three of them, that's a lot of mouths to feed."

Just as Karl drew his dagger, Jojen collapsed on the ground, having a seizure. The foam was forming inside his mouth while his body convulsed. Meera rushed to help her brother.

"What the fuck's wrong with him?" Rast asked as he entered the Keep.

"Come here," Karl growled, grabbing Meera.

She cried out in pain, "Please. Please, let me help him."

"Who are ya?" Karl demanded to have the dagger pressed against her throat.

"Please," Meera begged.

"Who are ya?"

Bran was not able to handle this. Knowing Jojen needs Meera, Bran blurted out, "I'm Brandon Stark!"

Karl's dark eyes stared at Bran.

"I'm Brandon Stark of Winterfell," Bran repeated again.

Rast came over, glancing at the boy, "It's Jon Snow's brother."

As he could see the resemblance through the eyes and hair.

Karl let go of Meera. She rushed over, took her leather strap out, and placed it in Jojen's mouth so he wouldn't bite his tongue. She placed him on his side, rubbing his back to soothe Jojen.

The men ignored her, looking at Bran.

"And I thought this was gonna be another boring day," Karl murmured, sheathing his dagger.

Bran bowed his head, knowing he had put everyone at risk.


I know this is a dark chapter. Sorry about that. This chapter is about the White Walkers and how I interpret their origin story. The Night's King (the 13th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch) is from the books.

Thanks for reading, and please leave a review.

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