Chapter 33

Northward Bound

"Is that all you have managed to do?" The incredulous tone in Benedikta's voice was something of a reoccurring dream for Hunter and Wrecker. The reason for this was because Clive was struggling to impress the Dominant of Garuda with his lack of skill utilizing her Eikon's abilities.

"I've managed so far," Clive mumbles softly "What does it matter if I do not use Garuda in the same way as you? My powers should align with fire, and thus far all I have managed is the same skills bestowed upon me by the blessing of the Phoenix. Nothing more…not so much as even a drop of Ifrit's own Aether."

"Because you are not fully in sync with Ifrit," Benedikta shook her head as she approached Clive. "To prime into an Eikon is an experience, a feeling…it unmakes us, breaks us down to our smallest piece and rebuilds us in their image and back again. If you want to use Ifrit then you must truly become Ifrit, of your own volition. Not because something else forced the transformation."

Clive glances at his hands, small flickers of fire coming to life and dying in an instant "I don't understand…but I am willing to try."

"Good. My liege believes that you are what the world needs…I do not disagree, but you are far from the savior of a kingdom, never mind the world." Benedikta gathers Aether in her left hand "Now…shall we try this again?"

Clive shakes his head "Perhaps we should take a break. We have already torn up enough of the countryside trying to practice, haven't we?"

Hunter chuckles. True enough their journey north had been quite eventful when it came to training Clive in the ways of Garuda. Damaged trees, rocks and hills torn apart by the Dominant of Ifrit's lack of control over the wind…it was a wonder no one had caught up to them trying to find the source of the damage yet. "We should be nearing the Twins, but it might be best if we take the Kingsroad instead of dealing with the weasels."

House Frey. There was a problem that Clive intended to deal with one day. A house left in the care of an aging Lord Walder Frey, if his history was right the man had been in power since before the time of his own grandfather Aerys the Mad King. A record that given the reputation of the man involved was far more detrimental than it was impressive.

"How long do you wager it would take us by the road?" Clive asks as he mounts his horse, Ghost by his side "Every day that we spend travelling is another that Rickon might spend moving closer to…"

"A few weeks more…more or less," Hunter sighs "Greywater Watch is of course a potential place to rest but with how those swamps are rumored to be we might be better left on the road itself."

"What about the Flints?" Wrecker asks, "They are allied with House Stark, aren't they?"

"Too far," Clive sighs "That is further west than we will want to be."

"Is there any place that he could have gone? I doubt he would go south to war if he were smart."

Clive narrows his eyes at Benedikta for her comment on Rickon's intelligence. "Despite living apart from them, you should watch your words regarding my family. Cid's daughter or not, I wont be so forgiving. If Rickon ran away, then he likely had a reason that to him seems like a good plan."

"Lord Stark didn't say anything to you? Surely, he had to have known something…"

"No, but that doesn't mean I do not know what is going through his head right now." His comment earned him three odd looks "Rickon is the youngest of three sons. Robb is the next Lord Stark; Bran is training to be a knight and with Sansa to marry Lord Bolton's heir while Arya trains with the she-bears…Rickon is much like our Uncle Benjen. He'll want to head for the Wall."

"The Wall!?" Hunter and Wrecker shout. Benedikta did not see what was so horrible about some wall up in the North, but judging by how the two men were reacting it was clearly much more than just a wall.

"Is the boy mad!?" Hunter asks sharply "Travelling alone to the Wall is ludicrous, not to mention the Wall itself…the Nights Watch is not the same group that it was made out to be in the legends of old."

"And I would agree with you Hunter, but the fact is that Rickon likely thinks himself a burden and would go there to ease said burden from the family." Clive frowns "I intend to bring him back before he gets himself killed beyond the Wall."

That caught the Dominant of Garuda's attention "Why? What lies beyond it?"

"According to the old stories? Giants, Mammoths, hordes of cannibals and Wildlings." Clive answers swiftly "But more pressing than that…the only enemy we cannot escape. Death."

"Death…" Hunter and Wrecker share a look "Well, glad we aren't completely ignoring that particular problem."

Beyond the Wall

Rickon Stark was many things to the brothers of the Nights Watch. Young. Eager. A hard worker. Naïve. The boy had hardly been trained properly before he joined them, having come to the Wall on his own with nothing but a sword and his Direwolf. To Lord Commander Mormont the youngest of Ned Stark's sons was not a recruit but a wayward boy. Unfortunately, with said Lord of Winterfell away at war, there was little that could be done.

Jeor Mormont had done his best to keep the boy from swearing any oaths but still the boy had gone and sworn away his life to the watch. It was only a matter of time until things came to a head, the fallout would be another trial for the watch to weather like any cold storm up here. Which brought the old man to his current problem. What would he tell the boys' family now that he and his party were effectively missing? A few weeks had passed since the last ranging, seven able-bodied men and Rickon Stark had gone north for a routine patrol of the wilds. Death was common out here, as was short lived desertions before the Wildlings got their hands on the deserters. But the boy…Jeor pushed the thoughts from his head. It would not do to dwell on his fate.

While Jeor Mormont had his own problems to worry about, Rickon Stark found himself in a mess entirely foreign to him. With his Direwolf, Shaggydog, at his side the young lordling and sworn brother was surrounded by Wildlings. Dressed in various animal pelts, wielding axes and watching every rock and tree as if they expected an ambush from the Nights Watch at any moment. He had lost track of how long they had been walking for. A day? Two days? All he knew was that he was tired, but they would not let him sleep. Not out here. Not in the open.

"Keep moving," one man says, giving him a light shove forward "If you pass out here, you're as good as dead. And we won't hesitate to keep you that way."

The Wildling in charge, a man with red hair like fire turning white at the roots, grabbed the one that spoke and dragged him back "Enough of that! Crow or not, Mance will want to see this one unharmed."

The man grumbles, glaring as he trudges forward "Whatever you say Tormund."

"Don't listen to him much lad," Rickon eyes the older wildling with a cautious eye "Too caught up in fighting crows to see the bigger problems out here. Not like the rest of us."

"What problems?"

The sounds of their footsteps upon the snow, crunching sounds beneath their feet, seemed all the louder now as an almost haunted look came to grace Tormund's face. The man shook it off well enough though his eyes now looked around with the caution of a stag knowing it was being hunted. "Walkers. Old stories even to us but true all the same. Monsters of Ice and Death, of a time told to us as babes by our elders…an enemy we face again today."

"And you need me alive…why?"

Tormund chuckles "Mance thinks you Crows could be…helpful. When the enemy comes, and they will come, it will take all of us to fight them. Even one Crow could be all it takes."

"But you…you still killed the others…men more experienced than I, you…you slaughtered them."

"Aye, we did…but we spared you." Tormund grins, the look did not reassure Rickon of anything except that his fate was still very much undecided. "What does that tell you?"

"That I might be lucky…or cursed."

"Doomed, actually," Tormund chuckles again "Because if Mance keeps you alive, then your only future is to fight the Walkers with us…or join their ranks. Whichever comes first."

The Dreadfort

Deep within the heart of the North was a castle with a history far darker than the heart of any of its previous lords. The Dreadfort was the seat of power for House Bolton, and with Roose south of the Neck, and Domeric in Winterfell with his betrothed it was now at the mercy of the worst that Bolton blood had born. Ramsay Snow smiled as he carved an apple with his favorite dagger, a gift from his new allies being a delivery of food from the south. Meat, salted, cured; livestock a plenty and crates full of fruits and vegetables.

"I don't see why I should care about the future king of Westeros," he says, slicing a sliver of the fruit off "Sure, being Warden of the North is more than enough for me here but to choose the king I must kneel to? I don't see the point."

The men who brought him this fresh bounty of supplies were an odd sort to the bastard son of Roose. Dark cloaks, not an ounce of fear in how they carried themselves, and an ability that Ramsay loathed with every fiber of his being. The ability to make him feel fear. That was the only problem he had with them, or rather it was the only problem he had with their leader. The man did not remove his hood nor did his compatriots. But when he spoke Ramsay felt the cold truly grab on to him, like the flames of his hearth refused to send a single bit of warmth to shield him.

"The arrangement was made for us to aid you with subverting the loyalties of the people in the north," the man spoke slowly, his voice sounding bored like a parent having to explain something simple to their young child "And in exchange, you would see to it that certain parties would be…delayed. Or have you forgotten?"

"I haven't forgotten," Ramsay grumbles, scowling at the man "But I still don't think I should have to pledge loyalty to a king of your choosing. I might be a cruel man, but I am no fool. Picking sides serves no interest of my own."

"Then don't choose." The heat slowly receded in the hall "The war itself is a lost cause. Too many armies, too many desires…when King's Landing comes under siege, only one king will survive and amongst the bodies left cold and lifeless will be none that we wish to be lost."

"The great game, controlled by mercenaries and hired thugs." Ramsay sneers "That's why you came to me. You needed someone to draw away support for the North. You are using me."

"As you are using us," Ramsay could hear the smirk under that hood "You have already drawn key support from our enemy, and as a reward you are now the most beloved man in the North."

"Beloved by people who I rob blind just to give them their own property back."

Ramsay eyes his associates. If Roose were here, he would have surely told him how the negotiations should have gone, how House Bolton should get a better deal. But what was a better deal than to still be breathing? The flames of the hearth flickered ever so slightly, just enough that the movement was abnormal to Ramsay's eye and stole his attention.

"We never forced your actions Ramsay Snow; we simply gave you the choice and let you play your own game with them. Torture, murder, rape, theft…not the virtues of a proper Lord but the proper virtues for a Bastard. Do try to remember that in the future, won't you?"

Ramsay felt his skin heating up, his body felt hot all over as his attention was solely focused on the leader "Very well…what do you want from me now?"

"I am glad you asked. There is a group of warriors from the Rosarian party that I need you to take care of for me. I would do it myself but with so many different groups to coordinate I find myself rather unavailable."

"How many?"

"Just four for the moment, three men and a woman."

Ramsay licks his lips, eyes alight again "Oh? Guessing she is nobility then?"

"She carries herself as such, yes. I need them out of the way. Whether they draw breath or not matters little to me, but they mustn't be allowed to interfere. Remember, failing me is a fate worse than death Ramsay."

"And just why should I fear you?" the words leave his mouth like a rushing river of water after a storm. The heat in the hall intensifies, his own men are startled away from the hearth cowering far from his guest's presence. A slight twitch tugs at his face as Ramsay fights back to keep from giving in to his base instincts.

"Remember this," the voice is a deep growl, Ramsay could swear to all the gods that would listen to him that he saw fire dance across the man's fingertips "Crossing me is not a wise decision. If I do not get what I want, these lands will burn; every man, woman and child will be put against my flames and not one drop of westerosi blood will remain on this earth. Know my words well Ramsay and beware."

Ramsay's eyes stared deep into that hooded face; his mouth felt dry as he saw twin flames in his eyes. "F-Fire and Blood?"

The man laughs "No, nothing so…merciful." He says with just a hint of humor to his voice "Fire and Ash, for that is all that will remain."

Ramsay felt the heat recede. His men no longer cowering like young boys staring down a hungry wolf.

"Find them Ramsay, delay them for as long as you can, or you will be the first to feel my wrath," the man places his hand down on the table "Are we understood?"

"It…it will be done, my lord."

"Good."

As the man and his associates made their exit, Ramsay's eyes were drawn to the single blemish to his table. Amongst all the scratches and markings from knives and ale soaked into its surface was a single, black, handprint. "What sort of monster is he?"

Over the wall, in a land of frigid air and creatures left to myth and legend the world over was one living king. One king, one man, who could claim to still have a heartbeat and be a leader of his people. Mance Rayder didn't see himself as some conquering hero of old when he began to unite the Free Folk against their own common enemy. He certainly did not think they were a force that could stop the army of the dead alone either.

Every tribe he could gather, everybody he could make march south to the wall, was gathered here just a few weeks march from the wall. Winter was coming, its cold kiss carried on the wind while its biting wrath swept across the land. Any animal with enough common sense had found a way to cross undetected or they had died and become another body his people would have to put down again. That was the problem he had to solve. How does one kill the dead and make them stay dead? Fire worked well enough for the lower ranks, the Wights, resurrected in the Others conquests of the northern lands but to put down the older ones…what could do that? Dragonglass was known to the Free Folk through story and a few lucky encounters, but no one could prove it true yet. But none of this would matter if he couldn't get his people south of the wall. Without aid they would perish and so too would any hope of finding a weakness to these abominations.

"Mance!" the man suppresses a groan as he hears Tormunds call, the large man pulling him close with one arm and still shouting in his ear "You still brooding oh King Beyond the Wall?"

"Tormund, I would hope you have something to report from your journey, and not a desire to be beaten into the snow."

The Giantsbane throws his head back and laughs, clapping his hand to Mance's back and nearly knocking him over. "Better than that! Well…almost better. We found something, and you may want to hear what he has to say." Tormund motions for his prisoner to be brought forward. In Mance's eyes it was just a boy, barely a man yet, with his wrists bound. "Mance, meet Rickon Stark."

Rickon squirms under the gaze of the King of the Free Folk. Brown eyes narrow on the boy, taking in his face as he hums to himself. "You…you are Ned Starks boy aren't you, one of his pups…what are you doing out here boy?"

"Ha! That all you wanted to know?" Tormund booms "He joined the Crows! Told us on the journey back. But there is something important for you to hear."

"So you keep saying," Mance rolls his eyes "Now…will one of you speak or will I have to assume Tormund is telling another one of his tales again?"

Rickon and Tormund share a brief look. The older wild man's face growing serious as he gives a faint nod. "The Seven Kingdoms are at war."

"War? With whom? The Ironborn again?"

"Each other."

Mance stares back at Rickon, searching his face for any sign of a lie he might see but all he finds is resolution staring right back. "You are certain of this? All seven kingdoms are at war with one another?"

"Aye…my Lord Father and my eldest brother rode south months ago after calling the banners. Last that I had heard the Vale and Dorne were sitting out the fighting while King Robert held the capital and the Crownlands. His brother Stannis has taken the Storm Lands and declared himself king as had their younger brother Renly with the Reach and Joffrey Lannister in the Westerlands. Tormund told me about the…problem that you and your people are running from. Even if what he says is true, we cannot help you while the war is on."

Mance curses. He shouts out orders before whirling around to face Rickon "You tell me right now boy, how many of you crows' man the wall? How many!?"

Tormund reaches for his axe, eyes never leaving Mance's back as the man gets in Rickon's face grasping him by the shoulders. "Mance."

"Little under a thousand I should think…why?"

Mance turns to Tormund "Take the boy, keep him at the front, and lead those who cannot properly fight to the wall first. Take only those who volunteer with you as a guard and be quick Tormund."

"It will take us a week or so…Mance, we'd be slaughtered if the Others catch us."

"Then don't get caught…I shall lead the rest of our people towards Hardhome, hopefully they will follow us if they are close enough to choose."

Rickon looks between the two men "What is going on?"

"We are leaving little pup," Tormund says, back straightening as he moves towards Rickon "And you are going to guide us to the wall."

Tormund cuts the rope around Rickon's wrist, a grim look upon his face before he stalks off. Whatever the youngest Stark had gotten himself into…it was about to become even more deadly than before. "I should have stayed home with Shaggydog…Sansa being upset would be nicer than this."

AN: So here we are…a shorter chapter than I would like it to be. I'm writing this paragraph of the AN on 11/27/2024 in case anyone wants to carbon date this one. Finished the original draft months ago, like…June, I think? But then things happened as they do, and I needed a break from projects. Which then came back to bite me as I started 34 and went back to edit this one and uh…yeah…chapter 33 decided that the ending didn't fit (still doesn't feel perfect but it suits what is coming next) and here we are.

I know this isn't that long, I've given the reasons but do blame the prior chapter as well…had a guideline for this one but most of what I wanted to cover was put in the last one so…now we get the short end of the stick mixed with the creative block. But you will be happy to know the guideline is back in working order and 34 is under way...just dont expect that one for christmas, or do, it's not my hopes getting up too high.

On a side note…have been watching a show called Evil. You all can thank or curse my nephew for that, only planned to watch the pilot episode but I got hooked…which reminds me, if you are in the New York area (The city moreso than the state) and like a good show, I'd recommend going to see the Great Gatsby. I'm not sponsored to say this, if I was, I do not think I would be writing fanfiction for very long.

Now, to the reviews!

Furvustocs: Been too long since you reviewed. Well glad you are alive and well…or mostly well. Hopefully still alive and enjoying the chaos that is to come.

Jebest4781: While things are going about as well as one can expect, somehow better given my luck, they are not so great but that is life.