Author's Note: This chapter includes descriptions of assault. Reader discretion is advised.

Jaime

The Night's Watch was breaking thousands of years of tradition and allowing the people North of the Wall ('Not the Wildlings, for they are not beasts' the Old Gods whispered to him, 'And not the Free Folk for the people South of the Wall are just as free. All of you are people, joined together') to make their way south to avoid the Others.

Jaime had taken to watching the long processions as they made their way towards the Wall, making sure that none of the wights or Others decided to attack. He hadn't encountered any of the Great Enemy but had fought plenty of wights, though he kept his distance enough that if anyone did see anything it was only a flash of flame against the horizon. But those attacks were few and far between and thus he was able to simply watch the people as they made the journey. He wished that Tyrion had been there as he would have made a game of it, creating fake conversations and backstories for those that were traveling.

'Oh, that is Limp Dick Dick,' he could almost hear his brother said. 'Not that he knows that he's called that. He thinks he is a ladies' man; that one lie with them will ensure that they will never desire another man. That much is true… after being with him the male gender is so stained by his incompetence that they decide to become chasm lickers.'

The bitterness over his brother's refusal to save him had disappeared when the Old Gods had informed him that a shapeshifter had made them believe Jaime was dead. Normally he would have scoffed but considering all he had gone through it honestly made sense. He planned to make fun of his brother quite a bit when they saw each other again.

He ignored the pang in his heart, the longing to see him NOW.

'You always thought that I could be better, brother,' Jaime thought as he watched the long line of Free… of people continue on towards their only hope. 'Said that if I only got away from the people that drove me towards my worst impulses that I could become the man I always wanted to be.' He looked down at Dark Sister and smiled sadly. 'And as always… you were right.'

He hoped he would be able to show Tyrion that one day.

The night was coming to an end and with it people began to put away their bundles as they began their march. Those fleeing to the Wall had learned that the safest time to rest was during the day, when the sun was high and the few watchmen they set could see the threats coming. At night is when they were all awake, the guards sleeping on sleds that were dragged by what beasts of burden they had; trainedwolves, a few horses, some elk and even a moose once. It was when Jaime watched over them, just another shadow in the dark, his now enhanced gaze able to pierce the night and see any threats.

What amazed him was how, if he didn't know where they all were, he would have never thought them to be 'Wildlings'. He remembered the stories he had been told from his boyhood; the tales of the dreaded savages that made even the burly and gruff Northsmen tremble. The eaters of man flesh and the slaughters of all who only knew heat thanks to the blood of their enemies.

And yet all he saw was… people. A father talking quietly to his son. A mother cradling her child. An older couple leaning on each other before a truly MASSIVE man walked up and, with a laugh, lifted the woman into his arms while the man clung to his back like he was a rump sack. They ate their meals together and chatted away about minor things. When they retired to sleep they did so no different than any other traveler.

His father had always dismissed them as meaningless. His sister that they were stupid monsters that the North should have been able to wipe out easily. But Jaime saw they were people.

People who needed to be protected.

There was a sudden shift in the air, even though the wind wasn't blowing at all. It was as if he were a lute and someone had plucked a string, making his entire core vibrate. He had come to understand what the sensation was.

Sin.

At once Jaime's flesh burned away, his long legs covering far more ground that should have been possible as he raced towards a cluster of trees that stood all by themselves along the empty plain. He was moving far quicker than he should have been able to, something that his transformation allowed, but it was still not quick enough for him when he heard the whimpering coming from the trees. He pushed himself forward, coming to a stop only when he broke through the treeline and came to the source of the vileness that had called to him.

At once he went for the wilding (for such a hard figure with half an ear missing and beady dark eyes could only be considered a Wildling), grabbing him by the cloak and yanking him away from the whimpering girl who tried her best to cover her nakedness. Jaime grit his teeth together, the flames around his skull burning taller as he easily slammed the bastard into a tree.

"She is six," he hissed, doing his best not to look back at the crying girl with bruises around her throat and upon her arms. She deserved that much modesty and respect, considering what the foul thing before him had forced upon her.

The Wildling, stinking of the fermented goat milk the men North of the Wall drank to chase away the chill, stared at him with unfocused eyes, seemingly not realizing just WHAT he was looking at. "So? You need to wait your turn."

Jaime trembled before letting go of the man's cloak before latching onto the sides of his face, forcing him to stare right at him. His gaze locked with the Wildling's and finally the man began to realize that he was faced with a burning skull rather than a fleshy face.

At once the man began to scream, clawing at Jaime's wrists, but his actions were utterly futile and after 20 seconds the man went slack as his body burned from the inside out. With one final death rattle that came with a plume of black smoke the wildling went lax, falling to the ground when Jaime let him go.

"What… what did you do to him?" the little girl whispered.

"Penance Stare," Jaime said, refusing to turn towards the girl and frighten her more than she already was. "He felt the pain he has caused all others in his life, all his innocent victims."

With that he turned away and began to walk off.

"…thank you!" the girl called out. "Gods bless you!"

The Gods did something to him. He was still debating if it could honestly be called a blessing.

Much of the trek back to the great Weirwood that Brynden Rivers had made his abode was spent with Jaime slowly regrowing his skin. It was an odd thing, his transformation. Becoming the Spirit of Vengeance didn't truly hurt, despite what it looked like. The fires were… well, he didn't want to call it 'cleansing' as that would make him sound far too much like Ser Thoros and while the knight had been the entertaining sort he was still part of the Red Priest Cult and Jaime had no desire to add himself to their ranks.

'Even though they'd all probably worship me,' he thought to himself as he moved along a half frozen riverbank.

When he became the Spirit it was so very quick and usually it meant he was going into a fight so he didn't have time to think about how it felt for his flesh to burn to ash and leave only his ivory bones to rest within his fires. It was rather like awakening to find a camp was under attack: one didn't have time to worry about a pebble in their boot, they were too focused on getting armed so they could fight.

But the long walk back to the Weirwood? He had nothing to do but focus on regrowing his skin and how odd it felt. He remembered how his cousin Orson, who had been rendered an utter half wit due to a wet nurse dropping him on his head, spending his days in the garden smashing beetles with a rock. Kurcunk kurcunk kurcunk. Tyrion had been obsessed with him, trying to figure out why he smashed the beetles. One time when Jaime had been trying to get his brother to do something else Orson had taken a tumble and fallen onto an ant hill. Jaime and Tyrion had rushed to help him up, for even if he were simple he was still a Lannister, and he never forgot the sensation of all those angry ants crawling along his skin, trying desperately to figure out what had happened and where they were going. That was how it felt when he regrew his skin. Thousands of ants scurrying over him.

He took his time with the process. When he'd first pledged himself to the Old Gods he had regrown his skin in seconds and it had been such a horrific experience he'd been left trembling on his knees. But that hadn't stopped him from taking on the mantle of the Spirit of Vengeance… after all, the Old Gods had been right: save for a final horrible death he would never be free of his vow. He had to become the Spirit. So he had worked to figure out the best way to deal with the unpleasantness and discovered if he went slow, allowing his skin to slowly regrow, inch by inch, then it didn't bug him so much. Some might have argued that he was mentally torturing himself by prolonging the sensation but he would argue that it was better to slowly raise the temperature of bath water rather than dive into a boiling pot.

The sun had poked out over the horizon, causing the snows the gleam like thousands of diamonds, when he finally arrived at the roots of the great Weirwood with all his bits back in place. Osha was standing near the entrance to the tunnels, spear in hand, watching him carefully.

"You were out late again," she said. "What do you do out there, all by yourself, in the dark?"

"What do most people do in the dark?" Jaime asked with a smile. "What would you do?"

"Try and find someplace that wasn't dark," the Free Folk woman told him, causing Jaime to laugh.

"If you weren't that smart then. If you were as dumb as me."

"You aren't dumb," she told him. "I don't know why you say that."

Jaime chuckled again. "That's something I have never understood. When I brag about things such as my looks or my skill with a blade people become upset. Even though it is entirely true they are mad that I am stating such things. And yet when I state that I am stupid in so many things they also get mad. I wish you all would make up your minds."

"It is because you aren't dumb, Jaime," Osha told him. "You are far more clever than you give yourself credit for."

"Ah, but only in certain things. My brother, who I truly hope you get to meet as I would love to watch the two of you have a conversation… it would either lead to a battle or you stealing him, there is no middle ground there I do believe… once told me 'All men are stupid Jaime. All women too. It is the smart man who admits they are stupid about things'. It is one of his little comments that I actually understand and makes me wish he had been a maester because a book on his muses would aid many." He gestured at her. "Take you, for example. You are stupid."

Osha merely raised an eyebrow. It was only the fact that he said it with no bite that probably kept him from discovering if his transformation into the Spirit would allow him to heal a broken nose.

"You have no idea about how to dance with a king or manage the wealth of a house. Why should you? You have no need for it. What you are brilliant at are the things you must know. You are the best tracker I have ever met. A far better hunter than I am. I know swords but you know spears. You know how to find food even under all this snow and how to stay warm. You are smart when you need to be and dumb in what you do not. And you know that."

"How is it you make calling me stupid a compliment?" she asked, bemused.

"A rare gift," Jaime stated.

"It still doesn't change the fact that you ain't dumb." She took a step towards him. "Because you managed to almost distract me so you wouldn't have to tell me what you were doing out there all alone in the dark."

Jaime gave her a more bashful smile. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to just drop it?"

Osha considered him for a moment before a smirk formed on her lips. "Well, I have been rather bored just roamin' around. Meera and I train but she needs to rest, Jojen isn't that interesting to be around, and watching Bran and the Tree Crow sit around doin' nothing isn't that entertainin'. So I suppose I have to fall back on old favorites."

And with that she reached down and cupped his groin.

"I-" Jaime stammered in shock.

The Spear Wife though merely began to fondle him. "We're north of the Wall now, Jaime. We don't do sweet words and pledges to be only with each other. A man and a woman see each other, like what they see, and they go fuck. I'm not gonna take in the boys' cocks, Meera's too young for ya-" Jaime scowled at that thought; he had come to care for Meera but not in… that way, "and I've seen how ya look at Mantis. Ain't no lust there. So unless ya want ta fuck Summer or the Tree Crow then I'm your only option." She smirked and gave him a squeeze that had Jaime choking. "Don't worry… if ya hate it we won't do it again. And if'n ya like it we can keep goin'. Hells, if you get me with child at least I know it will be a strong daughter." She began to walk away but considering she still had a hold of his cock Jaime had little choice in following after her. "Besides, what else are we supposed to do?"

Not able to argue with that Jaime allowed her to lead him on.

~MC~MC~MC~

Hours later Jaime splashed some of the warm water onto his face before using a rag to wipe under his arms and between his legs. There was an underground hot spring that fed the Weirwood and there were spots where the waters bubbled up, allowing Jaime and his group a chance to clean themselves without freezing. Behind him Osha murmured before curling under the heavy fur blanket that hide much of her nude form.

She was nothing like Cersei. Hard where his sister was soft. Yet soft where Cersei was hard. With her nearly non-existent breasts and corded arms and legs it had been like lying with another knight. Yet Osha knew how to make sex feel amazing, understanding how her body worked and what to do with it. There was no part of her that she didn't understand, much as Jaime did his own. And there wasn't a single inch of skin she wasn't willing to use to bring them pleasure. Cersei, at her most daring, had allowed him to take her from behind, rutting like dogs. For her the thrill had been fucking where they might get caught, taking needless risks. But Osha? For her it was all the many different ways they could pass the time using only their naked forms.

He had plunged himself between her breasts. Watched her scream and pant as he plundered her ass. She in turn had forced him between her legs to lap at her cunt and then mocked him when she'd turned and spread her cheeks and told him to get to work. He'd fingered her till she'd sprayed and in turn she'd had him lie down as she used her feet to stimulate him.

Pulling on his britches and donning his shirt he carefully grabbed her clothing and draped it over a chair so they might warm near the fire before donning his boots. He cast one last look at her and decided that yes, they would be doing that again before he headed out into the dark earthen tunnels.

The dread he had felt in there the first time he'd traveled through the tunnels had disappeared thanks to having to constantly move through them. And, if he were honest, he always felt like the Old Gods were with him as he moved through the Weirwood. Where before it had been him alone, approaching Bloodraven's chamber, now he walked with the gods supporting him. More than once he'd been struck by the sensation of one of them placing a hand on his shoulder, whispering that all would be well and they would not allow him to become forever lost in the darkness.

'Cersei always mocked the Northerners. Said that their gods were not real for we could not look upon even a carving of their faces. That they worshiped silly things like the rocks and the trees.' He wondered what she would think of him now, having becoming a worshiper of them. 'Mockery, most likely.'

After a few minutes he entered into one of the larger caverns in the tunnel network, nodding to Meera who was sharpening one of her frog spears, checking over each of the tines to ensure that they were perfectly sharp. Summer was dozing by the small fire that the Marsh Girl had started, the remains of some animal the direwolf had caught lying beside him. Jaime took a seat next to her, not saying a word as he grabbed a potato and began to peal it. The thing was tiny, a fourth the size of the ones he was used to, and its skin was as black as coal, but the northern potatoes were able to grow deep under the dirt and snow of the true North and made for a hardy meal if one were desperate.

"You were up early," Meera said.

"Chatting with Osha."

"Oh, is that what you call it?" Meera asked. Jaime shot her a look and the young woman gave an unladylike snort. "You two were fucking."

'Summer can smell it in the air. You rutted often. In ways that will not produce pups, Summer thinks.'

Jaime just shot Summer a quick look; he still wasn't for sure if the direwolf talked to anyone other than him. It would do no good if he began talking back to Summer only for everyone to just stare at him like he'd lost his mind. So instead he turned his focus on Meera and stated, "Are you old enough to be using terms such as that?"

"There are women who have already birthed heirs who are my age," Meera pointed out. "High born and low." She paused, considering him for a moment with a teasing smirk. "Not going to say that 'fucking' is too vulgar for a noblewoman's mouth?"

"That would depend on someone believing you were a noblewoman," he pointed out, Meera making a rude gesture at him. Or he assumed it was a rude gesture; he wasn't up to speed on all of the northern customs but he assumed based on her narrowed eyes that it wasn't a blessing upon him. "What are your plans for the day?" he asked, finishing pealing the potato and working to cut it into chunks that were tossed into the small fry pan that sat on the fire. The oil from something that had been made by… well, he wasn't for sure who but he trusted all of them to cook something non-disgusting… was still in the pan and thus the potatoes began to bubble and hiss in the oil the moment he tossed them in.

"Need to stock back up… check the traps to make sure nothing tripped them and ran off." Unfortunately when she said 'traps' she didn't mean snares for rabbits. No, it was for the wights that would occasionally wander by, searching for humans to convert into their ranks. Jaime did his best to thin them out each night but sometimes he just missed one.

"I'll come with, if you don't mind," he said.

"You'd be welcome," Meera said with a smile.

"Then we'll head out in an hour. Osha will have gotten enough sleep that if Hodor gets into trouble she can help him out."

"He won't," Meera assured him. "He's been following Mantis around, doing odd jobs for her." She looked down at the pan as Jaime focused on stirring his breakfast. "She still bothers you, doesn't she?"

He didn't snap at her with a sarcastic comment, even though he honestly wanted too. Instead he merely said, "If someone you knew, had cared for, had tried to protect, suddenly returned after you had thought them died… how would you feel?"

"Grateful," Meera stated at once. "I would be happy to have a second chance to be with them again."

"Well… I guess we are just different."

"I suppose," Meera stated. "Though that's why we work together so well."

Jaime smiled at that before reaching into his boot and pulling out a knife. "You'll need to make a sheath for that but it will be good for you to have more than one. A proper warrior should always have more than one knife."

"Oh, I'm a proper warrior now?" Meera teased.

"Of course you are. Any fool who doesn't see that deserves the beating you'd give them." She looked down at the knife and her eyes widened.

"This is good steel!"

"Found it while I was wandering around this morning," he lied. In actuality he'd found it on a wight who'd been a member of the Night's Watch. It had been sticking out of the man's jaw and Jaime had claimed it after cleaving the top of his skull off with Dark Sister. He'd figured that Meera could make better use of it than he ever good. "I'm thinking we need to explore a bit more… forage for more than food. You never know the dangerous you might find."

She huffed at that. "I keep telling Jojen he needs to train with a blade for that same reason but he keeps telling me his place is to help Bran." Her eyes narrowed but she didn't say a word, much to Jaime's relief. The tunnels they were in… he couldn't prove it but he had the feeling Bloodraven was always listening. They'd made too many small comments about needs only for their requests to be made by the man. If he'd thought that would endear him to Jaime he'd been mistaken.

'I remember the tales,' he thought to himself as he scooped out the potatoes, putting them in a wooden bowl and adding a few scraps of dried fox jerky to it. 'He might try and portray himself as a noble sort but Brynden Rivers has always been a dangerous man. Claiming he was doing the work he did for the 'good of the realm'… which just so happened to be in his benefit.'

During the reign of Aerys the First a trio of grain merchants united together in order to control the price of their wares. Each was the second son of a powerful Reach family (Jaime couldn't remember which each belonged to) and thus had called themselves the Second Seeds. They were able to rip control of their family's lands from their fathers and brothers, using their alliance as proof that THEY should rule. Prices had already been rising because of a drought and the Second Seeds took advantage of that.

Brynden Rivers had stepped in at that point but rather than use force like so many had thought he would rely upon, instead he'd baffled the realm by giving the Second Seeds a seat on the Small Council.

A SINGLE seat.

A whispered word here. A friendly smile there. Rumors spoken in the right ears. Soon the Second Seeds began to believe that each of them were secretly working to make a deal with the Iron Throne. Brynden of course would always deny this when confronted and offer the accuser something… which only made the other two members of the Seeds grow all the more bitter. Finally he arranged a meeting with each one at the same place and the same time and never showed himself. Men who had their senses and were able to remain calm would have realized the trick and torn apart his plot. But the flames of anger and mistrust had grown too high and when Bloodraven finally arrived hours later he had found three corpses.

His supporters claimed he did it to lower the prices of grain. His detractors that he didn't like anyone with more power than himself.

The truth was that one of the merchants had danced with Shiera Seastar, Brynden's great love, and he had decided to destroy him for that offense.

Cersei had tittered over the tale, stating that it showed how far a man would go to defend his beloved.

Jaime had thought it cruel that Shiera allowed her half-brother to do so much over such a petty thing as a dance.

'The Old Gods warned me that we can not trust Bloodraven. But we also need him… what he can teach Bran…' It reminded him far too much of his father, who had such skill in so many things yet at the same time was a man that no person, smallfolk or lord, should have hold in their trust. 'He will use us all until it is to his benefit not to use us… and then he will cast us aside or worse.'

"Jaime?" Meera said.

"Sorry," he stated, realizing he had become lost in his thoughts. "Let me finish this and we'll head out to check the snares and traps." Meera shot him a look, it clear she wanted to press just what had caused him to lose focus, but politeness meant she wouldn't ask outloud. Which was good because Jaime wasn't ready to share just yet.

Better she live in blissful ignorance for a bit more.

~MC~MC~MC~

The chambers of the Bloodraven would never stop bothering Jaime.

There was something so very… wrong… about them.

It didn't feel like they were connected to the Old Gods; not as Jaime was now. He understood now what the Northsmen meant when they said they needed no Sept to practice their faith. The Old Gods truly were EVERYWHERE. Every rock. Every tree. Every stream. Their influence ebbed and flowed, so that there were places where they were more powerful to the point that Jaime imagined he might be able to feel them even without being their Spirit of Vengeance. And there were places where their touch was diminished. It reminded him of the many times during the battles and campaigns he'd fought in when he'd gotten and sense of foreboding or a sense of relief yet didn't understand why. In the former it was because the Old Gods were weak in that spot while the latter was where they could whisper to his unhearing ears "We are with you".

He wondered what he would feel in the Red Keep. Would the Old Gods have been driven from there by the Targaryens and their magic? Or had Maegor with his blood sacrifices caused them to become stronger and that is why Kings of Westeros had faced so many hardships? Every Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms had failed to have a proper succession that wasn't marred in controversy; could it be the Old Gods? And what of other places? Would he feel them in Casterly Rock, where his father had done all he could to drive out the Faith of the Seven for he saw it as useless? Should he be allowed to step foot in Winterfell again would he collapse under the weight of their influence?

But the chamber Bloodraven was held in?

It was completely and utterly void of the Old Gods.

Bran suddenly awoke, eyes flickering as he gasped. His pupils and irises returned and movement came to his form again. It was all very much a relief to Jaime because when the boy began to warg into the Weirwood it became nothing more than a corpse that didn't truly understand it was dead. Hodor at first had panicked and it had taken all of them holding him back to keep him from crushing Bran in a hug as he tried to awaken the boy. He was better at it now, understanding just what was happening (or not… Jaime at times didn't understand exactly what Bran and Bloodraven were doing), though he tended to avoid the chamber all together or, if he had to enter, remain on the very edges of it.

'I don't blame him,' Jaime thought as Brynden awoke, his return to reality fair more leisurely.

"I can't do it!" Bran exclaimed. "I keep getting so close but I just-"

"That is because you allow your emotions to rule you, rather than you ruling them," Bloodraven said in his calm, unbreaking voice. "The Weirwoods feel it and listen to their desires rather than your own."

"But my emotions are me."

"They aren't," Bloodraven said, his voice calm yet Jaime felt his teeth ache at how patronizing the man came off as. It was the same tone his father used when Jaime had told him about Ned Stark's actions in the Capital and his father had only cared about Jaime's own failures. Trying to make it sound like a lesson when in reality it was little more than a harsh scolding. "We are made up of many parts. Our emotions. Our needs. Our desires. They rule us or we rule them. Your emotions rule you."

'Like your desires for your sister ruled you?' Jaime desperately wanted to say, just to see what the bastard (and he meant that with nothing about the man's birth) would do.

"I keep failing," Bran complained, shifting about. Jaime moved to help him up but Brynden, spotting him, lifted a single hand and Jaime grit his teeth as Bran was forced to crawl on his arms like a worm.

"Of course you do," Bloodraven stated. "You are unfocused. It is as I told you: I do not know if I can teach you. It was always a gamble that you would have the skill. Its fine though, there is no shame in failure."

"I can do it," Bran insisted, cheeks heating up as he turned back to the Bloodraven.

"Perhaps a bit of food and some sleep," Jaime said, stepping forward.

"Today has been a failure," Brynden admitted and Jaime forced himself not to scowl at that. "Perhaps tomorrow you will finally be willing to actually take this seriously."

"I can do it," Bran said, his frustrations wiped away and left with dark determination. "We can try again."

"…very well," Bloodraven said and at once the two fell back into their warging trances.

'Damn you,' Jaime thought bitterly as he stalked out.

"You must trust him," Jojen said softly; he had grown so used to the pale boy suddenly appeared that he only jumped a little when the moon-eyed jackass decided to suddenly speak up.

"And which 'him' are we talking about? The boy that is working himself to near death? Or the man that is half tree and half corpse that is happily allowing it to happen?" Jaime continued to stalk away from the chamber, making no move to shorten his strides so that Jojen could keep up. Part of him honestly wished that he be left far behind him, huffing and puffing as he tried to catch up, or would trip and fall and end up coughing up old dirt and moss as he watched Jaime leave. But Jojen once more disappointed and kept up with him.

"Bran is the key to saving the world," Jojen said. "The powers that Brynden Rivers is teaching him will help us all."

"And he won't be able to use them if he starves himself to death," Jaime argued. "Were you even listening to them? The Bloodraven is manipulating Bran, playing on his fears and his desires. He knows he is going to fail again because unlike Bloodraven Bran needs to eat and sleep still. But he works him to exhaustion so he can claim that he still has many flaws and then send him off in despair, knowing that Bran will return even more dedicated to continue. I have seen this mummur's farce performed many times… I was in the starring role myself."

"Bran must learn," Jojen repeated.

"Because you saw it in your visions," Jaime growled as the boy moved to walk side by side with him.

"Yes. I have seen it."

Jaime's foot lashed out, kicking Jojen's ankle and causing him to crash to the ground.

"You didn't see that coming, did you?" he taunted with his old smirk.

Jojen though merely rose up. "It doesn't work like that."

"Seems like piss poor future visions if you can't see when you are going to get hurt." He huffed when Jojen stumbled; he struck the boy harder than he'd meant to and now he was limping. In one sweeping movement Jaime lifted Jojen up, holding him in his arms much as he did with Bran when he needed to be moved about. Having the boy close though allowed him to whisper, "Sometimes I wonder, Jojen, if you truly care for any of us. Or if you are just Bloodraven's puppets."

That caused the dreamy lad to finally focus on him. "I care for you all," Jojen whispered.

"Then maybe you should start acting like it. Because Bran is dying. He is losing weight. He used to be able to crawl around easily enough now if we don't care him he is little more than a grub in the dirt. He barely eats. Barely sleeps. The Bloodraven is killing our savior… or worse making him into his duplicate. And do you think that root-covered bastard truly cares about us?"

Jojen's silence proved there might just be hope for him yet.

~MC~MC~MC~

The Old Gods did not demand their followers bow to them. Did not need to see the masses bend their knees and lower their heads. They knew their power and did not need to be reminded of it. Did not need to be paid homage. It was refreshingly blunt, much like the North itself as Jaime was finding.

It was always why he knelt down all the same.

"Arise, Jaime Lannister," the Old Gods proclaimed. "You have done well to protect life. Not just from the threat of the Others but your own kind who do not see the value of the living."

"I made another vow. To protect the innocent. I… have not kept it as I should have but I will keep it now."

"We know," they said with a finality that made Jaime's bones ache. "And now we have a new task for you." The roots of the Weirwood began to slither and slink about and it took Jaime a moment to realize they were forming a great map of the North. "Throughout these lands there are items of power, left behind by those that fought for the Dawn. We would see you return them to us, so they might be given to those that will fight against Thanos and his army. "

Jaime nodded but didn't raise his head.

"You are troubled."

"Bran is being used by Bloodraven. The man… even without your warning I would see that he is a danger. I do not trust the others around him. Jojen is too easily swayed by his visions and Meera will not act against her brother. Hodor is loyal to Bran and until Bran sees that Bloodraven is a danger that means Hodor is Brynden's creature. That leaves only Osha and possibly Summer to defend against his schemes. If you send me away they will fall."

"You forget," the Old Gods said, "there is Mantis."

"…she is just a little girl."

"She was a little girl," the Old Gods said. "Now she is a warrior. Do not let her actions fool you… she is quite cunning, Jaime Lannister. She will watch over your friends while you are away. And you will return to us often."

Jaime sighed but accepted that, looking over the map. "I assume the leaves are points I must go to." He examined the spots carefully. "They are spread out… some even back in Westeros. It will be a long journey."

"Which is why you must have a steed that can handle such a trip."

There was a cold gust of wind and when Jaime looked up he nearly scrambled back. There, looming in front of him, was a sabercat.

It was as big as a horse with fangs nearly as large as his forearms. Its dark eyes gleamed as it approached him, dark tongue flicking out to lick its lips. It was no ordinary beast, not even for its own kind, for there was a black glow to it, flames the color of ebony rising from its fur.

"Your mount," the Old Gods stated. "Hellfire. She will see you to your locations and at a greater speed than any on this world have ever known."

Jaime approached and on pure instinct allowed himself to take on his Spirit form, his own flames mingling with Hellfire's. The sabercat allowed him to settle himself onto her and he gripped her fur before the roots shifted again, creating an opening beyond the Weirdwood.

Without saying a word Jaime was off, Hellfire racing away from the tree leaving a trail of flames behind her.