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[BONUS] Winter Comes Ch. 22 (Finale)
🕑 Added 2017-10-13 07:00:53 +0000 UTC A/N: So I kind of lied by omission in last chapter's Author's Note. Sorry for that. Originally, I typed up "Writing this was like pulling teeth" and then I erased it because I didn't want to complain.After a couple days of reflection, I realize that I have to stick to what I said early on. I'm only writing this as long as it makes me happy to do so, and its no longer managing that.
This is the last chapter of this fic for the foreseeable future, though probably forever (I don't usually come back to old fics unfortunately and its best I acknowledge so no one gets their hopes up)
I wanted to write at least this to sort of tie things off a bit better though. Hope you guys enjoy.
-x-X-x-
“You’re going to take the Three Sisters, aren’t you?”
Theon looks up from the table where maps and schematics and plans are strewn every which way. His sister has a determined look on her face that he knows well.
“Aye, I’m going to take the sisters. Apparently, it’s prophesized. But more than that, we need those islands to defend against the Andals in the Vale. The Neck will continue to be a natural bit of defense against any major ground assault, but those foreign bastards have shown time and time again that they aren’t against sending fleets at us from every which way. Controlling the Three Sisters cuts off one way at least.”
Lyanna nods slowly as she approaches the table and studies the maps beneath Theon’s hands. Theon in turn studies his sister. The woman has never quite recovered from her experiences beyond the Wall, but then Theon doesn’t truly think he has either. Still, his sister is strong. Even after everything, she holds her head higher than he’d expect.
“… Send me instead. Allow me to take and administrate the Three Sisters in your name, so that you can focus on the unification project.”
Theon is taken aback by the very idea.
“Lyanna, I…”
“I know everything you’re going to say Theon. The men of Winterfell respect me and will follow my orders. Our enemies probably won’t, but they’ll learn to respect the weapons that the Night King has gifted us. I’ll turn their islands to rubble if I have to, but I imagine with the army you intended to use, I won’t need to. Give me this brother. A task… I need a task.”
Theon presses his lips tightly together, his objections dying in his throat as Lyanna shows him some of the naked vulnerability lying beneath the strength that he’d just moments before been admiring. She hasn’t married yet, his sister. He knows that she doesn’t want to marry… ever. He respects that, he won’t have her used as a pawn in some Northern Lord’s game, nor will he use her as a pawn in his own games.
To be fair, thanks to the weapons she speaks of, he doesn’t need marriage alliances. Half the North has rushed to join with Winterfell in the wake of what those in the old Bolton lands saw him do to the latest Andal Fleet. The other half are cowering in their keeps, believing that if they simply stay out of sight, they’ll also stay out of mind. He’s content to allow them that foolishness, for now.
She’s right though as well. The men of Winterfell respect her and while the petty Kings on the Three Sisters will not, they’ll learn to or they’ll die, one and all. Either way, Theon has every faith that Lyanna could take the islands at the head of an army of Northmen. And she’s also right that the splitting of their attention would allow him to focus on conquering more of the North, be it through force of arms or diplomacy, much faster.
Their positions can’t be reversed either. If he sends Lyanna to the Northern Lords still unpledged, they will see her as a bargaining piece to be wed. They will not take her seriously in matters of diplomacy like they will him. The sistermen on their little islands will not see a woman to be married, they will see a she wolf, hungry for their blood.
“… Yes. Yes, I will send you to the Three Sisters at the head of an army. I imagine you will take them easily and administrate them fairly my dear sister.”
Lyanna slumps in relief. More relief than Theon was expecting, if he’s being honest. A moment later, the door slams open and Brandon runs in with… is that a dire wolf pup in his arms?!
“Father! Father! Look! Look at what the Night King sent me!”
Theon’s eyes bulge out of his skull as Brandon thrusts the pup towards him and it lazily licks its chops, already filled with fairly sharp teeth. Then his gaze snaps too Lyanna, but he barely catches a glimpse of her eyes before she’s slipped out the door. The message is clear… his sister will no longer deal with his son’s devotion of the White Walkers. Damn woman could have just said that though, rather than commandeer his entire army just to get away from it all.
Plastering a smile on his face, Theon carefully takes the pup from Brandon’s arms.
“You will have to care for it Brandon, I hope you know that.”
Brandon nods up and down, wide eyed. Theon opens his mouth to say something more and that’s when the dire wolf pup begins to pee on him. As his son breaks out into uproarious childish laughter, whatever Theon was going to say turns into a long, drawn out sigh.
-x-X-x-
Lyanna succeeded in taking the Three Sisters and bending them to her will. It required several dead Kings, quite a few dead Lords, and many demolished keeps as well as a small, standing Northern army to keep the islands in line, but in the end his sister had had her administration as she’d wanted. The woman was as far south as she could reasonably get, and the Night King had even told Theon he would respect Lyanna’s wishes and not bother her too much.
Of course, she was still surrounded by Chosen, they were just subtler on the Night King’s orders. It was surprisingly kind, coming from a monster. Theon had been reluctantly grateful and just a bit envious that he couldn’t get the same damn treatment. Now, over a decade later, Theon sat on horseback and stared down from a grassy cliff at the ocean below. Behind him was his army, swelled to quite a large size given his ‘unification project’ as Lyanna had called it so long ago was now complete.
That did not mean all of the threats to House Stark were gone though. Here was the last one prophesized by the Night King. A fleet of Ironborn ships were moving towards the North’s western coast, led by the fucking King of the Iron Islands himself, Harrag Hoare. Theon was ready for him though, as ready as he possibly could be. The trebuchets and a dozen other siege weapons aside were loaded and ready to fire. The longbowmen, men who had spent their entire life learning how to use the massive recurve bow that the Night King had given them, had their arrows notched and were ready to loose.
Theon was about to give the order, when his son suddenly spoke up from his side.
“Father wait.”
The Hungry Wolf pauses as he turns to his son. Brandon Stark is now six and ten. When the boy had asked to ride with him into battle, Theon had had no cause to say no. After all, HE’D been six and ten when his father had died and left him King in the North. Plus, Brandon was well-known and well-liked among the North, and his dire wolf bolstered the men’s spirits. Even now, the boy was riding on the massive creature’s back.
… When he’d named it Rickar, Theon had wanted to strangle him. Or more accurately, he’d wanted to strangle the Night King for jokingly suggesting it, as Brandon told him was the case. In the end though, it was what it was. The dire wolf’s name was not changed and Theon did no strangling. He’d be damned if he called the massive hulking beast by name though. Luckily, it stayed close to Brandon and Brandon in turn kept it under control.
“Yes? What is it?”
Brandon stares out at the ships for a long moment in silence and then licks his lips to wet them before speaking.
“The Ironborn will not be so easily turned aside by conventional weapons like the Andals were. They’ll come back and they’ll attempt to adapt to whatever we throw at them today.”
Theon is in agreement with his boy, though he does not say so. The Andals are not natural born sailors. From what he’s heard, they only came across the sea on the whims of their seven gods and nothing else. They’re mostly warriors and knights and Lords and Kings, just like the North is. The Ironborn are different. They’re a fucking scourge on the seas, raiders and reavers of coastal villages. They will not invade the North, they’ll simply draw blood from it if they’re allowed to continue, conquering the coast and using their superiority at sea to hold it.
Still…
“What would you have me do instead boy? They may not be turned aside easily, but they WILL be turned aside.”
“Allow me father. Allow me to end this threat for you.”
Theon is apprehensive now. He’s ashamed to admit that he does not know the full breadth of what his son is capable of. The Night King favors the boy and Theon is terrified of that. He’s allowed it to keep him from truly digging into what Brandon has learned at the hands of the White Walker’s Chosen and the White Walker himself.
And yet, he has no reason to deny Brandon this. What little magic the boy has shown, the North has accepted and embraced with open arms. Their Sorcerer Prince they call him, a name Theon is confident was started by the Night King through one of his Chosen. Flaring his nostrils in an explosive exhale of breath, Theon nods.
“Fine. Do it.”
Brandon gives him a wide joyous smile, tinged with just a hint of something dark. Theon lifts a hand up, a silent order for his army to hold for the moment. At the same time, his son focuses on the approaching Ironborn Fleet. His dire wolf pads forward a few steps to the very edge of the cliff and Brandon’s arms raise, high above his head.
His fingers slowly curl inwards in a clawing motion and a moment later, he lets out a roar as he rakes them down. The effect is immediate. Massive gouts of glowing blue fire erupt on the Ironborn ships in the trajectory of Brandon’s invisible ‘strike’. The boy turns slightly, lifts his arms again, and tears down with another loud angry cry.
Theon Stark and his army watch in silence as section after section of the Ironborn Fleet is set ablaze. They try to put out the blue flames, but from what Theon can see, it is impossible. The blaze only grows higher and brighter on each ship, until they begin to break apart and sink. The Ironborn panic and jump from their burning vessels, swimming towards shore, towards what they see as safety.
Theon is moments from ordering the longbowmen to begin picking them off when Brandon once again uses his magic, this time raking his arms to the side. The blue fire erupts a foot out from the beach, across the water itself. Now that Theon is looking for it, he can see that the flames do not go out even when they touch the salt water beneath the ships they’re burning. The Ironborn Fleet sinks and the Ironborn themselves drown amidst pillars of unnatural, magical fire.
What is left behind is an ocean peppered with funeral pyres to the dead, a plume of blue flame over each sunken ship, the only mark that they were ever there to begin with.
“… Brandon…”
His boy turns to him with a wild smile and a glint of something unsettling in his eyes.
“I sent them to their Drowned God father. I thought they would like that best, in the end.”
“… How long will those flames burn?”
Brandon blinks at the question before looking back at his work for a moment. He reaches out and Theon sees as one section of the blue fire winks out. Brandon turns back to him with an even wider grin.
“As long as you wish them to father. I am at your command, my King.”
Theon understands the underlying message, even if Brandon doesn’t realize he’s saying it. In the end, the flames will last as long as Brandon wishes them to. What can Theon do in this situation? Only what he’s been doing for nearly two decades now, in the end. He plasters a smile on his face, well-practiced by this point, and nods towards his son.
“You did well Brandon. You did well.”
His powerful, powerful boy just beams at him, even as those closest to him start up a cheer for the Sorcerer Prince, now that they know what their King’s reaction is.
Theon lets a sigh escape his lips only once Brandon is amongst the men and the festivities are starting. This is it, he can only hope. The Hungry Wolf is not hungry anymore. With the Andals defeated, the Three Sister’s conquered, the North unified under Stark rule and the Ironborn sent to join their god… Theon only wishes that it be over.
He no longer wishes to die with a sword in hand. He’ll settle for in bed, surrounded by family.
-x-X-x-
Theon had died today. Lyanna a few years earlier. Brandon was beside himself with grief, and I did my best to console the boy in my role as his God. In the end though, I was a little relieved. The North was changing and elements of its past in the form of people like Theon and Lyanna were beginning to die off. I was taking control, albeit from the shadows. Still, already there was a bit of a movement that had grown and blossomed thanks to my control over Theon Stark.
More and more of the North no longer worshipped the Old Gods. They still knelt at the heart trees and prayed in their godswoods, but instead of worshipping the ‘Old Gods of the Forest’, they now worshipped the ‘Old One’. Me. Singular. In a way, Rickar’s little effort to make me out as some Old God taking revenge on the Children for killing my brethren, their gods… had become the truth.
I’d gotten over it. Old One was probably on par with Night King in the end. It was fine. Just… fine.
The doors suddenly bang open and my children, more specifically the triplets, scramble inside despite being men fully grown by this point. I stare at them with mild bemusement as they stumble over each other in an effort to get to me first, which ultimately results in them at a pile at my feet, rough housing and play fighting, as usual.
… They’ve forgotten that I’m in the room again haven’t they? I clear my throat and the three White Walkers freeze up, one in the process of pulling on the side of another’s mouth, one pulling at his brother’s white hair, and one pushing a foot into the third’s face. I let out a slow sigh as they get to their feet and smile at me happily.
“Father! Rickar, Ayla, and mother have all agreed to a game of Risk! Please, won’t you join us?”
That didn’t sound half bad actually, but I could never sound too eager. I pretend to think it over for a long moment.
“Please father! Please, please, please! You know you make it the most fun!”
I introduced the triplets and the rest of the family to board games like this one in order to keep them in the True North, if I was being honest. Keep them busy for thousands upon thousands of years… yeah that’d probably work out. Still, for the time being they were certainly enamored with Risk and I had a dozen other games to bring to the ‘table’ once they tired of it.
“… Very well, let’s be off.”
The Triplets cheer and we make our way out of the room, down the hall, and into a much larger room with a huge table in the center of it. There was an equally large map spread across the table and small little tokens meant to signify troops. Of course, the map was not of the Earth, but it was still vast and I’d split it up into plenty of territories. There just weren’t large bodies of water. Almost every territory except for those on the edges, could be attacked from all sides. It made things a tad more difficult and a tad more interesting.
My Queen and my firstborn children await us. Torrand is at Ayla’s side as he always is, staring down at the map with interest. He gets to spectate our little games, as Ayla becomes far too over powered when I let the fucking Gary Stu help her.
“Are we all ready to begin then?”
My words draw the attention of those already in the room and though Lyanna, Rickar, and Ayla try to hide their eagerness, whereas the Triplets do not, all six of my immediate family are quickly in their positions around the table. I refrain from chuckling at their expense. My wife and firstborns try to pretend they aren’t as enamored with this game as the younger White Walkers, but I know that they are.
Taking my place at the head of the massive table, I let out a sigh, place my hands down on its edge, and let my glowing blue eyes drift shut. In a far, far corner of the Land of Always Winter, there is a massive icy wasteland that I have not quite filled with palaces and castles and towers. Oh, they certainly dot its landscape, but I specifically did not build rows upon rows of massive structures across this area of the Land of Always Winter.
After all, this is the playing field. Reaching out to the bonds I have with my family, I connect them to their troops. Even as the six of them begin to play the game on the table, they are in fact also playing the game with wights and undead snow bears and shadow cats and dire wolves. The animals serve as the fivers while the undead giants serve as the ten piecers in this mammoth, life-sized game of Risk.
The battles take a while to begin as the start of the game involves them spreading out from their corners of the map and taking territories and castles and towers and setting up defenses in the fortresses and outposts I’ve built for them. Every once in a while, I wipe the wasteland clean and build a new configuration. It doesn’t take more than a day and it keeps things a little fresh.
Ah, the fighting is beginning to break out. As expected, the triplets have already broken the pregame truce they make every time and are now fighting amongst themselves like squabbling children. Meanwhile, Rickar and Ayla are teaming up against their mother. They don’t always do this, sometimes Ayla teams up with Lyanna or Rickar does. It really depends on who’s mad at who at any given time. Still, while Lyanna is probably the best player at this game besides yours truly, she’s going to be hard pressed to handle an alliance between Rickar and Ayla this early on. Unless she can draw one of the triplets away from their conflict to help her, but despite their love for their mother, such a rescue isn’t looking likely.
Yes, my dear Queen looks like she’ll be the first to go out this gam-
If I were to win this, I would be most overjoyed. Why, I can think of several ways I would want to celebrate.
The message is sent solely to me and her mental tone comes across as quite innocent. I get it though, loud and clear. Lyanna would never ask me to help her win outright… but she’s not above doing what it takes to win, especially in an unfair situation like the one our firstborns have created. I can’t help myself. Even with six thousand years to burn through, even with everything that had happened so far… I’m still thinking with my dick.
I begin shifting things ever so slightly, a smile on my face. It will look like luck on her part, as luck is a key component to any game of Risk… but Lyanna is about to get very lucky indeed. Almost impossibly so. Ah, the things I do for love.
