A knight of house Stark – Chapter 1
Check the poll on my page if you like the story.
Another day, another quarrel.
It was becoming routine by now, the youngest Stark daughter finding herself the center of scrutiny and ridicule for failing the most basic of lady tasks. She had lost count how many times such occurrences have happened. Previously, she had used her small stature to run away to her room, her sanctuary or to run around the yard with the boys, practice archery and the likes. Well, until she was caught.
Tongue lashing after tongue lashing by her mother and septa had worn her thin. It was not that she did not like pretty things, girly thing, lady things. She was just not good at them, even if she tried. There was a time, months ago, maybe even over an year that she did really try. More for her mother, but she did try. She just… could not.
Now, she no longer did. Both the annoyance at been forced to do them despite obviously not cut out for it as well as the young girl finding more enjoyment in archery and horse-riding or simply swinging a stick around meant that she was now almost spiteful in her lessons. Her mother suspected as such, her sister accused her enough times, but Arya never confirmed it for them.
Two moons ago after another quarrel over her stitches she had run away from Winterfel on horseback, her father's men in close pursuit behind her. And that is when she found it. Into the shadows of the Wolfswood, hidden within the ravine carved by a small stream.
A massive, flat, metal plate. It was covered in rust, the color helping it to somewhat blend with the surrounding forest floor of dried leaves and dead branches. In one of the corners of this plate the size of a small building, she saw an opening between the rocks and what had rotted away from the plate and following her curiosity, she went inside.
She did not see much inside, the light from outside barely making it in. What she saw was smooth, even floor, perfectly straight walls. In her bravery, she went several times into the darkness before suddenly and painfully bumping into something hard. Giving up and the quarrels already forgotten given her discovery she decided to head home for the day. Returning home, she half-heartedly listened to the scolding from her parents, already planning her next escapade.
Over the next few days, she secretly gathered candles and even took one of the lanterns from the halls and when her father went out to deal with some matter with a nearby lord, taking half of the castle with him, she seized her chance.
So excitedly did she ride into the forest that she drenched her dress when some of the oil for her lamp spilled. Nevertheless, there was enough to reveal the secrets of the smooth-walled place, as she had taken to calling it in her mind.
When the flickering light from her oil lamp hit the inside, she was initially disappointed. As the light hit only a small area around her, she saw nothing. Only that smooth floor and when she moved closer to a wall, the same. Smooth, featureless. 'Boring.'
As she moved further in, a large, wide staircase gently descended down, the ceiling above her disappearing from view. And finally, she saw something emerge from the darkness.
While not outright running to the shape, she did hasten her steps only to find the walls covered in bookshelves and a few tables scattered here and there close to the walls. When she raised her hand holding the lamp slightly up, she caught glimpses of red banners hanging on the walls.
Returning her attention to the bookshelves, she prayed in her mind that they contained something interesting. History, battles, dragons! Some of the books had cogs like in the mills, some had a strange bird with two heads. She vaguely noted the repeating pattern of straight lines going up and down, there being one, two or three lines and sometimes the letters X or V were also included.
Doing a small shrug to herself, she pulled one of the books before setting in on a nearby table and opening it. The language inside was strange. The letters were the same and she understood most of it, but it felt wrong. Words seemed in the wrong location. Some words were missing letters, others had one too many.
And while she was able to read what was written, the text created more questions then answers. Core? Fuel? Pistons? Flipping through the books, she came upon drawing but they too were unlike anything she had seen. They were too… perfect. Perfect straight lines, perfect circles, not a smidgeon out of line. On and on they went for pages, each drawing standing on one page and on the page next to it a wall of text.
Making a mental note to take some of the books home, she closed it and left it there, before continuing down into the darkness.
As she reached for the oil lamp to pick it up, she saw two green dots in the darkness, her hand freezing around the handle of the lamp. Slowly, she reached for the knife she had on her waist and drew it as soon as her hand wrapped around the hilt. She stood there, frozen for moments that felt like eternity before gathering her courage and raising the lamp up.
As soon as the flames passed between her and the lights, the two lights disappeared.
Even more confused, she waived the lamp back and forth, almost willing the green lights back into existence to no avail. Swallowing hard, she decided to go forth, her grip on the knife causing her knuckles to go white. Arya walked with small, cautious steps, her grey eyes transfixed on where the two green lights once were.
What appeared out of the shadows was strange to say the least. Vaguely circular in shape, with four of what she can only calls legs stretching out in all direction, not unlike a large candlestand. Moving closer, she saw that the circular shape was more like a shield, thicker than her head, covering circular tubes in the middle of it. She saw them going up and up, disappearing in the darkness above, the occasional flicker of flame revealing a large shape looming far above, the size of a tower. Another circular shape lay to the left of her, connecting to the form above and in between hang something that she can finally understand.
A banner.
While the whole thing was too far up for her to see the details clearly for there were plenty, her eyes were drawn to a detail just below the middle of it. The Stark direwolf over imposed above that same stylized two-headed bird from the books before.
The presence of her family symbol gave her some measure of peace, for if her kin had some connection to this place, then how dangerous can it be? Remembering the candles she carried, she took a step back and began setting them around the thing, lighting them as she went along. As she moved around it, she noticed ladders going up the side of the room, well, hall she was in and what seemed like a bridge connecting the two opposing sides. Setting the remaining candles on that bridge, she returned to ground level and stepped back to examine the object of her fascination.
It was a vaguely humanoid creature made of metal, two legs, two arms that ended in strange appendixes and probably the most distinct thing on it, the head. What can only be described as a knight's helmet stood, looking directly back at her and the occasional flashes of flames from the candle illuminated two green dots within the eyeslit.
For quite some time she stood directly infront of it, her eyes roaming the metal frame. Symbols of wolves and birds looked back at her, painted upon the white armor with silver-grey trim covering the slightly rusted frame underneath. Moving again around it, she noted the different shaped underneath the armor, appearing almost like scaffolding in the constructions she had observed in Winter town. Hanging ropes connected the main torso with the limbs. Occasional skull insignias peeked from beneath the darkness, disappearing just as quickly.
This was two moons ago.
Returning to the present, she found herself again standing before the knight, as she had taken to calling it, the anger against her sister draining away slowly.
Pulling a torch down like a lever on the wall, the hall burst into light from small sphere on the ceiling, although some were flickering. It was a scary situation when she first found she could do this, having just arrived and hanging a satchel on what she had assumed to be an old torch, only for the weight to pull the "torch" down. For a moment nothing happened, Arya grumbling about old things as she bend down to pick up the fallen satchel before the hall was filled with light and low humming.
The suddenness of it all lead her to fall on her behind, wildly looking around. Seeing no immediate danger, Arya composed herself before getting up. Her eyes were drawn back to the "torch", now pointing down. Debating for a moment, she yanked it back up and this time, almost instantly, the hall was plunged back into darkness. A grin adorned her face as she flicked the level up and down over and over again, watching as the hall lit up and plunged back down into darkness. Her happy moment ended when one of the spheres on the ceiling burst, showering glass over the floor.
Back then, she had studied the Warrior, his form now much more cleanly visible. He was like a statue of metal, tall and proud, but old and rusted, the pale grey paint peeling on places revealing an angry orange and dull brown underneath. Her question later in the castle if one can sculp metal like stone had raised a lot of eyebrows.
Banishing such memories and returning to the now, she picked up one the books with a strange two-headed bird that she now knew to be called an aquilla and sitting down next to the Warrior to read, leaning on him for support.
She found the books with an Aquilla more interesting than the ones with a cog. The cog ones spoke of artisan things, of things an engineer would be interested in. She understood that they pertain to the Warrior and hinted that he can move, but she could only imagine it in her dreams. She dropped those the books down as quickly as she had picked them up.
The ones with the Aquilla, on the other hand, spoke of adventures among the stars, of reuniting humanity. Of fighting Xenos. Of a great war. It was hard for Arya to picture any of it, of ships the sizes of cities traveling between worlds, of people so vastly different from her in both thought and appearance that they would seek any little thing as an excuse to kill her. She read of a man, an emperor. The Emperor, who was strong, wise and powerful. That two-headed bird, that was his symbol, that Aquilla. It stood both above the head of the Warrior as well as on the banner that hung between it's legs, the Stark direwolf over imposed on it. Occasionally, she would think that they, house Stark, were part of this empire.
While usually she quickly dissolved such thoughts away as there was no proof of this empire existing save in this very room, the intrusive things returned with force when she read about the sons of that emperor. Eighteen brothers, each having a home world or even a small empire and a personal army. There were pages with imagery, heraldry, of both the sons as well as their marks.
She would at times remain for hour upon a painting of one of those sons as they looked so outlandish, strange, clad in armor unlike any she had seen. But what drew her attention more than any other was Leman Russ, leader of the Space Wolves and his insignia – a wolf head. She had other favorites as well, some for their appearance, other for their marks. Vulcan and the Salamanders for their insignia, the Blood Angels for their primarch, but the Space wolves remained her favorite. At times, she imagined her family like these warriors, clad in outlandish plate fighting across the stars for honor and glory.
"So, this is where you have been running of to." A voice startled her, causing her to throw the book in her hands, her grey eyes meeting the grey of her half-brother.
"You followed me!" Arya accused, jumping to her feet, her frame tensing in anger.
"I did." Jon replied in amusement, the dourer Stark sibling smiling at his angry little sister. "So, this is the knight of your drawings." Jon half-asked, half-stated, Arya turning her head away. She had tried to keep those hidden.
"What is it, Arya? What is this place?"
"I don't know." Arya responded as she picked up the book she threw.
"This place could be dangerous. It is… not normal." Argued Jon.
"I have been coming here for months. It is safe." Jon furrowed his brows at her answer but said nothing, the low humming from the lighting orbs above filling the air.
Moving around the hall, Jon constantly switched from observing the knight to any and all objects around. He noted sticks and wood piled near the center of the room before the knight as well as furs and blankets near the legs of the metal statue. At his amused questioning look, his sister grumbled:
"I am here a lot…. It is cold." Jon's amused eyes danced between the sticks in the middle and Arya, but remained quiet.
After a few minutes of quiet wondering around the hall, Jon asked:
"So you don't know what this is?" he gestured to the metal statue.
"I think he is like a suit of armor. The books mention a "pilot" whatever that is, controlling it from inside."
"Pilot are on ships." Retorted Jon. "So it is alive?"
"I don't know." Pouted Arya, turning to face Jon before her eyes drifted above him, locking onto the helmet of the knight.
"The books say it is a knight. Then they say it is piloted by a knight. Sometimes it calls the person a knight, next page it calls this thing a knight." A sudden mischievous grin adorned Arya's face.
"Do you want to see the pilot?" she asked, but did not wait for an answer before rushing to one of the ladders on the side of the hall that connected to the bridge above.
Before Jon can even protest her action, she was already on the bridge, standing directly before the metal figure. Momentarily calm that she had stopped her sudden rush of action, Jon's already pale face turned white when his sister jumped from the bridge onto the knight.
"Arya!" he shouted only to be met with grunts and giggles.
"Relax, I have done this before." She said as she climbed directly ontop of the knight. Looking at the thing from above, Jon saw a large square opening in the middle of the armor plate of the knight, not dissimilar to a trapdoor. To his horror, Arya jumped without hesitation inside of it. His body moving on it's own, he too jumped on the frame of the knight, the older and bigger boy getting to the opening much quicker then his sister did.
Peering inside, he found her waiting for him with crossed arms and a smile on her face. Letting out a sigh of relief, yet remaining conscious of the large metal slab that made up the trapdoor hanging above his head, he peered around the inside of the small hole. There was not much the lights revealed, but he could still clearly see "the pilot". A skeleton of a man, bits of cloth and metal hanging loosely around the dry bones as he sat upon a throne.
He had accompanied his father to several executions, but despite himself, Jon could not tear his eyes away from the skeleton. So focused he was that he only noticed in the last moment his sister reaching for the rusty helmet.
"Arya!" Jon shouted, startling Arya, causing her to jump.
"Ow!" she yelped as she cut her finger along the helmet edge, drops of blood falling unseen upon the throne in the darkness.
"Why did you do that?!" she yelled at her brother.
"It is not safe! See? You cut yourself." He argued back. "Come on, out, now!"
"Ugh! I just wanted to show you this." She reached out again and picked up the helmet, turning it so the front was both towards Jon and the light above. A stark direwolf emblem was looking back at him.
Before the boy can even comprehend the meaning behind it, illumination from the flat surfaces infront of the throne filled the small chamber with light, blinding Arya and startling Jon. Not a heartbeat later, the whole thing began to rock, Jon feeling as if he was on a horse for the first time again. The movement were so severe that the young boy was thrown off of the knight, Jon managing to make the throw into a jump at the last moment, barely managing to catch the edge of the bridge that was infront. A loud bang resonated as the thick metal trapdoor shut, but jon paid it little heed. From his position, hanging underneath the bridge, he was level with the knight's head.
And two glowing green eyes were looking directly back at him.
Hello everyone.
I am what I would call a casual fan of Warhammer, though a casual Warhammer fan would be hardcore in any other fandom. I know I already most likely made mistake for the 40k side of things and fully expect the tongue lashing from my fellow 40k enjoyers. With that out of the way, lets continue.
First, in the story the Knight will not be the only 40k element. I plan on an actual crossover, not just different elements jumping from one universe into the other. It will revolve around Westeros and will have little to none off-world things. If you have any cool ideas for what other things can be hidden in the history of Westeros and the noble houses that connect to 40k, by all means, leave them in the comments. I certainly have several ideas, but I do not want to overpopulate the world, so to speak.
Secondly, the knight itself is not exactly a normal Knight *cough* slightly warped *cough*. In that spirit, a poll will be going up on my profile page about what kind of knight exactly it will be. It is NOT an armiger and I do not like the Dominus patterns, but all others are fair game. It can even be "Chaos" type (though it would not be evil, just more warp-y)
Thank you for reading.